Page 12 of Owned by the Italian Mafia Boss
“The girl,” Gianni starts. “She’s scared.”
“She should be.”
“Why are you doing this? There are other ways for her to work off her father’s debt. We always need runners.”
The thought of her putting herself in danger like that, like some cheap and useless drug mule had me seeing red.
I yank the emergency brake, and the car fishtails to the side until it completely stops. The rancid smell of burning rubber infiltrates the vents.
“She is more than that. She isn’t a whore. She isn’t a drug mule, Gianni. I decide what I want to do with her, and I have. Your opinion is irrelevant here, and if I find out she’s been put in danger, friend or not, I will kill you. Do you understand?” My hand tightens around the brake until my knuckles are white.
He grins, my threats useless since he knows me all too well. “You like her.”
“She’s a means to an end,” I find myself repeating.
“So, you say, Carmine.” He pulls the car onto the road again without regard for the traffic streaming past us. Cars honk from him cutting them off.
Men like me don’tlike. I know how to lust, to want, to take and to steal.
I’ll make her feel things she’s never felt before.
And she’ll make you feel things you have never wanted to feel.
I’m lost in those thoughts until the annoying crunch of tires hitting gravel yanks me from my mind.
“Delilah was staying here?” Gianni asks, repulsed.
I am too. I don’t like that she stayed in such a dangerous part of town. The motel is old and has seen better days. The windows are either broken or painted black. The sign that says ‘motel’ flickers on and off. To the right, the dumpsters are full of trash; even from where I sit, I can see the flies.
“This piece of property is now ours,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt and getting out of the SUV.
“You can’t be serious, Carmine.” He hisses his disapproval. “It’s a dump. The paint is peeling, and the roof is sagging. It reeks of piss and cigarettes.”
I stare at my new investment, the beams holding the roof are nearly cracked in half. One of the faded red doors to a room opens, revealing a high prostitute who is half-naked. Her lipstick is smeared while she counts the money in her hands.
“Delilah stayed here. She was here. The vileness of this place touched her beauty. I don’t care if I have to renovate or tear it down, but it will never touch her again.” I sidestep a used needle and head to the front office. I’m furious at myself for putting her in this position.
The sun’s warmth heats my shoulders and doesn’t ease even when I enter the motel. There’s no air conditioning.
There’s no air conditioning. Behind the counter sits a man without pride. His tank top is stained with sweat and food. He watches T.V. while scratching his stomach, but what’s behind him captures my attention.
I take off my sunglasses, tuck them into my pocket and ring the bell but it doesn’t make a sound. I grit my teeth.
Even the fucking bell doesn’t work and this asshole is only looking at the T.V.
My way it is.
Unbuttoning my blazer, I pull my Desert Eagle with an extra-long barrel from the holster and aim it right beside his head. Gianni screws the silencer on the end of the barrel, and I nod in thanks.
I shoot, the bullet splicing the air before slamming into the wall and leaving a hole in the concrete.
The guy jerks and tilts back in his chair before falling back and hitting the floor. When he sees me, fear whitens his face, and the front of his pants darken with piss.
“Do I have your attention now?” I ask, sounding bored, but really, I’m having a great time.
He nods, not getting up, but continues to tremble in his own urine.
“I have two questions.” I reach for the logbook recording where all the guests stay. “May I?”
