Dirty Mafia Sinner (Dirty Mafia Kingdom #2)

Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

RILEY

Alessandro drives like a madman, recklessly accelerating his black Maserati on the flat roadway running along the coastline. Treating it like his own personal racetrack. His security detail must be pulling out their hair in the three trucks that trail us.

The restaurant, Grotta Sardinia, is a small, intimate open-air grotta built into a cliff overlooking the sea and only accessible by a steep stone stairway. The descent is worrisome; I’m wearing a daring red gown with a plunging neckline and expensive five-inch heels. No ankle monitor, though—guess it’d ruin the vibe. Also worrisome is Alessandro’s touch; his arm anchors around my waist, and fingers brush places they shouldn’t. To his amusement, I gasp and whimper the entire way.

He enjoys showing me off, I think as we reach the bottom step. His arm candy. His fuckdoll. Though, aside from staff, the restaurant’s empty. “Did you reserve the entire place?” I ask as he pulls out my chair.

He doesn’t respond.

“Isn’t that expensive?”

“I can afford it.”

My eyebrows arch. “These men must be important.”

“Not particularly.”

God, could he be any more vague? But even though this unfamiliar situation has me less cautious than curious, the view steals the words off my lips.

It’s breathtaking. A U-shaped harbor is below, bustling with yachts, sailboats, and small vessels. A gentle tide rolls in as the sun dips over the open sea. Nature perfectly complemented by man without overtaking it.

Instead of the view, the devil pretending to be an angel by my side watches me like a hawk. Hungry for my reaction? Or worried that if I die and go to heaven at the sight of the beauty surrounding us, he’ll need to find another woman who’ll fit into this expensive red gown?

“It’s spectacular.” Romantic.

Why am I here?

He takes the seat next to mine, and then tugs me down onto mine. The control freak I know oh so well and love to despise fully reappears. “After they arrive, don’t speak unless I say it’s okay.”

I glance at our large table—set for five—then back at him. Reminded this isn’t a date but a business meeting. My excitement deflates like a slowly leaking balloon, but I hide my disappointment by fiddling with the dress’s deep V neckline.

“Cover yourself. No one gets to see your beautiful breasts but me.”

“Yes, sir,” I respond with sass. It’s always somewhere between torment and torture with him, isn’t it? He dressed me up, took me out, and led me to believe this night was special. Except like the expensive Rolex he’s wearing, I’m jewelry.

“I ordered a new chaise for my casita, one particular to my tastes .” He unfolds and places his napkin on his lap. “Any further smart-ass responses, and you’ll be bent over it for days.”

My heart thumps wildly, proof it’s as sick and twisted as my mind. “Tastes?”

“Know what? I dare you to mouth off. Because if my finger is a tight fit, my dick will split you in two. And you’ll take it all, baby, while handcuffed to the chaise.”

My eyes grow wide as his grin confirms his threat.

Instinct presses me to remain quiet. But the promise in what he’s clearly been planning is too tempting. In the sexy, pleading tone he likes so much, I ask, “Will it hurt?”

His nostrils flare, and I force back a smile.

“You bring it?”

Whatever power I thought I had vanishes with one abrupt question. “What?”

“The box.”

I raise my new leather Louis Vuitton handbag, the satin box tucked inside.

He glances at his watch. “Ten minutes before my guests arrive. There’s a bathroom just inside. Go put it on.”

Excitement licks up my spine. What’s inside the box that has him vibrating with big dick energy?

His wicked eyes track my movements as I rise to my feet. Without a word, I brush by him and head toward the restroom. Inside, I withdraw the box, then open its gold latch, expecting something expensive like my new wardrobe. Must be jewelry, right? A necklace?

Alessandro’s surprise has me slamming the lid shut so no one sees.

A vibrator?

Long. Thick. Gold. With dual stimulation, with smaller forked fingers designed to tease a woman’s clit.

And I’ve ten minutes to insert this beast.

I step into a stall, place a heel on the toilet, wiggle and squirm until I fit it inside me. Then, wiping the sweat from my brow, I exit, wash my hands, and return to the table.

