Dirty Mafia Sinner (Dirty Mafia Kingdom #2)

Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

SANDRO

The heat coming off New York City’s skyscrapers could roast a turkey. Jet lag doesn’t improve my mood. Neither does the bland Italian food I ordered for dinner. Even my luxurious apartment—complete with all the bells and whistles that please me—seems small and empty. One huge fucking pink bow, though, that’s wrapped around this shitshow is my visit to Rhode Island has been cancelled. Don Lucchese’s health has deteriorated, so while I’m stateside, my father’s visiting him in Tuscany. Word is Father left sweet little Alessia behind.

All the more reason to avoid Rhode Island.

“Mr. Beneventi.” My new Riverview construction manager races up to me with a fucking helmet in hand. “You need to put this on before we tour the site.” He’s a churchgoing family man, according to the background check, with a lot of false notions about what I can’t do. His concern is noted, and then ignored. I’d rather be hit in the head by a falling object than suffocate beneath this helmet.

I take it from him, and toss it over my shoulder.

He stares at me in horror.

Waving a hand, I gesture toward the newly framed building. “Let’s go.”

I allow him to lead me inside, and the tour begins. Despite the loss of my former manager, construction’s on track. My father will be pleased—isn’t that what matters most?

Was it obvious years ago that I’d become the Beneventi heir? One different DNA sequence in the twin gene pool that gave me brass balls and my brother a limp dick in need of medication to get hard? My father would often visit our playroom as kids. He filled it with every toy imaginable, but my favorites were the Lego sets. I’d spend hours assembling them, working out what fits and what doesn’t, creating something to its completion, controlling every step. Renzo said I played with a stick up my ass. The shithead would steal into the room after I left and wreak havoc on my creations, ruining my hard work.

Even then, I was the son who put things together and Renzo was the son tearing things apart.

Riverview Casino was my father’s gift to me, a trade for my sacrifices. Unlike Dante’s Atlanta project, I delivered in spades. Riverview will bring in more money than any of our other ventures, and the Eleven will take notice. My reputation as Sebastiano Beneventi’s rightful heir will be indisputable. I’ll be the son my father can boast about.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

My construction manager looks startled. “Something wrong, sir? I’ll stop construction—”

“Jet lag, is all.” And a fucked-up psyche I won’t dwell long enough on to fix.

He nods, relieved. “Will you be returning to Italy soon?”

Family man or not, I’d be an idiot to fully trust him. “If we ever get this motherfucking tour over with.”

“Oh,” he stutters. “Well, then … over in this area…” He proceeds to describe in great detail every step in the progress we’ve made.

While I take half-assed notes to share with my father.

While the honest answer to his question rests on the tip of my tongue.

Not soon enough.

RILEY

Feminine laughter filters into the kitchen from the pool deck. I wipe my hands on a towel as the flock of brazen brunettes surrounds a dark-haired man by the bar.

I’m a prisoner here. Unlike them, who leave or stay at will. Unlike Alessandro, who can disappear without warning or explanation.

While the monster’s away, the hornets will play.

And I want no part of it.

I recognize Tommaso, as he’s feet taller than them. One woman tugs his arm as they shamelessly laugh and flirt.

Even from the door, I can see her red lips pout. Yet he refuses to budge.

Sandro won’t like this.

Tommaso ushers them away, probably thinking the same.

I step into the pantry, dodging them as they parade inside.

It’s the man outside I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to speak to.

Tommaso’s behind the bar and double-fisting vodka shots when I reach him; an empty glass is in his right hand and a full one raised to his lips in the other. A half-empty vodka bottle sweats on the bar in the summer air.

I slide into a bar seat, and he freezes. “You got to be shitting me,” he mutters. “Can’t a man find some peace around here?”

“Alessandro won’t appreciate that they flirt with you.”

His wrist flicks and he shoots back the vodka, and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. A bit uncouth, but he is a big brute with huge hands and a neck the size of my thigh. And I confused him for an Uber driver? “Boss doesn’t give two shits what they do,” he finally says.

“He’s possessive,” I insist, questioning how well he actually knows his boss. Even I understand playing nice with other men in the same sandbox is not Alessandro’s forte.

Tommaso gaze skims over me. “Only about important things.”

“Like …?”

He flips both shot glasses upside down on the bar, then cocks an eyebrow at me. “What he won’t like is this. So get yourself gone.”

“I waited for him in his office for over an hour.” My heart jumping every time footsteps approached, only to sink with disappointment as they passed by. I square myself on the barstool. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

He shoots me a hard look.

