Page 95 of Dirty Mafia Torment
Then he can be on his way, and I can put my ridiculous obsession with him to rest.
RENZO
“DidDante say how long I’m stuck here?”
She shrugs. “Until you’re sober.”
My jaw tightens. I’ve got shit to do. First, get to Massimo Grassi before he thinks I’ve ghosted him. Clear the garbage he’s been fed and offer help tracking down who really killed his old man.
A day alone in the barn drove me batshit stir-crazy.
Worse still, having Fina close last night was a whole different type of torture. Why she’d saved a slice of cake to eat with meis puzzling. Hospitality, my ass. Either she’s warming up to me or toying with me.
Doesn’t matter. I crave her company.
“I need to speak with Dante.”
Her hands find her hips, and for a heartbeat, I believe it’s a no. “You can shower inside and use my cell phone. But I’m warning you”—she waves a finger at me—“don’t even think about escaping. I’ve too much riding on you.”
Sucking on her lower lip, she leans close to unlock my bindings.
“I’d rather you be riding me,” I purr into her ear.
She jumps back like she’s been burned, but in the light of day, her blush tells a different story. “Follow me,” she says in a rush. Grasping hold of a hay bale, she stalks off.
I roll to my feet, then hurry after her.
Sunlight floods my face, a fierce warmth I’ve been starving for. I pause and inhale the fresh farm air.
Freedom from the barn and my bullshit hits like a clean shot of adrenaline. It feels fucking good. My body’s lighter. My head is clearer. Nothing holding me down. No cravings chewing at my insides.
First thing I need is a shower. Second, a phone call. Third, burning these goddamn boxers before they start walking on their own.
She stops halfway to the house, shifting the bale in her arms.
I move in. “Let me get that.”
She hugs it to her chest. “I’m good.”
Something’s off. Like she’s alarmed, on edge, probably because I’m no longer chained… “Look, Fina. I’m fucking grateful?—”
“Hurry,” she cuts me off, hauls the bale up the steps, drops it with a thud, and disappears inside.
I consider heading down the driveway and disappearing into the horizon. Bolting. But I don’t.
Once inside, she leads me upstairs into a bedroom.
“Found some men’s clothes that might fit.” Sherifles inside a drawer, and then tosses a sweater, sweatpants, and boxers onto the bed.
“I’m not wearing another dude’s underwear.”
Her expression fills with disbelief. “Unbelievable.”
“No. Not happening.”
“I found you at a kink club, half-dressed and buried beneath a pile of naked bodies.”
“Still not happening.”
