Dirty Mafia Sinner (Dirty Mafia Kingdom #2)

Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

SANDRO

Sweat mingles with blood as I heave the heavy barbell overhead. My lip has busted open, and my ribs curse me for my foolishness. From next to the weight bench, Tommaso reprimands me with his eyes.

“What?” I bark once the barbell is back in position.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Keep it that way.” I roll to my feet.

“Sandro.” Tommaso reaches for me as I stagger, but I brush him away. Pain is tolerable. Failure is not.

“You need to give your body time to heal.” It takes him less than a minute to begin blabbing, like I asked for his advice. “By recovering in bed and allowing the meds to do their thing.”

“Like you’re doing?” The asshole was in a wheelchair days ago yet ran a mile last night. Rain, shine, fractured ribs—he never stops.

Behind the towel, I hide my winces while wiping the sweat from my face. The medication might help if I didn’t dump it down the toilet. Not that I tell Tommaso I’ve gone cold turkey. A fighter by nature, he understands a thing or two about recovery, so his advice is solid even if his own actions are contradictory.

Pain management will only dull my senses when I need them sharp. Unlike my brother, I can ignore my inner demons, especially when so much is at stake. The quicker I can show my face again, the less time my father will spend dwelling on what a disappointment I am. Conti sliced and diced—as Tommaso so eloquently put it—with his body parts delivered express mail to Rhode Island should obliterate any lingering thoughts concerning my capabilities.

“I’ll say this once, and then I’ll drop it,” he comments.

“How about you drop it now?” Because I can tell by his bullshit expression, he’s about to give me bad news.

“It’s okay to be vulnerable.”

What. The. Fuck.

“We’re best friends. I’d take a bullet for you, Sandro. Hell, I bodysurfed a city sidewalk after sailing off a car hood for you. If that isn’t proof of my friendship.”

“You lose your dick somewhere on that sidewalk?” For fuck’s sake, maybe I stopped the drugs too soon? “Am I not holding your hand tight enough when we take a fucking stroll? Or will you surprise me with an unwanted pregnancy?” Vulnerable? Even the word rolls my stomach.

Because vulnerability—Renzo’s, not mine—ruined the life I imagined.

“Think about it.”

“One, two…” I count. “Done. No further discussion required.”

His sigh fills the gym. “Whatever you say, boss.”

“Got something right, today.” I change the subject to a more urgent matter. “So there’s no sign of Conti?”

“Not since you asked me five minutes ago.”

“And the tech experts? Have they hacked into Ciro’s bank accounts yet?” I toss the soiled towel into a bin. “Follow the money, isn’t that what they say?”

“No word yet.”

“For Christ’s sake, then get on your phone and demand an update.”

“It’s three in the fucking morning…”

“Since when have you become so soft?”

Six foot five and pure muscle, the stone-cold killer has crushed a man’s skull with his heel without the slightest flinch. A heartless mafia enforcer, my right hand, and a friend whose reputation with my father is also at stake.

If there’s anyone who understands how weak—goddamn vulnerable —I truly am, it’s Tommaso. Is that what brought this on?

“Fuck.”

“Maybe you should. You’ve house staff on call who are exactly your type.” He grins because the fucker likes any filthy brunette who swallows. “Wake them up. Trust me, you’ll rest better.”

I search his expression. “That why you sleep like the dead?”

His shrug is answer enough. But I don’t mind sharing. Tommaso can have his pick of the fuckdoll litter, even Barbara when she’s not keeping me occupied.

Occupied. Right. I scowl. Yesterday’s session went ass end up. I normally get off on a good, hard scene, but my concentration was shit. My attention kept shifting to the third woman in the room, her shocked expression and pretty pleadings making me harder than anything else.

“And the locksmith? That cell will be operable tomorrow, right?”

“About that …”

I stiffen.

“On further examination, the door is rusted and needs replacing. It should take a week—”

“A fucking week?” I curse beneath my breath. “The men are assembling for a briefing tomorrow afternoon.”

He stares at me, not getting the picture.

