Dirty Mafia Sinner (Dirty Mafia Kingdom #2)

Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

RILEY

The man next door’s freak-out was the beginning of my situation changing. The relentless banging on my bedroom door, at all hours, day and night, abruptly stopped.

So did my morning tea.

The Michelin-worthy meals are no more—replaced, with glee, by a hostile brunette, who tossed a half loaf of stale bread at me that next morning, then slammed an empty pitcher onto the table.

Fine , I’ll pretend it’s lasagna and red wine, I thought, hiding my reaction. Her glare turned into a manic smile, then she made a cutting motion with her finger across her throat—complete with gargle—and left.

Jaw falling open, I watched her departure in shock.

But this?

I cover my mouth and hold back a scream. If stale bread and questionable tap water aren’t enough reasons, this is why all my energy should be put toward escaping. While I was sunbathing, someone snuck into the room and left a dead canary on my pillow. The poor creature’s decapitated body and head are cradled in the indent I left behind.

Don’t react, Riley. They’re likely listening, gloating over tormenting you using a defenseless bird.

Although I feel sorry for the bird, what these vicious women don’t know is this isn’t my first encounter with death. This is far from the worst tragedy I’ve stumbled upon.

I hold my breath and take the pillow outside, careful not to upend the bird, then heave everything over the railing. Seconds later, curses burst out. Two guards patrolling the grounds stand directly below and are staring, flabbergasted, at what may or may not have hit them.

Hastily, before they can see me, I back away and retreat inside. Knowing how it feels being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Lord, I need to find a way out of here.

Pacing gets me nowhere, so I sit on the bed corner, breathe in deep and calm my mind, then consider my options. The housemaids always lock the door behind them when they leave, and if I jump off the balcony, I’ll end up like the bird. So I need to be clever if I hope to escape.

I kick my foot, and my toes catch on the shaggy white carpet. And, just like that, an idea forms.

Rearranging the furniture takes more effort than expected. I drag the short bureau to rest against the same wall as the door, then push the table to the opposite side of the bed. The fluffy white rug, surprisingly heavy, resists as I roll it up and lift it upright. I wobble it across the room, steadying its weight as I maneuver it toward the bureau, wedging it tightly between the wall and furniture. The top half leans diagonally across the door, a barrier of soft fabric and stubbornness.

If the canary was a surprise …

Minutes change into hours as I weigh my next moves. Find a way downstairs and then outside. Get to the water. Hail a sailboat or yacht or follow the shoreline to the beach I saw those teenagers swimming toward.

Or I can search for somewhere on the grounds to hide? The poolside casita?

Also, my chances will improve greatly if no one is aware I’ve escaped …

Time drags by until the sun sits low on the horizon. With a folded sheet secured around my middle, and legs free, I grasp the pitcher and linger at the right side of the door.

Footsteps approach, and I wait for her to enter. They take turns tormenting me, but I hope tonight’s brunette is the gleeful cutthroat and my biggest tormenter. Because I won’t feel half as guilty for what I’m about to do.

Keys jingle, then the door’s thrust open and she barrels inside. The rolled rug descends with a loud thump in front of her, and before she can process what’s happening, she’s knocked off balance. Her arms flail, and then over the rug she goes, my dinner—the smallest imaginable loaf of stale bread—sailing across the room.

I rush forward as she stares at me, aghast, then before she can scream, I smash the pitcher into the side of her head.

She instantly goes limp.

Lifeless … oh no, no, no! I visualized her death a million ways, but I didn’t mean it.

I fall to my knees and check her neck for a pulse. Relief washes over me when I feel it racing.

Satisfied, I grab her keys.

Go, Riley. This is happening.

I step over her and the rug, into the hallway, pausing to lock the door behind me. Escaping into unknown territory, though the urgency of the situation is not lost on me.

With a glance around, I realize the villa is even more spectacular than I imagined. I’m in a hallway on a mezzanine floor, with all four sides of the square looking over an open concept living area below. An intricate black wrought iron railing accents the otherwise sparse white space.

My attention pauses on an enormous grand staircase to the left.

I race toward it, not missing a beat, am down the stairs and sprinting across white marble tile, headed toward the kitchen area.

Yes, I think, spotting a single door to the left of an intricately carved wooden pantry and just beyond an island the size of my New York apartment’s kitchen.

All that stands between the door and me is another vicious brunette.

She’s vacuuming or pretending to. Looking like a Real Housewife, earbuds on as she wiggles and gyrates while pushing the humming machine. Not actually concerned with getting every lick of dirt—although I bet this immaculate floor and these fixtures have never been touched by dust.

When she spins left, I fly by her right side.

Hope pushes through the fright about a third of the way across the sprawling room. I’ve made it this far. Now exit the kitchen door. Walk, don’t run, toward the casita. Pray the guards are looking up for more surprises and not gathered poolside.

