Page 41 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

Before I can question this, a drunk stumbles and weaves out the door, bringing with him a blast of music, voices, whiskey and stale cigarettes.

“Let’s do this.”

We walk into the dark bar like we own it. I cast my gaze over the room. Patrons and Declan’s people. I can pick out the mafia goons with a scant glance. All that kind have the same air, including mine. Always watching, waiting. But the king himself won’t be out here. He and his royal court will be waiting for me to come to them. Not just walking in the door, but to them, their chosen inner sanctum.

A basic power play, and one that bores me.

When I’ve destroyed those I need to destroy to have this stronghold, I might leave the bar as a sentiment, a warning. Simply because I’m nice like that.

My bride most likely won’t make it through, which is a pity. But there’s always collateral damage, and she’ll be another victim. I don’t give a fuck. Pussy is all around, and hers may be finer than most I’ve had, but…

And there she is.

The flame red ponytail pushed through a baseball cap slung low over her face would be enough to make her stand out. But it’s more than that. It’s Heaven’s stance, the energy that rolls off her and slides beneath the skin. That’s what gives her away.

Although, I didn’t think the underboss would be slinging drinks and stacking glasses like a modern-day Cinderella.

An elbow hits my side and I realize Roman’s been talking low to me.

“Matty? You sure about this? You’ve been staring at her?—”

“Shut the fuck up, Romo, or I’ll shut your mouth permanently.”

I won’t, but it makes him fall silent for a second. “You’re putting your reputation on this. A girl.”

“I know what I’m doing. Keep quiet and play your part.”

“Matty—”

“You call me Matteo in here. Let’s get this done.” I don’t wait for a response from my brother as I stride across the wooden floor of the bar, people moving out of my way as I do so. I come to a stop in front of the bar. Declan has a private office somewhere in this building and told me he’d get someone to escort us from the bar when we arrived.

His daughter, my bride, will do nicely. “Hello, Heaven.”

Her shoulders go stiff and her fingers tighten on the glass in her hand. Then, she turns.

My breath freezes as I stare at her.

I see why she’s wearing that fucking cap. Heads are going to roll.

Even with the low lighting and the shadows cast by the cap, I can see the bruising, the swelling on one eye, and the graze on her cheek.

She looks like she got hit with a battering ram. Or by one of my people, who is going to pay dearly.

The anger – sharp, hot, and violent – that slashes through me is surprising. I know who and what she is, and I’m sure she’s fucked over people. Even the daughter of a mafia king doesn’t get a free pass into the position of underboss without notching a belt.

“Fuck.”

“No thanks, Villani,” she says in a cold voice, setting the glass down with a thump on the bar. “Not interested.”

“What happened? Who did that to you?”

A muscle twitches in her jaw, and I have the weirdest urge to touch the bruising. All part of the show I’m putting on, that’s all. That, and Alfie and Philly are most definitely going to pay for thinking outside the box. I won’t kill them, but they won’t be walking straight for a while.

At least, I don’t think I’ll kill them.

Her gaze drops to my wrist I’ve left wrapped, and a cold little smile appears. “Not you. Someone strong.”

“I can have them killed.”

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