Page 152 of Dirty Mafia King

“Because you were to marry Dante’s mother.”

“Correct.”

How horrible. And if this is the expectation …

I cut a slice of grape crostata with more force than necessary. With a weak smile, I place a plate before Don Lucchese, accompanied by a bowl of fresh whipped cream.

His expression reads pleased as punch.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I finally murmur.

Lightning fast, he grabs my wrist and prevents me from moving away. “You love who you love, Alessia.” His tone is filled with so much kindness, I blink back tears.

“Yes, Godfather.”

“But in your unique situation, so long as he’s a Beneventi, what does it matter?”

My lips part.

He winks.

And then he takes a huge bite on his fork and shoves it into his mouth.

* * *

BASTIAN

On our fourth night in Italy, I’m summoned to Don Lucchese’s bedside.

I dress quickly, without waking Alessia, before being led to the old man’s room.

I understand what this is.

It’s time.

What I never anticipated is how much I’m dreading his passing. For years, his death represented a new beginning. I worked my ass off to be a worthy choice. I’ve proven myself time and time again. I sacrificed starting a family and reasoned the twins were enough of a fucking handful—why want more?

But I do. I want it all. The mafiosi kingdom. The control. The power. Andher.

Alessia.

The little heart-thief.

I scratch the back of my neck. I’m faced with a choice, aren’t I? Honor my word or follow my heart?

My father had no honor.

It’s the dying old man who made me this way.

Troubled, I enter Don Lucchese’s room, only to discover more trouble seated next to his bed. “Dante,” I mutter.

“Bastian,” he replies.

He’s been reporting in from Atlanta as we salvage what we have and rebuild what we must. With the famiglie stock crisis behind us, I’m looking like a fucking hero. Dante, though, remains unfazed by my growing power.

Distrust has wedged a barrier between us. Until I get a credible explanation for why he disappeared, I’ll remain suspicious.

“No rush, Bastian,” Don Lucchese says. “I might die before your ass hits the seat.”