Page 115 of Dirty Mafia King

“I won’t hide that you were here. Or that you’re heading to Europe.”

“I know.” My hand falls from his as he stands and then looks down at me. “You’re too good for him, Angel.”

My lips purse. No one, not even his sons, see beyond Bastian gruff exterior. And the realization bothers me.

“Last chance to escape?” He raises an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I can’t. But you’ll keep in touch, right? Let me know you’re okay?”

“Sure thing.” He walks past me to leave.

“Wait.”

He pauses.

“And call him, too. He loves you.”

His expression brightens.

And then he’s gone.

CHAPTER41

BASTIAN

Three gorgeous flight attendants offer me exceptional service on the plane ride to Rhode Island. I accept a whiskey and a soft feather pillow, and—hell knows why—nothing else. Am I wound up? Like a goddamn engine coil in need of fresh lube. We’ve taken this ride before; this trio is already in the mile-high club. Yet it’s abundantly clear I’m not the slightest bit tempted.

I’m hell-bent on getting home.

Italy was a bust. The reason for Dante’s trip to his homeland is unresolved, though he “surprised” his old man with a visit while I was in Rome.

Renzo fucking outplayed me. He was in my home while I was on a wild-goose chase in Italy. The little shit is drawing from a playbook that a broken condom and my excellent sperm count created. Pretending to be Sandro? So fucking brilliant, poor Freido fell for it—literally, too. Like the Beneventi men before him, Renzo took his revenge. I’d be thumping my chest with pride if the little shit hadn’t tried to lure Alessia away.

She says he’s headed to Europe.

I’m done playing nice, and I quietly have my best men searching for him.

Any of the eleven other capos discover my son’s a pain-loving addict, and I’m done. How can a father who can’t control his son lead the famiglie into the next chapter? How can Dante be at his side, when his loyalty is suspect?

I wave for the blond to refill my glass.

A bleach blond with bangs, big fake tits, and no pain threshold. Maybe she would look more appetizing tied to my spanking bench?

Why take her home when you’ve an eager little plaything at home? Madonna mia—the shine within her eyes when I promised a visit to the Red Room.

She had the perfect opportunity to escape.

Yet remained, waiting for me.

And all I want to do is get home, and reward her while I punish her.

* * *

ALESSIA

Ienter the kitchen. It’s late, and well after dinner. I’m curious to discover if Bastian ate the plate of food I left to be reheated. Lasagna with the homemade sauce he loves so much.

He arrived home less than an hour ago. But I’m suffering from an extreme bout of shyness, so I haven’t welcomed him home.