Page 83 of Mafia Darling

I didn’t care that the men in the front knew I was kissing my wife, not when Francesca’s lips were this eager, her mouth this hot. Her tits were pressed against my arm, her leg moving restlessly along mine, like she was trying to get closer. I slid my hand up her bare thigh, eager to hear her little whimpers.

Then her stomach growled. Loudly.

I pulled back to see her face turn bright red. She bit her lip. “Sorry. I didn’t get a chance to eat lunch.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t scowl at me,” she snapped. “Nothing sounded good at the time. It’s not a big deal.”

“This is a very big deal. My son or daughter needs you to stay healthy, wife.”

“I’ve got it covered. I don’t need you all up in my business.”

Her flippant attitude did nothing to reassure me. “Your business is my business. Or have you forgotten?”

There was a gelato store a few doors down from the office building where her doctor’s office resided. I glanced at my wife and came to a quick decision. “Pull over, Nesto.”

* * *

Enzo

A noise roused me. But there was no one in the dungeon. Now I was sure I was hearing things.

My brain tried to focus, but it was like slogging through quicksand. I was numb and weak, and every second I was conscious felt like an hour.

There. I heard it again. It was the door.

Cristo! No, no, no.

I shivered, the dread filling my veins like ice water. I tried to remember what little words of prayer I could still recall. Please, help me.

There were more of them this time. I counted at least eight men coming down the stairs. They were moving slower than usual. But why hurry, I supposed? I wasn’t going anywhere.

I heard whispers but couldn’t make them out. That was odd. Usually Fausto was shouting at me, taunting me the second he entered the dungeon.

They came closer, but I didn’t bother looking. I didn’t need to see the smug satisfaction when he saw me, naked and crumpled, on the dungeon floor. I prayed he killed me quickly, but I knew he wouldn’t.

Please.

“Don D’Agostino.”

No one had called me by that name in quite a long time. I opened my good eye and squinted, trying to make out a face.

I knew that face.

It was one of my own men.

“Don D’Agostino,” he breathed, his gaze sweeping down my mangled body. “Thank God you are alive.”

The overwhelming relief caused tears to form, so I closed my eye and relaxed into the dirt floor. Dio santo! They had come for me. Fucking finally.

Ravazzani hadn’t known that I had people close to him, people who would work to get me out, and I prayed each morning it would be the day. I’d all but run out of hope. I was certain after Fausto’s last visit that my time was up.

But I held out long enough. I would soon be free.

Voices carried on around me. “He can’t walk. We’ll need to carry him.”

“But I think his shoulder is dislocated.”

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