Page 140 of Dirty Mafia Torment
“There’s been a miscommunication,” I add, coming to Renzo’s defense.
“No shit,” Sandro growls.
“Call him,” Sebastiano orders, voice like iron.
I pass Sandro his phone, grab mine, and dial. The call goes straight to voicemail. “What do I say?”
“Don’t,” a woman’s voice cuts in.
Sebastiano’s head turns, his tone icy. “This is business.”
“He’s your son, Bastian.”
“Alessia,” he warns.
Unbelievable. The same Alessia who didn’t want Renzo at her wedding is now defending him.
I speak up before the moment shifts. “Give Renzo a chance to prove himself.”
The silence is suffocating.
Sandro studies me like IamQuasimodo’s love child.
“Handing out more advice?” Sebastiano finally asks.
“Not really … yes.”
There’s a long pause like Sebastiano’s considering my words.
“He’s a genius,” I reassure him. “Cunning and clever. Add a give-two-shits philosophy and brass balls, and Massimo doesn’t stand a chance.”
Neither did I.
“He’ll get himself killed,” Sandro protests.
“He has one day.”
Pride swells in my chest. I did it, I bought Renzo time.
“We still follow the plan, and our men will take position in case Grassi refuses the olive branch. If he listens, if Dante comes back unharmed, Grassi might live.”
Off-camera, Alessia says, “Thank you.”
Am I grateful? Yes. But the vengeful part of me holds a grudge on Renzo’s behalf for her not wanting him at the wedding.
I imagine adding her name to my list, then erase it. Pettiness I can tolerate. Emotional and bodily harm, however, I can’t.
Nor being victimized by men who view women as inferior and weak.
Only one name besides my father’s belongs on my list: Emo Accardo.
Riley’san old soul in a young woman’s body, and her excitement for tomorrow’s fair somehow makes me care about dusty secondhand lamps. With only a few guards around, we settle into the theater room, wine in hand, popcorn between us, scrolling through Netflix thrillers. The danger Renzo and Sandro face is real. I’ve been in this world long enough to know Massimo Grassi isn’t a man to take lightly.
Still, what I told Sebastiano Beneventi was true. I trust Renzo completely.
“How about this one?” I pause on a series about a kidnapped woman.
“Not interested.”
