Page 38 of Dirty Mafia Torment
That’s right, asshole. Just you wait.
His two companions circle me, arms folded. Waiting.
Giving in to the rising terror now won’t help. A busted lip is nothing compared to what my father will do to me for bringing attention onto us.
Bookcases line the walls, and it dawns on me I’ve been inside this room before—the library. A small desk is behind me, with comfortable sofas and chairs throughout the room. A large family portrait dominates the only bare wall, and the three Beneventi men stare down at me. Don Sebastiano Beneventi, with cold, calculating eyes; a teenage Sandro, stiff and rigid with a stick up his ass; and Renzo, with a sparkle and lively look, like life’s a joke and only he knows the punch line.
At this moment, it’s hard to say which Beneventi I hate the most.
But I know who terrifies me.
Lord, I stole from a man who butchered a capo with a chain saw. Who’s smart and savvy, and difficult to outsmart.
Did Renzo tell him what I’ve done?
“I was taking a walk around the golf course. What’s the big deal?”
Mean Fists points a finger at me. “Quiet.”
The door swings open, and the men stiffen as their capo enters and the full Sebastiano Beneventi effect engulfs the room. Powerradiates from his handsome physique. And I’m not the only one who feels it—his men stand taller, faces pulled tighter and manners on edge. Fear licks up my spine. A predator is in our midst, and I’m at the bottom of the food chain.
His attention lands on me, and I do everything in my power not to shy away.
We’ve never spoken. I was only a kid the last time I saw him. But the resemblance to Renzo is startling, so it’s no wonder I find him startlingly attractive.
Only the most coldhearted mafioso would murder me on his wedding day, right?
His scowl deepens as he takes me in. Then, he turns his anger on his men. “Why the fuck is she bleeding?”
Mean Fists tugs his pants up and flashes his shredded ankles. “The heathen attacked me with her pink heels.”
Christian Louboutin. Cost a pretty penny on my father’s charge card, but worth every cent.
A second soldier holds up his hand. The imprint from my teeth is a work of art.
“She bit me.”
“You too?” Sebastiano demands, frowning furiously as he gestures toward the last soldier and the dime-sized gouge in his neck.
The man flushes.
“I warned you she’d fight you.”
My eyebrows raise. Because, until this moment, I thought I was so far off Sebastiano Beneventi’s radar, I was a ghost.
“I also said not a scratch.”
“Boss …”
“Not another goddamn word,” he snarls.
His soldiers snap their mouths shut. But now, unfortunately, I have their boss’s complete and undivided attention.
“You.”
I want to sink into the carpet but instead notch my chin higher.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