A shadow crosses the natural light reflecting off the tile, shifting my attention toward the mezzanine above. I breathe a sigh of relief, not finding anything. Yet something—nerves, incredulousness I’ve made it this far—has me looking over my shoulder.

I immediately wish I hadn’t. Because a man in a suit is descending the staircase, taking two stairs at a time.

Oh no. No. No. No.

My feet can’t move quick enough as I pass the island toward the door. Pull it closed behind you …

The sheet tightens around me, and my body jerks to an abrupt stop. I struggle, like a caterpillar inside a cocoon, until my pursuer’s full weight slams into me from behind. I land hard on my stomach, the wind knocked out of me as I’m tackled onto the cold tile floor.

His hands bracket my wrists in a bruising grip while his full weight pins me in place. Lord, he’s strong, all muscle against my back. My breasts hurt flattened against the floor. And worse, the sheet has risen and is around my waist, his groin flush against my bottom.

I’m completely, utterly at his mercy.

“Please,” I pant. “I can’t breathe…”

His fingers find my throat and he squeezes. “Better now?”

Panic washes over me as I attempt to buck him off me.

He waits until I’m exhausted to temporarily pull free. Temporarily, because the next thing I know, he’s forced my thighs apart with his knee, spreading them wide, obscenely so, and settled back against me.

I feel his enormous erection immediately.

Oh, God. My struggles turn him on.

I go limp.

He bites my ear, then growls into it. “Your submission is worthless now.”

Footsteps echo across the tile until the man racing toward us stands over us. “Fucking hell, Sandro.”

The man on top of me … Sandro … doesn’t budge. My earlobe stings, while his punishing weight crushes me into the floor.

“Clear the room,” the other man orders. More footsteps—Lord, how many men are there? And how foolish of me to think I’d escape?

“Listen to me,” I croak. “I had nothing to do with—”

“And the lies begin…”

There’s venom in his words, but his voice … What is it about his voice?

“Boss. I can take over from here.”

My heart wedges inside my stomach. Is the man—Sandro—the mafioso I spoke to at the warehouse? The man everyone fears? If I’m right, then I’m a captive inside his beautiful villa, surrounded by the sea, heavily armed men, and cutthroat housekeeping. The villa’s quite the juxtaposition to the monster who resides here.

Yet, I’m alive.

Why not kill me? Why drag me across continents, lock me in a resort-worthy room, and then forget I exist?

“Let me deal with her, Sandro,” the mob soldier says.

“Don’t fucking Sandro me. That lock fixed?”

His voice is oddly familiar. Or is it the discussion about locks, of all things?

“Not yet … boss. ”

“I’ll handle her.”

As the soldier’s footsteps retreat, I wiggle and try to break free. But the iron pipe thickening against my back halts my actions. “Don’t,” I cry out. “Don’t leave me with him.”

“Move that beautiful body, and I’ll fuck you into the floor while all my men watch. Capisci?”

His voice.

Can it be?

On the morning my mother passed, I paced the sidewalk outside the hospital, clinging to the promise I made her. “Never give up hope, Riley. You are stronger than you think,” she’d had me repeat. Grief-stricken, I wandered aimlessly until, unexpectedly, my toe snagged on a crack and I stumbled. Looking down, I saw a vibrant yellow dandelion pushing through the concrete. Hope in the form of a flower.

Hope, which I abandoned my search for after my father’s murder.

No way. It can’t be.

“Fucking beautiful.” Him, deep inside me.

“Good girl.” Me, choking on his massive cock.

Praising me. Corrupting me.

“Fix the lock, capisci?”

The scent of his cologne, a fresh, complex mix of lemon and sandalwood, confirms my shocking suspicion. My mind swirls in confusion, leaving me able to utter only a single word.

“Al?”

SANDRO

If I got off on her submission before, I’ll get off on her terror now.

“Feel that?” I sink my teeth into her earlobe and thrust my cock into her ass. She relaxes beneath me in a far too familiar way, her every action a lie. “That’s the one and only part of me that doesn’t despise you.”

“Oh my God,” she exclaims. “It is you.” So fucking innocent, Sunset Boulevard should have a billboard with a golden halo circled around her head.

“Shut up.” I lift off her, pull her to her feet, and then hiss through my teeth as the sheets pool around her ankles and I get an eyeful of long tan legs and tight ass. She bends to grab the sheet, and a low fucking growl vibrates from my throat. That does it. “Leave it,” I snap.

“She’s staring…” she protests.

I look beyond her to the housemaid who has paused her vacuuming to watch the spectacle unfolding. She’s one of my favorite fuckdolls I keep at my beck and call. I can whip her ass, and then ride it hard, and it’s still not enough. Barbara or Bernadetta—her name eludes me.

