Page 13 of Mafia Darling

Mariella tried to keep the conversation going, but Enzo’s men were uninterested in talking, remaining silent, and Enzo gave her one or two word answers. Finally, he looked at me. “Don’t care for the pasta, Frankie?”

“I’m just waiting for the poison to kick in.”

“Now, why would we poison you? You are much more valuable alive than dead.” He pointed to my dish. “Take a bite.”

“I’m allergic to shellfish.” It was a lie. I loved clams.

“I have an adrenaline pen in the house. Go on. It’s rude not to eat in our country.”

I knew this to be true. Zia had given me a hard time about leaving food, even before I was pregnant. I swallowed and looked down. Was there poison in there? Probably not. If Enzo wanted to kill me, I’d be dead already. I twirled pasta on my fork, added a clam, then brought it to my mouth. Goddamn, that was good. Garlicky and rich, with the perfect seasoning and hint of the ocean. I wanted to hate this country, but its food won me over every time.

“If you start to feel sick,” Enzo said with an arrogant lift of his brow, “please let me know.”

Asshole. I ignored him and kept eating, suddenly starving. I guess being tied up and having a gun shoved in my mouth had really worked up an appetite.

“This is my nonna's recipe,” Mariella said. “I make it for Enzo all the time.”

“You mean when he’s here and not at home.” No idea why I’d said it, but these people were not my friends. We weren’t at a dinner party where I was required to be polite. Fuck all of them.

Enzo chuckled and put his hand on Mariella’s thigh. “It is no secret that I’m married. My wife is aware of Mariella. It’s okay with her.”

“How progressive of you.”

“There is no such thing as monogamy in Italia, Frankie.”

Super. Life lessons from my kidnapper. “I suppose Mariella is afforded the same privilege, then. What about your wife? Can she sleep around, too?”

His expression hardened, lips thinning into a cruel slash. I saw the capo in that moment, the one who killed and tortured for a living. “It is not the same for women.”

“So much for being progressive.”

Everyone’s head swiveled back and forth, watching us. Mariella appeared horrified, but Enzo seemed amused. Mostly. “Did you speak to Ravazzani this way? Not holding your opinions back?”

“I have a brain and I prefer to use it. Anyone who doesn’t like it can fuck off.”

Mariella gasped, while Enzo’s gaze darkened, sharpened into something hungry and fierce. “You have a mouth on you. Perhaps you need a lesson in respect.”

Fear shot along my spine. Shit. Why had I spoken so openly? And why had I used curse words? Did he see this as a challenge? That was a dumb question. Of course he did. Now he had to put me in my place in front of his men. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have spoken so rashly.”

“Too late.” He pushed back from the table. “Come. You are going to get on your knees and beg for forgiveness from every man here.”

What the fuck?

Beg for the forgiveness of these murders? Was he for real? Everything inside me wanted to scream, No, I won’t do it. I knelt in the past to Fausto during our sexy games . . . but those days were over. I bowed to no man, not any more.

Except how could I refuse? Not following Enzo’s order was like a slap in the face. He would have to punish me—and who knew whether this house had a dungeon?

We stared at one another. Panic and dread filled my mouth, drying it out. Would he relent if I asked for his forgiveness right now? Damn it, why did I always make trouble like this? All I had to do was sit and eat quietly, and I hadn’t been able to manage it.

The moment stretched with the entire group waiting to see what I would do. I gathered my pride and decided this would not kill me. I could endure a few minutes of humiliation to stay alive. Pushing back from the table, I started to rise—until a faint noise sounded and the soldier across from me fell back in his chair, a bullet hole in his forehead.

Oh, my God.

I watched as another soldier went down with a bullet, and then Mariella screamed. Chaos erupted, and I dove under the table. As the men scrambled, Enzo came after me, apparently unconcerned about Mariella, who was still screaming out there.

Another soldier dropped to the patio, dead. I covered my mouth, trying to hold down my pasta. What was happening? Some rival gang attack?

I knew it wasn’t Fausto. He couldn’t have been clearer on the phone in Enzo’s car, especially after having ignored me for three weeks at the beach house. If there was a rescue team coming for me, it wasn’t from Siderno.

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