Page 86 of Dirty Mafia Torment
The couple at the table protest. “Tesoro, quella non è la nostra cena.”
I’m too focused on Dante to care.
His eyes skim the crowded room until they land on me.
Oh shit.
He stalks toward me.
“Bianca isn’t working tonight,” I offer.
Without answering, he grabs my elbow and directs me into the kitchen.
My aunt stops stirring her sauce. “Dante,” she exclaims, as surprised as I am by his appearance.
Still no response as he tugs me along into the back storage room.
The door slams shut.
He releases my arm, but I remain trapped beneath his ferocious glare. “What happened to your face?”
“Excuse me?”
He rakes his eyes over me.
My cheeks are scraped pretty badly. I didn’t cover them with makeup, hoping fresh air will offer a quicker healing process. Like everything, it’s temporary, as will be the memory of today’s attempted robbery.
“Nothing.”
“Answer me, Elia.”
“It’s Fina.”
“What?”
“My friends call me Fina.” Not that Dante Lucchese is my friend, but I certainly hope he’s not an enemy.
His lips tighten. “You avoiding my question?”
“A man tried to rob me on the way to the restaurant. Pulled me into a side street and threw me against a wall, where I scratched my face.” I clench angry fists, so tired of men believing I’m their victim.
“What did he look like? What was he wearing?”
“Why?”
“I’ll take care of him.”
I sigh with frustration. “He wore black jeans and a black hoodie. That’s all I saw.”
“I’ll ask around the neighborhood. See if someone knows anything.”
“Okay…” I say, unnerved by his kindness.
He pauses for a few seconds, like he’s choosing his next words. “Has Renzo seen your face?”
“Renzo,” I exclaim. “No.”
“He hasn’t been in contact?”