As do her eyes right now … which are glaring daggers at the woman in front of me. I thought Tommaso cleared the room?

“Vattene da qui adesso, cazzo!” I bellow.

She flees, leaving the vacuum behind.

Before the traitor can follow, I grab her by the hips, then spin and toss her over my shoulder. My ribs protest despite her feather-like weight. But my pain’s nothing compared to the kind she’ll experience.

I charge across the white tile floor then turn down a long hallway to my office.

Once inside, I dump her on the carpet without warning.

With a panicked cry, she lands hard on her hands and knees.

The sound doesn’t soothe my rage or please me. Though it doesn’t stir my fucking sympathy, either. When it comes to her, I’m twisted—always have been. I’d like to say nothing’s changed, but then I’d be the motherfucking liar in the room.

Her first mistake was seducing a monster like me. The second was believing she could betray me and get away with it. The third was not remaining locked up and out of sight. Three strikes, and you’re out, right? I should kill her already and be done with it.

“I don’t understand …”

“Shut up.” Locked away to rot—she deserves no better.

I stalk across the room and swipe my arm across a table, sending shit flying. A fucking magician, I whip off the tablecloth, and then haul the custom cage collecting dust beneath it to the center of the room.

She’s on her knees with her eyes on the floor. The picture of perfect obedience. I pause for a moment to take her in. Long limbs, tight waist, killer breasts, though I avoid looking at her pretty face and fixate on the arms covering her chest. Always hiding what’s mine, whether I want it or not. My cock stiffens in agreement.

It’s understandable how an average man might be duped by her duplicity.

There are new rules now.

She’ll either play or pay.

I move by her to my desk and take out the first lesson to be learned— obedience .

I come to stand before her. “Look at me.”

Ever so slowly, her eyes rise.

Her fear fades quickly when she finally sees my face.

“Oh my God. What happened?” Her expression becomes wild as she takes in my battered face. Yellow-and-black-ringed eyes. Bandaged broken nose. Clown lips. Her eyes drop to my body, but the broken ribs and bruising are hidden beneath my suit. “Are you okay?” Her voice quivers as she speaks.

Like I’m some gullible stranzo who might believe her act.

I glare, livid. So livid I’m tempted to pull the knife, instead of a bone, from my desk drawer and carve the word into her skin using all caps. Along with a few other choice words. Liar. Traitor . Mine .

Mine , to torment.

Mine , to make pay.

She shakes her head, faking confusion. “Were you in a fight?”

I’m over the hundred-and-fucking-one questions. I want her locked up, and the key thrown away. I tap her beneath the chin with the soft plastic bone. “Fetch.”

Her gasp fills the room. “What?”

I hurl the bone across the room. It hits the wall with a loud whack then tumbles to the floor.

“Pick it up with your mouth,” I instruct, tone flat and words ice-cold. “Then crawl your ass over here and get inside the cage.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious,” I growl. “Keep questioning me and you’ll end up inside a basement dungeon where no one will remember you long enough to fall for your innocent act.”

Where gorgeous green eyes and flushed pink cheeks will get her nowhere.

“Innocent act?” she asks, a vision of innocence.

“You’ve ten seconds. Fetch the bone like an animal and return with it to your new home … One…”

“My new home? You’re locking me in a cage?”

“Two, three, four.”

Eyes bright with tears, she stares at me like I betrayed her .

“You want to live? Be a good dog and do what you’re told.”

I’ve reached the point where I hope she’ll disobey me. Loyalty and respect—my men, my staff, my fuckdolls, every goddamn person around me exhibits in spades. I’m nothing without it, and God knows I’ve earned it. How dare she think I’ll tolerate anything else? She should be dead by now. Why prolong the inevitable?

She comes up on all fours, and my eyes narrow. Her body is thinner than the last time I had her naked. Her back arches, breasts swaying as she crawls, tears leaving a trail across my expensive carpet as she crawls to the bone.

Fuck.

I palm my erection, and nearly bust my seams when she turns. Her, with the bone in her mouth. Her, back arched and beautiful. She stops at my feet and looks, first at my hand and then at my face.

Rage resurfaces and blurs my vision as I drop my hand and point. “Welcome home.”

She flinches, but then obeys. Crawling inside, turning, and dropping the bone.

I slam the gate shut and click the lock into place. Done. So fucking done.

“Alessandro…” she pleads. My real name off her lips was all I could think about for weeks.

“Never say my name, capisci?”

She jerks backward like I slapped her.

Unable to look at her any longer, I stalk over to my window and glare at the yachts sailing along on the horizon. I’ve got shit to do, two men to hunt down, and a father to outsmart. Distractions, especially ones that plead so sweetly, are a mistake I won’t make twice.

I risked it all for pussy.

She’s a nobody to me now.