Page 11 of Mafia King's Forbidden Obsession

The bastard is known worldwide for his drug dealing. The fact that he was at my club alone raises questions, even for me. A smart man like Russo should know that your first stop shouldn’t be a club when you break out of prison. That’s too public.

To make matters worse, someone took a photo of him at the club. My informant in the media called and informed me.

If that photo gets out, everything I’ve worked so hard to build—my reputation as an upstanding businessman—will be in jeopardy. I stand the risk of being questioned. Worse, the media will probe into my business and may sniff out something.

Despite the number of officials I have on my payroll, none of them would be able to do a fucking thing.

For years, I’ve succeeded in being on the positive side of the media, but now… I inhale another drag of smoke, then hit the tip against the ashtray to kill the fire. As much as I hate to admit it, I was caught unawares. That rarely happens.

That’s why I went ahead with the hospital fundraiser at my hotel. It was to keep the public focused on the good. To make sure they see the image I’ve worked so hard to create. To everyone outside the mafia world, I’m a businessman, a charming philanthropist who never runs out of women.

I don’t keep women for long. I barely even remember their names after they’ve been coerced into my bed. But surprisingly,hername has been stuck in my head since that night.

Brown eyes, dark hair, and a curvaceous body, that woman was different from any I’d ever tasted. Raven Nightshade was one of a kind. Perhaps it was her blush or the warmth of her pussy; whatever it was, I know it’ll take at least four women to wipe that name from my head.

Warding off the unnecessary thought, I return my focus to Elio. As if on cue, he continues.

“I’ve been checking if the guards at the club know anything about it. All my research shows they don’t,” he clears his throat, stifling his nose slightly at the smoke I exhale. “The CCTV caught Russo inside the club but not entering. My best guess is camouflage.”

“Of course...” I ball my hand into a fist, rising to my feet, “…he surfaces out of nowhere with a camouflage.”

All for what? To bring my hard work to ruins?

A dry laugh escapes my lips at the thought when I reach my window. The sight of my endless expanse of yard greets me, men echoing orders and a fleet of cars gracing the landscape. The sight of twenty-five years of hard work.

I'm not labeled the largest mafia operation on the east coast for no reason. My cartel, the Marino, is built upon a solid basis ofloyalty, trust, and ruthlessness. It’s been so since Father handed it over to me at twenty-one. And I don't intend for that to change.

“Check all fucking CCTVs.” I don't take my eyes off my yard. “The ones leading into the streets, the ones on the streets, and the ones around our other establishments.”

The last thing I want is a surprise exposé on another of my establishments.

“I’ll make sure it’s handled, Boss.” He nods, bringing both hands to his front.

“You’d better,” I frown, glancing at a corner where a plethora of white vans are parked. They're delivery vans. A surge of pride displaces any other feeling. Methamphetamine, cocaine, heroin, Indian hemp… name it. Every fucking drug on this earth, I’ve manufactured and distributed. I've supplied quality with minimal disruptions from both cops and rival cartels.

Being the mastermind behind every smooth operation brings me satisfaction. Getting to this point was a combination of risk and tenacity.… but never luck.

In my world, luck doesn't exist. Suddenly my mood changes, and every feeling vanishes, leaving in its place a familiar emptiness. If it did, I wouldn't have suffered the greatest tragedy of my life fifteen years ago. I wouldn’t have to deal with occasional nightmares from a battle I was forced to fight.

The sound of a phone ringing distracts me from my thoughts. I turn my back but Elio is already fishing out his phone from his pocket. He bows slightly to me and then walks out to receive his call.

I turn back, but before I can relive good memories, he comes back inside. I immediately sense that something is wrong. His demeanor is fiercer, eyes holding unspoken trouble.

“There’s something else, Boss.”

Bringing my hands into my pockets, I deadpan, “Che cos'è(What)?”

“Our shipment’s been intercepted,” one of my men just announced on the other end.

My temper flares. I grab the phone from Elio. It takes great restraint not to slam it into the desk. “Intercepted?! How the fuck did this happen?”

“Non siamo ancora sicuri(We are not sure yet), Boss. We are trying to understand it and to track them down,” the man replies.

How much more shit do I have to put up with today?

“Get on it! Do whatever the fuck it takes to find out who did this and get our shipment back. I’m on my way.”

I hang up. First Russo, and now our shipment’s been intercepted because of some fucking perpetrator. These people keep testing me.

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