Page 23 of Runaway in the Mafia
CHAPTER ELEVEN
VITALE
Annoyance bit into my vision. Mamma’s Cayenne was idling outside with Giuseppe loitering next to it, hands on his phone, cheeky music ringing out a winning game.
I didn’t know why that bothered me. Or even why I was back here while I’d sworn to stay away from this place. I should have been in my own damn office, or at the very least, in one of my warehouses or my clubs. Hell, maybe I should visit my usual brothel and get my dick sucked. That would have been a nice change. But instead, my car took me in the opposite direction to this cursed, memory-ridden house in search of the woman tainting my dreams and pissing on my sanity.
“Why’s the Cayenne out here?”
Lia looked up guiltily from the dining table. Chairs were overrated when it came to Lia. She was seated on the table, legs crisscrossed and meddling with some vases. Lia and fragile things went as well as glass near a pool. It was bound to end up in pieces.
“Because it can’t be parked in the kitchen?” she mused.
My molars ground. Wasn’t in the mood for her smart mouth today. “How did Ahana go to work?”
Her eyes shot up to me. “You know about her working?”
Of course I did. I’d checked up the company and had a report thick enough to fill a file in my drawer about it. Annoyingly, nothing morally grey about it. A damn international PR company doing well. Didn’t mean I had to like it. Each time I was here, runaway girl wasn’t. She wasn’t hiding under her bed. I’d been in her room. Laid on her bed. Nor her shower. Unfortunately. She was sitting in some office, wearing tight ass clothes, working. Apparently.
I exhaled. Trying to calm the bristling annoyance itching up my skin. “Of course I know Lia. Now, how did she get to work?”
“By bus.” She went back to prod a vase.
“She took fucking public transport?”
“Huh, yes.”
“I thought Mamma sent her by car.” That’s why I had fucking men around here. To have my women fucking protected.
My words fell on deaf ears.
“Lia?”
“What?” She sat up with her hands on her waist. “Jesus, Vitale. What’s with the million questions?”
A growl and a threat were out of my mouth before I knew it. “Spit it out or I’m getting you married off.”
Her face twisted in anger. I knew what she would do before she reached for the nearest vase and smashed it across the room. I didn’t even blink. Lia’s moods were hot and cold, with nothing in between. My gaze rolled to my watch. “Tick tock, I heard the capo in Boston is looking for a wife.” A flicker of danger. I looked up to catch the next vase a few inches from my face. Frustration oozed out of her body. Nonchalance spilled out of mine. “Fine, I’ll make the call.” I was already moving towards the door.
“Wait.” I stopped with my back to her. A loud sigh. “Mamma sends her in the car, and when they are around the corner, she makes Giuseppe drop her at the bus stop.”
I gritted my teeth. “Why?”
“Because she’s smart and independent and doesn’t want one of your goons running behind her. She’s really smart, you know.”
And a bad example to my baby sister.My jaw ticked. This. This was the reason she was a fucking runaway girl. She just couldn’t listen.
Two long strides and I was out of the kitchen.
“Wait, Vitale.” Lia lunged onto my elbow, trying to pull back with her body weight. “Don’t tell Mamma, okay? Please? She doesn’t know.”
Of course not. She was so obedient with Mamma. The perfect daughter in the making. The slight tilt of my lips must have been devious if Lia’s scowl and her fingers digging deep into my skin were of any indication. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Vitale,” she warned.
“I always do what you wouldn’t.” I shrugged her off and stalked out. “And oh…” I threw over my shoulder, “You’re paying for those vases.”
So,if she didn’t want one of my goons taking her to work and back, I’d do it. I wasn’t one of my goons.
I dumped my coat in the back seat and rolled up my sleeves. Fucking weather had got me all hot and itchy. I lit the cigar, seeking comfort in old habits. A puff filled my lungs with fresh nicotine and the air with grey smoke. This girl wasn’t good for me. I’d lost count of the cigars I’d smoked in the last weeks. Atthis rate, I might as well have taken a shovel and dug my own grave.
