Page 284 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

The entire place is painted, white which makes it look even grander than it is. And carefully curated pieces of abstract art in bold colors are strategically placed to offer pops of color and brightness. And the view?

Fucking outstanding.

I’ve got every high-end piece of electronic equipment, a gym, and a top-of-the-line Viking kitchen that would give celebrity chef and personal friend of mine, Tommy Marcone, a hard-on.

Everything.

None of it makes me happy, though. Not when I know one wrong move can shatter my perfect and expensive-as-hell bubble.

People think this stuff gives them legitimacy. I guess I did, too, when Matteo first put me in charge. I figured I needed all of the components to really be the part I wanted to play. As time went on, I realized how fast the rug can be pulled out from under you, and material things don’t do shit to cushion a steep fall from the top of the food chain.

You’ll just crash…hard.

And the possessions won’t do you a damn bit of good if you’re in traction.

Or dead.

People may be impressed by all of this, but to me? It’s just more to lose, more hanging in the balance, more of a noose around my neck.

More pressure to not fuck up, worse than I already have, that is.

A sharp pain shoots down my arm from the stress.

How fast your life can go from being great to being hell.

Speaking of hell, I’m sure Matteo will be calling at some point and he’s gonna want an update on his organization, the one I’ve just shrunk down by about five-hundred grand.

“So, this is my gilded cage for the foreseeable future, huh?” Marchella says, stepping into the apartment, her sneakers squeaking on the floor. “Or are you going to keep me locked up in some dungeon?”

I toss my keys onto a nearby table and wave a hand around. “You see any doors?”

She folds her arms over her chest. “I’d say you have great taste, but I’m pretty sure it’s not your taste I’d be complimenting.”

I shrug, leaning against the stairway. “I’m not offended. I know the skills I bring to the table, and interior design ain’t one of them.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” she says darkly. “I believe murder and kidnapping are two of those said skills.”

“Whoa, those are some harsh words.” Dante struts into the foyer with only a towel wrapped around his waist. He nods at Marchella. “Who put the rusty nails in her Cheerios this morning?”

I roll my eyes at my brother. “You couldn’t have put on pants, Dante?”

“You’re lucky I have on this towel. I prefer to be free as the day I was born, but I wouldn’t want to offend your guest…or make her jealous.” He gives a long, appraising look at Marchella, and the skin on the back of my neck prickles.

“I’m not a guest,” she hisses, although it takes her a second to respond since she’s focused on Dante’s pecs. A little too focused for my liking, actually. “Your brother here kidnapped me. And if memory serves, we’re old family friends.”

Dante gives Marchella a long look and lets out a whistle before raising his eyebrows at me. “Damn, Romo. Looks like you left out a few details on the phone last night. You that hard up for a date that you had to kidnap your old girlfriend?”

“Fuck off,” I huff, raking a hand through my hair. “This isn’t social.”

“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” she mutters.

Dante looks between us and finally his eyes settle on me. “Sounds like there’s a story here. I could use a drink, but oh, shit. You didn’t bring me the Jack I ordered.”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize laying low was a requirement when you’re on vacation,” I snap. “You’ve got legs and cash, yeah? Couldn’t you have DoorDash’d that shit?”

“Ouch, some host you are,” Dante grumbles at me. He grins at Marchella. “I can see why you’re a little prickly about him. He’s become kind of an acquired taste, you know? Like sushi.”

Her eyes widen. “Actually, he’s more like a fucking lethal poison, the kind that paralyzes you and slowly and tormentingly kills you, shutting down one organ at a time as it infests your body.”

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