The exertion from what I’ve just been through leaves me breathless. But the hunger in Alessandro’s blue eyes makes me lightheaded. He’s like a kid at an ice-cream counter, and I’m his number one flavor. This excites him.

“Good girl.”

Pleasure washes over me, his praise a heady thing. It’s within my nature to feel this way, isn’t it? Though what does this say about me, when the man playing with my emotions has the power to light me up or snuff out my light?

“My guests are here.”

I respond to the censure in his tone with a quick nod.

Three men in expensive suits approach the table, and Alessandro stands.

“Buonasera. Stai bene, Alessandro.” The older man pulls him into a hug, and unsurprisingly, Alessandro stiffens.

“Come vanno gli affari, Carmine?”

Carmine pulls away and switches to English. “Always so quick with the business questions, Alessandro Magno.”

Alessandro offers him a chilly expression, and the other men tense. In fear—they’re afraid of him. “Magno? I’m no longer a kid, old man.”

“No disrespect, eh? I’ve known you and your brother since you were tiny bambinos.”

Alessandro gestures for me to take my seat.

I do so and release a small squeak, the vibrator pushing deeper.

“Una bella rossa, Alessandro?” Carmine exclaims. “No brunette tonight?”

I flinch.

No. No. No. I’m suddenly buried beneath an avalanche of emotion. Eyes blurry, I look anywhere but at the monster with a penchant for buxom brunettes. He has a type—obviously. Is it boredom that has him switching things up? Or his viciously twisted mind playing games with my heart?

God. I hate him.

“Are you going to introduce us?” Carmine continues, while I study the horizon. Searching for a life raft to save me from this torture.

“No.”

Not even worthy of an introduction, am I?

A waiter sets bottles of red wine on the table and fills our glasses.

“You look like you’ve fully recovered.”

Carmine’s comment draws my attention.

“Took a beating, we heard.”

Is this man insane? Or does he have a death wish? Beneath my eyelashes, I study Alessandro’s reaction. His eyebrows pinch. Otherwise, there’s no indication that danger lurks beneath the surface.

“A few taps from a sparring match. My best soldier got carried away. Nothing more worth discussing.” Alessandro sips his wine, signaling the end to further discussion.

In on the lie, I do my best to remain passive.

Carmine completely misses the cue. “Tough, like your old man.”

So does his younger look-alike. “He still alive? You must be angry?”

Alessandro sips his wine and forces everyone to wait on his response. I brace myself, anticipating the worst.

“Alive?” Alessandro shrugs. “Fuck yeah. Only a stupid stranzo would kill his best man for a small indiscretion.” He makes eye contact with all three men. “As for angry? Enough to kill the next fucker who brings it up.”

The old man pales.

The other two study the menu.

And Alessandro locks eyes on me.

Proud, to a fault.

Arrogance, in spades.

Borderline sadistic.

Possessing a power to hurt me that goes far beyond my darkest desires or messed-up mind.

I look away, knowing it’s safer to hate him.

I take in the harbor, and the small yacht anchored below, wrapped up so prettily and at the mercy of the tide, yet with nowhere to go.

“Your family’s hunting for Conti?”

“What’s the word on the street?”

“Just that he angered the Beneventi capo.” Carmine grunts. “After your old man chopped Benny Manocchio into fish bait, che palle.”

Alessandro nods. “That’s right.”

I stifle my gasp. Violence is as common as air for these mafiosi. I’ve witnessed it, firsthand, haven’t I? It’s a miracle I’m alive, considering.

“Spread the word. A million euros to anyone who has information on Conti.”

The men look startled.

“And they contact me directly, capisci?”

Euros light up in their eyes. Money’s a great motivator.

Satisfied, Alessandro reclines in his chair, and his attention shifts back to me.

I swiftly look elsewhere, angry at him yet anxiously wondering when he’ll activate the vibrator. It’s wrong, so wrong to yearn for such a thing. To give him power over my pleasure and pain, especially with an audience who might notice my discomfort.

A waiter appears with plates of food for the table. No one comments on how Alessandro preordered, though idle conversation continues while we eat. I tune them out and relax enough to eat my first meal out in Italy.

