Page 16 of Dirty Mafia King

Renzo snorts. “Or so my father’s fond of saying.”

If Sebastiano Beneventi’s jokes are as frightening as his reputation, I want nothing to do with the man.

“Sandro cried when our mother dropped us on the doorstep then fled. Know what I did?”

My throat’s tight. “What did you do?” Poor Renzo.

“I rang the doorbell. Luckily, our father answered. He whisked us away to Italy to meet our godfather before his old man returned to follow through with his death threats. We’re alive because of our godfather’s blessing.”

“That’s … horrible.”

Renzo quiets for a few seconds. “He took a beating for us.”

“Your father did?”

“Spent a week in the family dungeon with three cracked ribs, two blackened eyes, and a bottle of water. Almost died. Yet no one dared lay a hand on us.”

I hit the gas and the cart takes off once more while I sit beside him, horrified. What kind of family is this?

A notorious mafioso family, Alessia. Did you expect all rainbows and sunshine?

“Never show you’re weak. That’s the lesson taught that I’ve yet to learn.”

“Your father’s an important man,” I offer. “Expectations are high.”

“The highest.” Renzo grimaces. “He’s set to become the next capo di tutti capi—the leader of all the mafioso famiglie. Sometimes, I think it’s all he wants.”

“But he didn’t abandon you. He went behind his father’s back to keep you.”

Renzo grunts.

I look around the ridiculously expansive course more fit for professional players than for private use in someone’s backyard. And suddenly, it dawns on me.

“He built a golf course in his backyard for you, didn’t he?”

Silence.

“He and your brother don’t love golf. You do. Why else would he do such a thing?”

“To bury the bodies.”

The cart stops with a lurch once more, and Renzo lunges forward in his seat. “Jesus.” He readjusts himself, then emits a drawn-out sigh. “Look, Sheila. My father’s never hidden who he is from us—hell, he’s more older brother than father. One day, school sent us home early due to a power outage. We walked in on our father and two gorgeous women. He had them bent over our kitchen barstools with coke lines dusted across their asses.” Renzo chuckles. “Sandro asked him what he was doing. Know what he said?”

Any form of response is stuck in my throat.

“They were baking.”

My eyes widen.

“My brother believed him, like it was perfectly normal to have flour on your ass while baking cakes naked.” He pauses, then continues in a softer voice. “My father’s calmed down, now that he’s older.”

A similar scene flashes across my mind, featuring a sinfully wicked man spanking three women under his command. What did he promise them?You can have it any way you want.

Why does the thought of being at a man’s complete and total mercy excite me so much?

“I’ve shocked you.”

“You haven’t,” I admit. But do I really want to admit to my future brother-in-law that I’m a closet kinkster?