Page 9 of Dark Mafia Heir

Fuck, that girl is hot in a way that can make a man beg on his knees. I’ve been with a lot of women, but something about her makes her irresistible. It’s not just her beauty, but her fierceness and protectiveness.

If she weren’t Peter Cole’s daughter, she would have been something more to me—someone dear. Not that I would fall in love with her, but I would keep her all to myself.

Even now, despite knowing who she is, I’m tempted to make her mine. Asides my revenge, it will be fun to see Peter’s face when he realizes his little girl warms my bed and sucks my cock.

“Dante wouldn’t have wanted this,” Luca says. Those words are enough to make me snap my head in his direction.

“Dante is dead. What he would’ve wanted does not matter.” My insides flare with rage. “What matters is that I punish those who stole his life from him. Do you understand?”

Luca hesitates, but he finally nods. “How are we going to do that? Dante won’t just talk because you want him to.”

I smirk as Vivienne and her sister walk out of the café. Vivienne suddenly stops walking and turns around.

Her emerald eyes meet mine. They’re sparkling under the afternoon sun, filled with so much life that I just want to drain them out of her, little by little, until there’s only darkness left.

For a moment, I want to think she’s seen me, but the tinted windows do not give me the chance to be that delusional.

She stares at my car for a moment longer before her sister, Harper, grabs her hand and pulls her along with her.

“Oh, trust me. There’s a way to make him talk,” I drawl with amusement.

Luca shakes his head. “Please tell me it is not what I’m thinking, Nio.”

I chuckle sardonically at the surprise on his face. For someone who tortures men to death and smiles in their faces while he does it, Luca is such a soft guy.

He’d be better off selling cotton candy at Disney or wearing Barney costumes if he wasn’t so good at shooting a gun.

It’s not that he’s a good guy. For most of us, women and children are where we draw the line. While I would like to continue being that perfect gentleman who wouldn’t drag a woman into mafia business, I’ve gone past the point of giving a shit.

My phone buzzes, and my alarm goes off. It’s almost time for Dante’s funeral. My chest tightens with an ache I haven’t felt since I lost my family.

It’s the feeling of losing someone you care about, and it fuels me with so much hate and rage that nothing else matters.

The car roars beneath me as I turn on the engine and flash a mirthless smile at Luca. “If what you’re thinking is as dark and twisted as the voices in my head, then you’re right.”

I’ve always hated funerals.The gloomy faces and red-rimmed eyes are something that makes me uncomfortable.

And there is a little bit of jealousy at the fact that people get to bury their loved ones—something I never had the chance to do since I became homeless after my parents and younger brother were murdered.

I was just seventeen then. Too young and afraid to protect my family. I’d run the night they were killed, and I lived on the streets for a while before Dante found me and brought me home.

He taught me everything I know, from how to shoot a gun to how to be ruthless and cold-blooded.

The only thing he’d not taught me was how to move on when he was no longer here. He was the last family I had left, and they took him from me.

Dry leaves rustle under my feet as I walk towards the group of people gathered in one part of the cemetery. From the distance, I can see Dante’s white coffin waiting to be lowered to the ground.

I’ve killed more people than I can count, but this hits different in a way that makes my chest hurt. I still can’t believe I won’t get his annoying calls or get to hear him nag when I drink his favorite whiskey.

It feels surreal.

I stop in front of the priest and bow my head as he prays for Dante’s soul. Birds chirp in the distance, and any normal person would revere the scent of flowers and earth.

But not me. All I can smell is the stench of formaldehyde and rotten corpses. This place reeks of death, and it makes me nauseous.

The prayers are over after what feels like an eternity, and Dante is lowered to the ground. I take a fistful of sand and toss into the grave, promising to take my revenge on whoever is responsible for his death.

My mind drifts back to Vivienne. She’ll be the perfect tool for my revenge. I’ll use her while breaking her bit by bit until Peter goes on his knees to beg me for his little girl to be returned to him.

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