I’m spiraling fettuccine around my fork when Alessandro places a hand on my arm, and then leans in. “You’re doing it wrong,” he murmurs. My skin pricks with awareness at his proximity. I’m offered a spoon before his big hand clamps down on my other hand. “The proper way is to wind the fork against a spoon. Like this.” He gently turns my hand while pushing fettuccine into the spoon and creating a neat, bite-size nest.

“Good girl,” he softly praises me.

Twice today, he’s done so. With equally devastating effect. Because my fork hand is shaking so hard, I’m afraid to raise it to my mouth.

The men notice I’m flustered. The weight of their regard heavy—though Alessandro could care less.

I don’t look at him … how can I when he’s like this? Now, I think, and breathlessly wait for the vibrator to hum to life.

He draws closer, his breath warm on my ear. “As much as I’d love getting you off right now, my greedy girl will have to wait until business is over.”

I gasp, and he withdraws. Then, to my immense disappointment, he graces them once more with his attention.

We finish our meal, and the table’s cleared. Carmine Jr. clears his throat. “You speak with your stepbrother these days?”

“Stepbrother?” The question’s tossed in the air like a grenade.

Alessandro has a brother—he shared this with me in New York. But a stepbrother?

“Dante Lucchese?” Carmine Jr. clarifies.

“You mean the son of Don Lucchese, our capo di tutti capi’s son?”

The man squirms in his chair.

“True, my father treats Dante Lucchese like a son. True that Lucchese runs Atlanta now. As for being my stepbrother…”

The men exchange looks.

“Tell me,” Alessandro snaps.

“Just a rumor.”

“Just like the knife I carry in my pocket’s a rumor.”

“Two months ago, Dante Lucchese met with Conti in Rome.”

Alessandro drums his fingers on the table. “That right?”

“Yes.”

“You said it was a rumor yet you’re stating it like a fact.”

The mafiosi quiet.

“A fact I’m only hearing about now.” Alessandro studies each man with a blank expression.

As the dynamics play out, my admiration grows. He’s pure alpha, no question. And I crave security, something lacking in my life for a long time. A familiar ache presses against my heart. If he’d only believe me. If he’d only trust me.

“Dante represents the Atlanta casinos, but Conti controls everything else,” he casually explains. “We Beneventi would never negotiate with that worm. It makes sense Dante would.”

Stepbrother by proxy or not, he’s protecting his father’s man.

Carmine Jr. lowers his voice. “Rumor has it that Lucchese resents your father’s position. That he’d prefer to be named capo di tutti capi and not share responsibilities.”

It happens so fast, no one’s prepared.

Alessandro jumps to his feet, gun drawn. “Rumors like this bear consequences.” He shoots both younger men in the thigh while the third man scrambles to his feet, hands up in surrender.

I freeze, pulse pounding.

“That’s for not sharing this petty gossip sooner, Carmine Magno .” Alessandro thrusts his fingers into the man’s mouth, snatches his tongue and runs the knife across it, cutting it like he’s fileting a fish. “But this is for insulting me earlier.” Alessandro raises an eyebrow, completely unaffected by their blood and panic. “Any more subtle references about Beneventi weaknesses?”

“Mr. Beneventi,” Carmine Jr. blusters. “Apologies for offending you.”

“The only goddamn rumors I’m interested in revolve around Conti’s location. Capisci?”

Carmine nods vigorously.

Alessandro pulls out his wallet and tosses a wad of money onto the table. “For the food and hospital bills. When we meet next time, I’ll bring a suitcase with the reward money. The deal’s still on. Find that motherfucker.”

Alessandro curls his fingers around my biceps and hauls me out of the restaurant.

“You shot them.”

He fastens my seat belt, then rounds the car and climbs in.

“Clean shots. They’ll be out of the hospital in no time. They should be thankful they’re alive.”

“But did you have to cut his tongue?”

His eyebrows pinch in annoyance at my shaky tone. Like my fear upsets him … like his brutality is justified. “He’ll think twice about running it now.”

“How can you be so cavalier?”

“It’s what monsters do.”

I flinch.

