Page 2 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

Right now, there’s a lot of rage flooding my insides. Every time I think about Joey and what they did to him…

But it was my own fault. I dug my heels in, not wanting to play the role of babysitter for my cousin who had a mouth that just never knew when to quit.

Salvo closed in on us and wanted to make sure we knew he was here to stay.

And I want to make sure the family is protected from theStidda,the Sicilian mafia. For years, we haven’t had any bloodshed and they’ve operated their underground card games and gambling rings far away from our territories.

But then Salvo took over and edged closer and closer, taking out any obstacles in his way.

Including my cousin.

So, yeah, it’s personal.

“You know that if you lose one too many ‘whales’, your whole gambling operation is fucked, which is pretty much where we’re at right now because of Salvo. If he’s out of the picture, the rest of his crew will scatter like cockroaches. So you’d better believe I’m not gonna do anything that will scare him off before I sink a knife into his throat.”

TheStiddawill take bigger bets than any other gambling ring around, which makes their operation a hell of a lot riskier than ours, but it also attracts a shit ton more cash from local degenerate gamblers who have it to burn.

Cash that should be ours.

And I think it’s time they get a little reminder about who actually runs this city.

He has to know I’ll be back to avenge Joey’s death, to get retribution, and to make his gambling ring crumble.

The fish always stinks from the head, so you’ve just got to cut it off.

That’s the plan.

I take a deep breath and pull open the door. A blast of some noxious combination of cigarette, cigar, and pot smoke assaults me as we walk farther into the place, our shoes sticking to the disgusting black floor with each step we take toward the bar. I also know from my research that the bartender is the one who clears ‘patrons’ for the games. You give him the word and he makes a call.

But if you look any bit suspicious, the call won’t be to the gaming host. It’ll be to a beefy security guy who’ll pummel the shit out of you in the back parking lot before he leaves your mangled body a bloody mess in a dumpster.

“What’ll you have?” the bartender grunts at me. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt that stretches across his massive chest. Hell, with his bald, tattooed head, angry eyes, and hulking body, looks like he might be security, too.

“I’m really in the mood for some fries. No grease.” My lips stretch into a straight line, my spine stiff. He eyes me up and down and for a second, the thought occurs to me that he might know who I am. I mean, I’m not the infamous boss that my father is, but I get around as his second-in-command. Usually, it’s for behind-the scenes shit like dismembering people who screw us over, and even though I’m not pimping my conquests all over the Dark Web, you never really know who’s got eyes on you.

Papa has always told us the importance of flying under the radar.

It’s hard to get shit done if everyone knows who you are and what you’re after.

But when the bartender gives a quick nod, I release the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

He leans toward me and hisses under his breath, “Last door at the end of the hallway.”

I keep my expression as stoic as possible to show him I’m no stranger to danger.

And while I definitely am not, this ‘raid’ on Salvo probably isn’t my best idea. But it’s the only way for me to make it known that you don’t fuck with the Villani family. I mean, Christ. I work my ass off and for what? For these savages to steal money right out of my pocket?

I know Papa probably has some fancy-ass plan to scare them back to their holes in southern Italy with some scathing rhetoric and maybe a chopped off hand to really make his point.

I have a different plan for Salvo.

He called me out, even if he didn’t know it at the time.

And so here I am, fucko.

Dante and I take a left out of the bar and slowly creep down the garbage-scented hallway. I wrinkle my nose. Saying the place smells foul is a gross understatement. How the do they attract so much goddamn money? I can’t imagine waltzing down this hallway with millions burning a hole in my pocket, wondering if a giant rat is gonna pop out of a corner and sic me with some disease.

“You think they’re storing bodies buried in shit here?” Dante mumbles, gagging a little as we approach the doorway. “What the hell else would generate that kind of stink?”

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