Page 29 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

“Thank you.”

He nodded once and started to leave, then paused. Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he withdrew a large stack of Euros and began counting them. Muttering to himself, he dipped his hand into a different pocket. A black card landed onto the island with a thunk. Was it made of metal? “Go, use it. Buy yourself whatever you need, capisce?”

I stared at it warily. Taking his credit card felt too . . . couple-y. Like I was his kept woman. Or his wife.

I waved my hand for him to take it back. “That’s okay. All I need is my bag.”

“Dai, Emma.” He put his hands together and shook them at me. “Take the card, go buy the things that will make you happy and comfortable here until we solve this mess. Buy some other shit, as well. Nails and hair, whatever the fuck. Okay?”

Now he was ordering me around? I put my mug down on the counter and tried to remain calm. “I don’t like shopping, Giacomo. And I’m not going to thespa. This isn’t a vacation. I just want my bag from Virga.”

I thought he’d be pleased that I wasn’t interested in spending his money. Instead, his eyes flashed with anger and his jaw went tight. “You turn your nose up at my generosity?”

Stay calm, don’t panic.“I’m grateful for the offer. Really. But I’m jet lagged and tired, and I just need to catch up on my classes. So I’ll shop another day.”

His expression didn’t change. “You are telling me what you think I want to hear.”

Smart man. “Everything I need is in my bag.”

He pointed at Sal. “Take her shopping. Make her buy shit that women need. Whatever she wants. And even shit she doesn’t want.”

This was ridiculous. “Giacomo, I—”

“Enough, Emma,” he snapped, the sound reverberating off the tile. “Do it, or I will call Theresa and send her out to shop for you.”

I nearly fell over, so I braced my palms on the island. “You’re joking.”

“I never joke, Emma. Ever. And you should know, Theresa’s style is very different from yours. So unless you want high heels, short dresses and sexy as fuck lingerie, I would buy your own things.”

He spun and disappeared out the door, slamming it behind him.

Sal nudged the credit card closer to me. “It looks as if we are spending the day together, signora.”

CHAPTERNINE

Giacomo

Virga had checked out of the hotel.

No surprise, considering security was a nightmare there, but it meant I had to track him down and waste more time. Finally, Zani learned from one of our contacts that Virga was on his boat at San Vito lo Capo, a seaside town almost two-hours from Palermo.

Cazzo madre di dio. Could nothing go my way?

By the time we arrived at the slip where Virga’s yacht was docked, I was thoroughly pissed off. Virga left town with my wife’s things, knowing perfectly well I would want them back. This was a ploy to get me to chase him, to make me dance to his tune, and it only fueled my anger.

“Are you certain I can’t kill him today?” I asked Zani quietly as we walked along the dock toward the yacht.

“Yes. Which is why I told you to leave the guns in the car.”

“I don’t need a gun to kill him.” We both knew I could beat a man to death without breaking a sweat.

Once Zani and I were on deck, two of Virga’s men patted us down for weapons. Then we were shown to the back of the yacht, where a shirtless Virga was relaxing on a lounge chair. He smoked a cigar, gold chains resting on his saggy skin, while he looked out at three young topless women sunbathing on the deck below.

It reminded me of the parties my father and brother used to hold on the Buscetta yacht. Booze, drugs, girls . . . anything to make them feel important. The yacht was one of the first things I got rid of when I took over as don.

“Don Virga.” I dipped my chin in some semblance of respect, though it almost killed me.

“Buscetta,” Virga said, not bothering to stand up and greet me. “I am surprised to see you. I would’ve thought your new wife was keeping you too busy for such long trips.”

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