“But he made me sit there, anyway,” I softly add. “So you can report back and communicate what an obedient pet I was.”

“Obedient? You’re still here, hassling me.” He rummages through a cabinet as he speaks, and then places an empty shot glass on the bar top, pours a yellow liquor into it, and pushes it toward me. “If we’re doing this, best drink up.”

“Limoncello?” I shoot back the shot before he can answer. It’s tasty, a refreshing blend of alcohol, lemon, and sugar.

“Describe your relationship with Ciro Cigorelli.”

I choke on empty air at his icy tone. “My relationship?” My eyebrows pinch hard enough to give me a headache. “Ciro was my best friend’s boyfriend and my boss.”

He studies me closely. If I were standing, I’d be shifting on my feet. “You deal coke for him?”

My lips part with a gasp. “You’re the second person to accuse me of that, and my answer’s the same—no.”

“The police discovered a small fortune’s worth of coke in his office.”

I shake my head. “I promise you it wasn’t there the day I met you at the casino. The day Ciro…”

“Had a date with a cement truck?”

“Yes.” A shiver races up my spine. Despising the man is one thing and relishing his murder another. “And he’s responsible for Alessandro’s injuries?”

He drums his fingers on the bar top. “Partially.”

“The other person’s Conti? Who has fled?”

“Correct.” His fingers still. “And there’s one more traitor … you .”

I glance around. A few men stand guard on the lawn beneath the balconies. Otherwise, we’re alone.

I wish he were an Uber driver and not a mafiosi. He could dispose of me, and, like Ciro, no one would miss me.

Except my grandparents.

Except Alessandro .

Wrong, Riley. He’d miss tormenting you. That’s all.

“I never betrayed him.”

“Emily says otherwise.”

I need another shot. “She’s lying.”

“You have shit friends.”

My eyes widen. “You believe me?”

“Give me one good reason to, and I just may.”

“I loved him.”

Tommaso reacts much like Alessandro did. Like I rattled a hornet nest with one switch of a stick, sent the swarm buzzing, and caught him in the middle of it all.

They say the truth sets you free. I hope so, because I’m over being Alessandro’s prisoner.

Tommaso stares me down as he weighs my words.

“Ciro discovered our … affair . He used me to get to Alessandro, right?”

“Bing-fucking-go.”

“And I’m here because Alessandro believes I was involved.”

Tommaso snorts.

“You don’t agree?” I demand.

“I’ll give you this much. Sandro’s proud like his father. Weakness, in any shape or form—even a perceived weakness—is intolerable. Whether you knew or not, no longer matters. It’s maintaining the Beneventi name that’s important.”

Like a pin popping a balloon, any lingering hope of reconciling with the monster disintegrates into air. There is no escape.

Tommaso slides another shot toward me.

I toss it back. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Who owned your apartment building?”

Lord, he’s relentless. “Ciro claimed he did. But Emily told me the insurance company believed three investors held the deed.”

“Why did Ciro call you Triple B?”

“Alessandro asked me this, too.” My fingers tighten around the shot glass. “I believed Ciro was poking fun at my bra size. It means Beautiful Beneventi Bait.”

He nods. “She said exactly the same thing the second time around.”

“The second time? What does that mean?”

He folds his arms across his chest. “I’m curious about one thing? Did you mention your … affair … to Emily?”

I roll my lip between my teeth. “No.”

“You kept it a secret?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

His question stirs up a familiar hurt. “Emily shared her issues, and I listened.”

“But you had shit you were dealing with?”

What doesn’t this man know about? “Avoiding, not dealing, okay?”

He stares at me, and then flashes me a smile. “You’ve made some piss-poor relationship choices, you realize that?”

“Piss-poor.” I gesture between us. “I liked you better when you were an Uber driver.”

His laughter rolls across the pool deck, and heads turn. “Damn it. I’m in trouble now.”

“Not as much as the trouble I’m in.” My comment begins as a joke and continues as something far more twisted. “Will he kill me?”

Tommaso chokes on his beer. “Listen, Riley. Innocent or not, I can’t help you. No one here can. Best advice is to go along with his demands until he figures everything out.”

“You mean figures out whether to toss me off this cliff?”

“I’m going to tell you something. If you betray me by repeating it, I’ll toss you off the cliff.”

My eyes widen. “Okay.”

“I sat outside your apartment all those nights.”

“You did ?” It makes sense, now knowing who Alessandro is.

He nods.

“And?”

“You don’t fit in with the plan.”

I frown. Not fit in … “What do you mean?”