He leans toward me, and I immediately sink back in the seat. With a vicious tug, he rips my gown wide open. My breasts spill out, but I don’t dare cover them. Not with him wound tighter than a spring inside a loaded shotgun.

The Maserati purrs to life and he accelerates out of the parking lot like a madman.

With a cry, I tumble back in the seat.

“Keep pushing me with those hurt-filled looks. It’s not like I took a knife to you, though fuck knows I should have a long time ago.”

I shrink away, even though I recognize what’s become a pattern of idle threats.

“What? Did you anticipate a fun night out?” he grinds out. “You think Alessandro Beneventi gets to do fun nights out?” He slams his palm against the steering wheel. “I’m only a pawn in a bigger game, baby. It’s play or pay. And if you think what happened back there was horrifying, my father’s payment for the insults would be ten times more brutal.”

He falls silent.

And I don’t utter a word, but Tommaso’s admission plays on repeat in my mind. Alessandro’s more trapped than any of us.

Maybe I have it wrong.

Maybe he doesn’t enjoy being a heartless monster.

Maybe this is the “play” his father expects from him?

“I want to hear you say it,” he growls. “I hate you, Alessandro.”

“What?” I cry out.

“You need a hearing aid? Say it. I hate you, Alessandro.”

I press my lips together, refusing to give in. Yes, I’ve thought it before—whispered it in my mind, chanting it, when he was spanking those bullies—but I didn’t mean it. How could I? Anyone would snap under the pressure he’s put me through. But now, even with everything he’s done, with the promise of an easier life if I just give him the words he craves, I can’t summon a hatred that isn’t there.

He tilts his head, a dark smirk playing on his lips. “Disobey me?” he sneers. “Seems like I’ve neglected you.”

And then I feel it. The vibrator’s sudden quake.

No. No. No. This is so wrong. So cruel. Why now, with so much anger behind it?

I will my body not to respond, and he amps up the vibrations. “Say it, and I’ll stop.”

My lips part with a gasp, but no words accompany it. Why not obey? Why not give in to his command and be done with this misery? This isn’t a game. This is torture. His will against mine. I’m at a serious disadvantage here.

“One press of a button is the difference between agony and peace.”

By agony, he means the vibrator. But, for whatever reason, saying those words is worse. “You go first,” I blurt out. “And then I’ll obey. Go on: I hate you, Riley.”

I brace for his response.

“You invited me in.”

“What?”

“With your pretty green eyes, tight fucking pussy, and sweet words. But the best part was your submission. Remember what you told me?”

I’m shocked to my core. “What did I say?” I ask in a rush.

“You’re the best kind of hurt.”

Oh my God. He remembers? Our last morning was the most intimate moment in my life. I felt cared for. Protected. In love . Yet time has a funny way of altering the truth. I told myself it wasn’t real. My feelings, maybe. But his emotional involvement, not a chance, especially considering he smashed my heart with the breakup that followed.

“Why did you go and ruin it?” he continues, relentless. “A dirty fuck and some laughs, that’s what I was after.”

“I trusted you.” There, I said it.

“I never asked for your trust.”

“No,” I whisper. “You were too busy demanding my heart and soul.”

“You came alive beneath my touch.”

“I’ve been making love to a heartless killer.”

He snorts. “Fucking a heartless killer.”

I spin on him. “No. We made love that morning.”

“Love?” he repeats like it’s a dirty word.

His jaw tics, and the vibration stops.

I watch and wait. But then he cranks up the radio and ends all conversation.

We reach the villa, and he pulls into the garage like a bat out of hell, nearly hitting the wall before the brakes lock.

What in God’s teeth? Is he completely, utterly deranged?

“Fuck.” He pounds the steering wheel.

Wide-eyed, I stare at him.

He glares at me and then, in the next blink, exits the car.

“Where are you going?” I ask, concerned. We were so close … so blissfully close to reconciling. I want the time back … want our discussion to continue …

“To find an obedient distraction.”

He disappears inside.

Pain, deep and profound, grips me. How can he be so callous? How can he be so cruel?

I was wrong that morning.

He’s the worst kind of hurt.