Page 49 of Dirty Mafia Torment
They leave in a rush. No goodbyes. No thanks for the hospitality, the fun and games.
I trail after them and watch, overwhelmed with relief, as Emo and his men peel away in his Ferrari.
My father’s on the phone when I come back into the living room.
“What happened?” I ask. I’m begging silently for good news, like Carlo’s men were caught breaking into the Beneventi estate.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” My father paces the room, much like I’ve been doing, except he’s completely, utterly unraveling.
“Answer me,” I insist. “What happened?”
“Carlo is dead.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
RENZO
Sandro glaresat me from behind his office desk like I’m one of his submissives he’s about to go alpha on. A pompous ass, in his slick suit and tie. Uptight still, despite the steady girlfriend now in residence. He doesn’t hide his annoyance at my unexpected visit.
“Why are you here?” You’d think he’d be more delighted to see me, considering I took an indirect flight to Rome by way of Sardinia just to visit his charming villa.
“This place brings back fond memories.” During my last visit, the sadistic fuckhead chained me to a bed for days and forced me to detox. An excruciatingly painful experience, the withdrawalandbeing in his company for that long. I refined the art of cliff jumping during my visit, a necessity to escape his men.
Good times.
You’d think he’d be pumped to see me here, willingly.
I dig inside my pocket, retrieve an envelope, and toss it like bait on a hook onto his desk. “Happy birthday.”
“It’s six fucking months away.”
I roll my eyes. “Open the goddamn gift.”
He’s taken aback, hating feeling obliged to anyone, even me.
I snatch the envelope back. “It can wait…”
That makes him smile. “Dick.”
“Asshole.” I hand it back. He looks inside, expression changing from curious to puzzled. “A spa weekend?”
“At a swank resort in Sicily. Once you shed the suit, tie, and workaholic tendencies, you’ll love it. Riley will, too.”
Sandro softens at the mention of his girlfriend. He’s tight-lipped about his relationship, but Riley shared with me how they fell in love in Sicily, so I thought it’d be a good gift.
“She’ll fucking love this.”
Perfect execution on my part, which I hope he remembers after he learns the real reason for the visit.
I adjust my seat, making myself at home, but as I do so, my foot collides with a metal bar beneath his desk. Curious, I repeat the action, kicking it a few times more until the answer dawns on me. “Is that a cage under your desk?”
“Where should I send your gift?”
I’m a kinky motherfucker, yet so is Sandro. Now why would he have a goddamn cage beneath his desk if not to scratch his need for domination?
“Your favorite rehab in Maine?” he continues, unfazed, focused on riding my ass rather than caging his girlfriend’s. Riley deserves a spa stay after putting up with him.
“I thought I’d stick around for a bit.”
