Page 15 of Mafia and Gold Digger

I open my mouth but then close it. I can’t believe he put me through that. Scaring me to death and asking all those questions.Invasive questions...

I wonder what Ronnie would think if he knew Saint said that I could do better than him for a boyfriend? Although the rational part of me knows not to stir the pot. Made men are volatile, emotional, and violent. And I don’t want to cause any problems between Ronnie and his fellow made men.

And it’s not like I’ll see Saint ever again.

CHAPTERTHREE

SAINT

Christ, it was almost as hard to get her out of my car as it was to get her in it in the first place.

I watch as Emerald hurries into the casino and straight into the arms of Ronnie Mainetto. And through the door that remains ajar, I watch her boyfriend embrace her and kiss her long and hard.

When I see this, something tightens in my chest, sharp and unexpected. But I shove it down, and closing my eyes, my grip tightens on the steering wheel.

Eighteen.Fuck, she’s young. Too young to be mixed up in all this shit. But I shouldn’t be surprised given how most of us get started in it all.

I was born into the Veneti Family, which means I was born into the Imperiosi mafia. And working as their hitman is the only thing that keeps me fucking sane.

But Emerald Fiorelli… She had a delicious defiant tilt to her chin, and I’m not going to lie, it did something to me. And watching her silently fume in the seat beside me during the drive gave me a new kind of thrill.

And I can’t help my mind wandering back to the reason I met a girl in a stolen gold dress today…

TWO DAYS EARLIER

A painful memory flits through my head, but I shove the thought into that black box in my mind. Ramming it as deep and as far down as I can.

A heavy exhale leaves my nostrils as I settle on the rooftop.

No distractions. No relationships. No feelings.

Those are the three rules I live by. Distractions are for weak men. Relationships make you sloppy. And feelings turn you into a fucking fool.

I do none of them. How many men have I had to off because they involved themselves with the wrong woman? Or worse, because they let their emotions cloud their judgment so that they do stupid shit like Romanelli here did? Not me. That bullshit is just asking for trouble.

My eyes focus back on the image through my binoculars, watching the target in his house from the empty property opposite. Empty because I killed off the owner a few hours ago.

I spare a glance down at my watch. Five minutes and forty-two seconds until he takes his final breath. And I can’t fucking wait.

A smile curves my lips as I watch him shove yet another couple thousand into the black duffle bag. Not his money, but ours.

My smirk only grows as the hands rotate slowly on my watch.

I’ve got it planned down to the very second.

Every action and interruption accounted and planned for.

Like a chessboard—where every move’s been calculated and opposed.

Because that’s the only way you can win a game like this.

As my watch hits 10 p.m., I start my timer to count down the last three hundred seconds of his measly life. Five minutes—that’s all he’s got left.

I hack into his security system and disable it. And a beautiful game of chess begins.

He lifts up his phone as it flashes with the notification that his security system’s been breached. His eyes widen as he punches a number into his cell’s speed dial.

I jam the signal.

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