Of gorgeous green eyes brimming with tears.

Of my seed decorating her skin.

Of her locked inside a cage I pushed beneath my desk while she was showering.

I curse once more as I place heavier weights on the dumbbell.

“Ciro’s girlfriend had a lot of nothing to say.”

My full attention shifts his way. “What’s her name again?”

“Emily.”

“And?” I demand.

“She’ll have a few nasty scars, if she lives.”

“You think I care about scars?” I scoff. “What’d she say?”

“Bottom line is she knows nothing about Emilio Conti. And before you ask, our men took everything from Ciro’s apartment. He was an unorganized prick, so it’s taking the men time to cull through his papers. They did uncover the deed to Riley’s apartment building. He didn’t own the property but had some bogus, handwritten agreement signed by three other men claiming it was his.”

I shake my head. “Like that’d hold up in court.”

“Didn’t stop him from filing an insurance claim the day everything went down.” Tommaso’s lips tighten. “The piece of shit can rot in hell.”

“Shame he wasn’t still alive when my men started up the cement truck.”

Tommaso snorts. “Now he’s just another Jimmy Hoffa.”

“See if they can locate banking information. It’ll save our tech geeks time.”

“They’re on it.” He pauses for a few seconds too long.

“What?”

“She said a lot of shit about Riley.”

I clench my fists, and then bark, “Confirming her involvement?”

“Not sure.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“She blames Riley—her best friend—for stealing her boyfriend. Thinks they ran off together since no one has seen either of them.”

Tommaso nods as he polishes off the water from the bottle he’s been tossing around in his hand. Drinking like a Neanderthal, water dripping from his lips.

I wait for him to finish.

He takes far too long and forces me to ask. “What else did she say?”

“Told the men your girl is responsible for Ciro’s coke habit.”

“She’s not my girl,” I grind out. “Or involved in drugs.” It’s ludicrous, and I’d laugh if she hadn’t betrayed me.

“Ciro had a pet name for her.”

I go fucking rigid. “Pet name? Were they fucking?” If that stranzo ran his dirty hands across her body …

“According to her best friend, they were getting it on like jackrabbits.” He studies me closely as my unfettered rage rolls in, then sighs. “It could be a lie. The men said that, when the knives came out, Emily’s tune changed. She confessed to never actually seeing them together.”

I flex my numb fingers.

“The men said it was like being trapped in a goddamn soap opera. She accused Riley of being a coke-snorting opportunist who seduced her boyfriend and mismanaged his finances—and evidently, the drugs we planted at C whatever you believe I’m guilty of, you’re wrong. And I’ll curse you from my grave when you realize it.”

I’m panting by the time I’m finished.

Both men are silent, which sets me off again.

I rattle the cage. “Are you listening, stranzo ?” Flavoring my question with an Italian word I don’t even understand comes out of nowhere. He’s used it several times with good effect, so …

A throat clears. “Thought you said she was perfectly submissive?” My ears strain to hear Alessandro’s response, but only Tommaso speaks. “Let me interview her.”

“No.”

“Why the hell not? You want answers, and I’ll get them.”

Alessandro growls low in his throat. “You’re on an evening flight to Atlanta, motherfucker. I’ll handle her.”

Tommaso snorts. “With that knife?”

Fear envelops me. Because I made a mistake. You don’t defend yourself against a monster by provoking him. Monsters can only be defeated if you find their soft side.

A fist slams onto the table. “Nothing else to say?”

I blink. Alessandro’s addressing me . Think, Riley. What’s the solution, permanent or temporary? “I cared about you,” I softly croak.

“Fuck,” he curses. “The ankle monitors arrive yet?”

“Yesterday.”

“On your way out, send a man to fetch one,” Alessandro orders, all business. “He can grab a new uniform while he’s at it.”

“You certain this is the right call?”

“If I kill her now, I won’t get the pleasure of punishing her for disrespecting me.”

“You’re a sick shit.”

“Yeah, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”

Tommaso kicks the cage. “Should have kept quiet, sweetheart. And, stronzo … that’s where you really fucked up. Death might have been the better option.”

