Page 7 of Mafia Darling

Then I slapped some lipstick on my lips and emerged. “How does it look?” I asked Mariella, who was applying more mascara.

“That is the wrong shade for you.” She whipped out a pack of makeup remover wipes. “Here, use this and I’ll give you another one.”

Sure, right. Why not? Two mafia mistresses hanging out in a bathroom, trading makeup tips and dolling ourselves up for murderers.

Wake up, Frankie. You aren’t a mafia mistress any longer.

True. And who cared what I looked like?

I used the remover wipe on my lips then threw it away. “No, thanks. I don’t need lipstick.”

“Suit yourself.” She fluffed her perfect hair. “Come. Enzo does not like to wait.”

I followed her out of the bathroom. “Do you have any food?”

“More protein bars are in the car.”

The men followed us back to the car, where Enzo stood, frowning in our direction. He gave some orders to the men behind us, and the two soldiers turned around and returned to the ladies’ toilet. Shit. Would they find what I’d written?

I tried not to panic as I settled into the back of the car. Enzo stood outside, not moving, and Mariella gave me a protein bar and another bottle of water before turning back to her phone. I ate it quickly, hoping to settle my stomach for the drive, and watched out the window.

The two soldiers reemerged, and one walked over to speak quietly to Enzo. When Enzo slid into the driver’s seat, his dark gaze caught mine in the rearview mirror. “A message on the stall. Very clever, Frankie.”

My stomach clenched and it had nothing to do with hormones.

Enzo continued. “You know, you and Ravazzani talk a good game, but I don’t believe either of you.”

Then he was a fool. “Just because Fausto and I are through doesn’t mean I want to go anywhere with you. Let me go, Enzo.”

“Not just yet.” Starting the car, he drove out of the station. “I need you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Fausto

When most mafia soldati killed, they wore black. The color hid bloodstains better than any other.

I preferred to wear white. I wanted the next man to know what happened to the man before. I wanted to see the fear in his eyes when he realized what I was capable of.

Right now, my white shirt was soaked in blood. The metallic smell filled the dungeon and my nostrils, the floor sticky under my leather shoes. It had been so long since I let the darkness take over, and I welcomed the sensation. I needed to kill, to feel life draining out from under my blade, hear their cries as they begged for me to stop.

My heart pounded, my body alive after weeks of being numb. I had a purpose now and that was to get my dolcezza back. Anyone who stood in my way would regret it.

Two men lay crumpled on the stone floor at my feet, pools of red beneath them. They hadn’t talked—but I was betting the third one would.

We captured three of D’Agostino’s men yesterday, brought them back to Siderno, and tortured them for information on their boss’s beach home. Francesca was being kept there, and I wanted to know everything I could about the inside. Rooms, security cameras, occupants—even down to the paint colors and carpet patterns.

I smiled as I sat down in front of D’Agostino’s soldier. Though he couldn’t move, he jerked against his bindings, trying to get away from me.

A waste of time. There was no escape for this man, and the terror in his eyes told me he knew it.

I set my knife on my thigh, the silver blade dripping red. “Do you think to leave here alive?”

The man, who looked only a few years older than my son, trembled and shook his head. “No, Don Ravazzani.”

“Correct, but you have a choice. You may hold out on me and suffer, like your brothers”—I gestured to the floor—“or you may help me and die an honorable death. Quick, painless. I’ll see your body returned to your family in Napoli.”

He swallowed hard and a bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

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