“Sandro’s the Beneventi heir. His will isn’t his own anymore—it belongs to his father.” He places his forearms on the bar and leans in. “And you, Riley, are Sandro’s dirty little secret.”

Dirty little secret.

“Did he tell you that?”

Tommaso straightens. “I’ve said enough, but I’ll leave you with this. Play your cards right, and you’ll likely survive.”

“You mean obey my jailor?”

“We’re all prisoners, in one shape or form.”

“He’s not,” I exclaim.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Tommaso’s expression sobers. “Sandro’s more trapped than any of us.”

Alessandro’s sitting in a chair beside my bed when I wake up. Watching me sleep, like he did the night before the explosion. Looking every bit as troubled as he did then.

My heart leaps. “You’re home.”

Really, Riley? Home? I sound like a 1950s housewife welcoming her man back from the office. Except, this isn’t my home, he isn’t returning from a hard day at the office, and I’m not his wife—but hostage.

“What would you do if I removed the tracking device right now?” he silkily asks like he’s inquiring about my favorite tea blend.

I blink sleep from my eyes and grumble, “You won’t take it off.”

He grunts. “You sure?”

I tug the sheet higher, forming a cocoon around my body as if it could protect me. But even if it were steel, studded with pointed blades aimed at him, I’d still be at his mercy. It doesn’t help that he’s woken me, that I’m naked and exposed. “I’m your pet, right? So why set me free when you enjoy keeping me trapped?”

“What would I do if I set you free?” His eyes darken, and suddenly I’m completely awake.

“What would you do?” I whisper.

His grin’s downright sinister. “I’d hunt you down, then spend hours bringing you to climax then denying you release. I won’t be satisfied until your skin’s pink and your body’s bent, straining beneath me. Then, you’d beg me for permission in that fucking sexy, needy voice of yours.”

Oh my God. He’s thought about this. A lot . If I didn’t know better, it’s almost as if he missed me while he was gone.

Impossible. I’m his plaything and a tool for his pleasure.

His face is still slightly bruised, but he’s impossibly handsome, gorgeous if you will. “If we had more time…” His muttered words trail off.

Regret? No, it can’t be. The cobwebs in my mind are holding me hostage to ridiculous thoughts. Like our connection’s still there. Like he snuck into my room and woke me up because he couldn’t wait to see me.

With a soft curse, he abruptly stands.

A familiar loss sweeps over me as our connection slips away on a whisper.

He tosses a satin box onto the night table. “Bring it with you tonight but don’t open it.”

“Tonight? We’re not … meeting … at two o’clock?” Lord, I sound eager. Almost as eager as when I was breathlessly waiting for him to appear the day he left.

“I’ve shit to do.” He wipes his fingers across his jaw as he considers me. Whatever this is about, he seems reluctant to share. Finally, he grinds out, “We’ve dinner reservations at seven.”

The sheet drops as I sit up. His gaze falls, then stills, but I’m too excited to fix it. “You’re taking me to dinner?”

“If I make it out of this goddamn room.”

“In that horrid uniform?”

“I purchased a few things for you while I was in New York.”

My eyebrows hit the rafters.

“The women will be bringing in the boxes shortly.”

“No,” I burst out, not willing to risk another poor canary surprising me inside a box.

He scowls, misunderstanding.

“Did you purchase clothing for any of them?”

“Why the hell would I buy them anything?” he demands, oblivious. “If I wanted Barbara parading around in a red dress and heels, she would be.”

“Not Barbara, Brigetta .”

Despite what he’s saying, despite how he can’t get her name straight, jealousy sinks in. The thought that he has a horde of bitchy brunettes on call …

“You look ready to puke,” he comments.

I’m mortified. Because it doesn’t take a genius to understand why I’m upset. And he’s too smart and knows me too well.

“Put some goddamn clothes on, and I’ll have my man bring the boxes in. Report to my office at five in the red dress and fuck-me heels.” His tone is flat, yet this is all very specific, like he’s been planning this.

I roll my bottom lip between my teeth. Play your cards right, Riley . “Is there red lipstick?”

His eyes darken, giving me the courage to test him further.

“You know, to match?”

The energy between us crackles, and I’m absolutely certain he’s imagining my red lips wrapped around his cock. My pulse quickens, and beneath his intense scrutiny, my skin flushes pink.

“Find a suitable red on your iPad, and my man will fetch it.”

“Are there stores nearby that carry different lipstick shades?”

He shrugs. “Not my problem.”

I almost smile. “I’m looking forward to dinner. Thank you.”

He pins me with a look that sets me on fire and I wonder what else he has in store for me.