“Any further words for our sweetheart?”

I frown. His tone is downright sinister.

Tommaso laughs. “Nothing more to say, boss. ” His footsteps cross the room, and I begin to panic. He’s leaving me alone … with him?

“Call me from Atlanta.”

The cage door creaks as soon as Tommaso is gone. I spin in place. The cage is open, and Alessandro’s pointing to the floor next to his chair. “Out,” he bellows.

I crawl from the cage to the desired spot.

“Don’t ever disrespect me in front of my men again.”

I raise my eyes to his furious ones. Lord, his face. His handsome face. “Would you really kill me?”

He reaches down, then pinches my earlobe.

I wince.

“Good. Now we understand.”

The door opens.

I flush and cross my arms over my chest yet keep my eyes on Alessandro. Two packages slide across the desk and tumble to the floor next to me. Then quicker than he appeared, the man disappears.

Picking them up, Alessandro unwraps each item, first the one in the box and then the plastic-wrapped one. “Stand.”

I try to rise, but my knees buckle.

With a curse, he catches my elbow and hauls me to my feet.

I grab his shoulder for support, but he brushes my hand off him like my touch offends him.

“Arms to the sides.”

I frown at the white uniform in his hands. His cruelty knows no bounds, does it. He’s planning on dressing me like them ?

No.

Absolutely not.

“To the sides. Now .”

I calculate how many steps it’d take to reach the door. If my legs were stronger. If I wasn’t pursued by a hunter chasing down a wounded animal. We’ve been down that path before, and he tackled me to the floor so hard I still see stars.

“One,” he counts.

I grunt, then do his bidding. Don’t challenge him. Find a soft spot.

“Put your arms through the sleeves.”

I slip my arms into the openings, and he tugs the uniform over my shoulders. All that’s left is the long zipper running the length of the front. Slowly, he slides it up my body. His face expressionless and unaffected as, inch by inch, my body’s covered.

He’s done this before , hasn’t he?

He disappeared for three weeks. Is this where he was? Being entertained by those bullies?

I close my eyes. My hurt’s no longer his reward.

His fingers halt at my chest.

“Fuck,” he says. But the groan that follows has me eyes flashing open.

The uniform doesn’t fit. Too snug around my breasts, which are disproportionately larger than the rest of me.

His breath quickens.

I try to brush his hand away. “I can zip it …”

He dips two fingers beneath the material, catching a nipple and catching me by surprise.

A shiver races through me. “What are you doing?”

His entire body stiffens. “Good fucking question.” His hand drops. “Leave that zipper exactly where it is, capisci?”

I protest. “My breasts are on full display.”

His lips curl, and my heart stops.

There was a time I’d have died and gone to hell to earn a smile. Now you nearly died and are in hell, Riley. You’re one of them now.

“What’s inside the other package, a feather duster?”

He blinks, my scorn surprising him.

We stare at each other. Distrust warring with indignation.

“Am I part of your cleaning staff now?”

Energy sparks in the air between us. Then he’s on me, lifting me by the hips and tossing me across his desk, pushing me down until I’m sprawled across it. The horrid uniform rides up, baring me to him.

Revealing my shame. Confirming that, despite his twisted, wicked soul, my body weeps for him.

“Jesus.”

I flush bright red. Because there’s no hiding it. He could unzip his pants and drive home, with little resistance.

Physical resistance.

Plastic rattles … except he’s taking too long for it to be a condom. He grabs my ankle, and then locks something else into place. “You’re free to move around the villa. Don’t stray from the grounds, or my men will shoot you. You’ll sleep in the same bedroom as before.”

I roll up onto my elbows and jerk the hem lower. I wiggle my leg. “What’s that?”

“A tracking device.”

I swallow hard. It’s better than the cage … better than death.

“Use the gym, the pool … library … Do whatever the hell you want. But at all times know I’ll know where to find you.”

“Am I supposed to thank you?”

His eyes narrow.

“Be grateful you’re still alive.”