Page 131 of Dirty Mafia Torment
I stare at the ceiling. Do I believe my father rallied the Cosa Nostra behind him? Probably. Their investments likely surged overnight with the promise of more wealth. Easy money is his specialty, when he’s not butchering rivals.
Except he’s underestimating Massimo. A lot can happen to change the outcome; Dante’s death, Massimo pulling an ace card.
I can’t pin down my old friend’s play. They think he’s lashing out and acting on emotion. I know from experience that man has theemotional capacity of granite. He wanted the spotlight, and now he’s in it. To what purpose, is the big question?
I run my fingertips across my jaw. If I hadn’t screwed up, I’d already have the answer. Let’s hope his motherfucking window of opportunity is reopened, or my old friend will be whispering his secrets to the worms.
“When?” my brother demands.
“To be determined after the men are assembled,” my father answers.
“I should be there.”
“You and your brother both. The world needs reminding why you don’t fuck with us Beneventi.”
My brother and I lock eyes. This isn’t just about eliminating an enemy. It’s about sending a message. It’s about us flexing and proving that the Beneventi twins are lethal in our own right.
We’re not simply earners but enforcers. A double threat, and in more than one sense.
I dip my head at my brother, acknowledging I get it.
He nods back, hungry for another chance to prove himself.
Right—daddy issues.
But this time, I don’t hold it against him.
This time, I acknowledge I carry around the same bullshit.
It’s been a long day,and I’m coiled tight, knowing worse days are coming. The casita is dark and quiet when I enter. I’m exhausted after hours of listening to my father barking orders and laying out his plan to crush Grassi. Same old tactics. Nothing new and improved on.
I expect Fina to be asleep.
Am I tempted to crawl in beside her?
Hell yes. Lunch was torture. That tiny white bikini was a crime against my sanity. Every laugh made her tits bounce. Every sarcasticjab at Sandro made her glow. Every slow shift in her seat gave me a better view of her thighs. I’ve imagined using my teeth to peel that bikini off her and my tongue to trace its imprint.
I palm myself, hard at the thought.
But she’s still healing.
The couch and my fist will have to do.
I cross the room, stripping as I go, clothes hitting the floor in a trail behind me. I’m about to collapse onto the couch when I hear it.
A whisper.
“Renzo.”
I freeze. Her voice is soft, sultry, and close.
I reach for the light and flick it on.
Holy fucking shit.
Fina is facedown over the bench in the corner, still in that wicked white bikini. Her arms rest on the lower platform. Her ass, round and tight, is up. Her head turned just enough so our eyes meet. And on the floor, there’s a lineup of toys: flogger, rope, blindfold, a small blue vibrator.
I’m thunderstruck.
