Page 13 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince
She’s wearing pearls with her robe again, the thick strands looped across her collarbones like a woman who’s never bowed to anyone.
"Dante," she says with a smile that curls slow and sharp. "You look like sin well-spent."
I lean in and kiss her cheek.
Her skin smells like gardenia and smoke.
"You always keep the lighting low in there," I murmur. "Can’t decide if it’s mercy or marketing."
"It’s preservation," she replies, drawing the cigarette holder from her lips. "For the fantasy, and for my nerves. You men break so many things when you’re allowed to see clearly."
I chuckle, pulling out my wallet and handing her a folded envelope.
Inside is the usual: her share, a few signed forms, and a small square of clean paper with the name of someone she asked me to remove two months ago.
Mirella hums, satisfied, and slots the envelope into a locked drawer beneath the desk.
Then she opens her mouth to speak again, and this time, her voice isn’t teasing me.
"I heard a name tonight," she says, then pauses for a breath. "Someone asked about renting the small girls again."
"New client?" I ask.
"Old one. Disguised in new manners. He says he wants ‘entertainers under sixteen’. Claims it’s for modeling, but you and I both know what that means."
This won’t be happening, not while the Salvatores rule this city.
"Give me his name."
She nods toward the drawer.
"It’s in there. Along with two others who didn’t flinch when he said it."
I take a slow breath.
Mirella’s girls are women.
Adults, trained, protected.
Sex work is a trade, whether society wants to admit it or not.
But children—that is not business.
That is a sickness, and I have never tolerated disease within my walls.
"He’ll be dealt with," I say. "Quietly, but thoroughly."
She nods, watching me carefully.
"You’re not like your brothers," she says. "Not always better. Not always worse. But different."
"I don’t need to be better," I reply, reaching for my coat. "I just need to be the last one standing."
I get out, get into my car, and drive to the barracks.
The girl’s moans are gone from my mind.
The scent of sex, of sweat, of heat, all of it already fading beneath the throb building low in my skull.
