Dirty Mafia Sinner (Dirty Mafia Kingdom #2)

Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

SANDRO

Water drips on the white tile floor. Fresh from an after-workout shower, I make my way to the kitchen, my throat parched and body in need of nourishment.

Cursing greets me.

I pat my pockets … except I’m in a towel. My phone is on the nightstand, charging, and the app I track her movements with inaccessible. The frightened little bunny’s been in hiding for days, so I’m surprised to discover her out in the open where dangerous predators lurk.

“Those brunette bitches …”

My eyebrows arch. Aside from her outburst a few days ago, Riley never uses profanity. But how well did I ever fucking know her?

She doesn’t notice me as I cross the tile floor, her attention on patting her chest with a wet dishcloth. Muttering beneath her breath, she lifts her hand and reveals a huge red splotch covering her left breast and over her heart.

I charge forward. “What the fuck?”

She jumps, then holds up her hands. Waving the bloodstained dishcloth like that will stop me.

I skim my eyes across the immaculately tidy kitchen. Nothing’s out of order except for a plastic container on the floor and red footprints leading toward the nearest door.

Fucking tomato sauce.

My attention shifts to her. Jesus, she’s covered in it. Her tit looks like a rindless, overripe watermelon. Juicy and sweet, the kind that takes time to nibble and lick.

She stares at me with alarm.

Surprised to see me? Worried I might pounce or, worse, my towel might slip?

She’s not my type, isn’t it obvious? Still, my cock always goes rigid at the sight of her. A genuine purity surrounds her that draws me in. She’s a fresh breeze on a hellish day, and I’m the devil hell-bent on showing her how it feels to burn.

Fuck, even now my cock stirs.

“Clumsy?” I nod at the mess.

Her lips press tight, confirming my suspicions. This wasn’t an accident.

I wait for her explanation, and the silence between us grows.

Grunting, I brush by her. I feel her eyes tracking my movements. I take the pitcher from the fridge and a glass from the cabinet, and then pour myself a water flavored with fresh lemon slices. I finish my drink in a few gulps, and then refresh my glass.

When temptation becomes too unbearable, I finally look at her, only to discover she’s eye-fucking me like I’m the finest filet mignon. My glass misses my lips, and water spills all over me.

Fucking hell.

Cheeks darkening, her gaze snaps up. “I’ll clean the mess up.”

“You do that.” I’m tempted to grab her wrist, tug her closer, and order her to start with my wet cock. Instead, I intentionally leave the pitcher and empty glass on the counter and move by her.

“Wait.” She touches my arm.

I glare down at her hand until she drops it.

“This stain is stubborn. Is there something else I can wear?”

“Ask a housemaid for a new uniform.”

“I can’t … don’t want to bother them, being they’re so busy cleaning .” She practically spits out the last word.

“Listen, Cinderella. Either you wear a new uniform or prance around naked.” Does she think I’ve time for standing around chatting about goddamn clothing?

Her lips pull into a thin line.

“Anything else?”

With a sigh, she glances at the stain and then murmurs, “Well, at least now I can go up a size.”

“Fuck no,” is my firm response.

She frowns, confused.

“Same size.”

“But it doesn’t fit ,” she protests.

I raise my arms and run my fingers through my hair. The same fire from earlier reappears in her eyes.

Fucking attraction.

“The only reason I’m keeping you around are those tits. Same size or no uniform—your choice. I want to see those beautiful knockers all day and every day. Capisci?”

Her jaw drops, and, issue resolved, I walk away.

RILEY

People dream about escaping to a place like Sardinia, with its white-washed villas, soft sandy beaches, and water as blue as a cloudless sky.

My thoughts are preoccupied with escaping it .

I glare at the tracking device anchored around my ankle, a reminder the only way I’m leaving paradise is if he allows it.

A day has passed since he paraded around in a towel, barefoot with damp hair and familiar scowl. I’m still mortified he caught me checking him out. His body battered, bruised, and beautiful in a rugged, manly way.

He seems stronger. But maybe it’s because I now know he’s a mafioso and have witnessed him in action. Strong? That’s an understatement. He leads his men with a sharp bite and an iron fist. They respect him, though. Some men—like the soldier who provided me with a new uniform—even fear him.

Even with a bedsheet wrapped around my waist and concealing more than that horrid uniform, the poor man studied the white rafters overhead while I traded soiled clothes for fresh clothing. His response is familiar. Alessandro’s soldiers pretend I don’t exist.

And the brunettes are more aggressive. I avoid them but don’t always succeed. Like yesterday’s incident with the tomato sauce. If a pitcher was within reach inside the refrigerator, I’d have hit her harder this time.

Reluctant to wear the uniform, I toss the new package onto the bed and head outside. Sunshine and time away from a villa full of vipers might ease my mood. I quickly unfurl the sheet and toss it over the balcony balustrade, obstructing the view from below. With a sigh, I settle into a chair and close my eyes, letting the sun’s warmth melt away my troubles.

I’m nearly asleep when his punishing voice penetrates deep. “You almost finished in New York?” he demands. A few heartbeats pass. “Good. I’ll have a car waiting at the airport … Miss you? Like a bad case of limp dick.”

Who is he talking to? Tommaso? But he’s in Atlanta. Is there another soldier Alessandro’s on familiar terms with?

“Update me on Atlanta. Was Conti’s great-uncle any use?”

Whatever is being relayed takes time.

“Fuck. How can an asshole as stupid as Conti just disappear?” I jump when something crashes against the wall. “And did you find any helpful information in New York? Did she talk?”

I roll up to sit, suddenly chilled to the bone.

“Still believes her boyfriend ran off with Riley?” Pause. “Best friend, my ass.”

Oh my God. Is Tommaso with Emily?

“Bleeding like a stuck pig yet still denies knowing anything about that fuckhead’s deception?”

I cover my mouth with my hand and stifle a cry. No. No. No.

“If she has nothing more of value to say, then end it. Capisci?”

The room next door grows quiet.

But bells echo through my thoughts like I’m summoned to a Sunday mass.

Emily bleeding.

Emily questioned about Ciro.

Emily … gone.

I race into the room, and then slide into the uniform. With no plan in mind except to face the monster in the next room and beg him to spare my best friend’s life.