Page 159 of Dirty Mafia Torment
And then, wehear her.
“A boy went back to Napoli…” Bianca begins, her voice close to a purr.
The restaurant erupts in delight.
Not to be outdone, Camilla and I join in, shaking our hips and maracas clattering as we weave across the floor.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the mastermind behind this, her apron dusted with flour and body moving perfectly in rhythm.
Joy like this was never supposed to be mine. Yet, here it is. And I’m grateful, so grateful to be surrounded with love right now.
I spin, tapping my maraca against my thigh, and drag Aunt Teresa into the center. The guests roar when she grins and then outperforms us, the real star in this restaurant.
Suddenly, everything grinds to a standstill.
I glance around. Every head is turned toward the same place—the front door.
No. No. No. Don’t you dare.
I don’t wait. I storm into the back room, heart hammering, nerves shot. There’s no escaping him, so I’ll need every ounce of rage to tell him to fuck off.
“Fina.” Aunt Teresa’s voice wavers with nervousness. “He demands to speak to you.”
Demands?I grit my teeth. “Tell him I’m busy.”
Her eyes flicker, worry flashing like a warning light.
“He’s a Beneventi,” I growl. “Not the devil incarnate.” Wrong, wrong, wrong. He’s definitely the devil disguised as sex on legs.
Her hands twist together, a rare sight of fear. “We have a few tables outside reserved for the famiglie.”
While the restaurant was closed, Aunt Teresa had the outdoor space scrubbed, lights hung, and a few tables arranged out back in the cobblestone alley. A place for the famiglie to eat in peace.
With a small nod, I stalk off, grabbing a bottle of open wine and a glass as I go, then shove open the back door with my hip and collapse at a small table for two. I carelessly splash wine into the glass before drinking deeply, letting the alcohol calm me before he arrives.
A few minutes later, he exits the restaurant.
I refuse to meet his eyes. “I do not have time for liars.”
His silence is loud enough to make my blood boil.
“You fuck me against a shower wall and whisper promises you have no intention of keeping?” My voice grinds low, rough as gravel. “I’ll do right by you, babe. And when I ask again, your knees will buckle. I promise.” The words taste like acid on my tongue. “Lies. All of it. How am I supposed to believe you? Am I supposed to forget the first time you proposed? Pretend you don’t hand out marriage promises like party favors? Or did you think I wouldn’t find out you asked Alessia to marry you, when you’d made the same promise to me?”
My chest is rising fast, each breath sharper than the last, but I push on. “Sure, I’ve got my kinks. But take a good look, asshole. Do I look like a goddamn sister-wife to you?”
“Cazzo. Can I at least sit down?”
My jaw drops. Not Renzo. Sandro.
“What areyoudoing here?”
“Fulfilling a debt.” He smooths out his suit and sits across from me. “I didn’t expect to step into a land mine. He fucked up worse than I imagined.” Then, like a typical controlling asshole, he swipes my glass, helps himself to a drink, and stares at me with an unnerving calm I envy.
I scowl. “Bacteria breeder. I am not sharing.”
“Play nice, and I will reward you.”
I stiffen. “Go to hell.”
