Page 22 of Dirty Mafia King

“You should get some sleep,” the private nurse I hired, who has just entered the room, informs me. If it wasn’t for her, I’d be completely lost. “Recovery takes time, especially after the vicious attack he received. His broken ribs will take time to heal. But he’s lucky. These days muggings don’t end as well.”

“When can he return home?” The nurse will be moving into our loft and providing around-the-clock care, paid for by healthcare insurance and subsidized by the money from the envelope Sandro gave me—though money isn’t my only concern.

“Tomorrow. But he’ll be bedridden for a while.”

Bedridden in his own bed, inside a loft that may still be inaccessible. I pray the elevator situation’s resolved beforehand. How the hell am I supposed to get him upstairs otherwise? Or arrange other accommodations in such a limited timeframe?

Exhaustion sets in. Without a way out of this horrific situation, I can’t sleep.

The nurse touches my arm. “Leave using the rear exit, honey. Reporters are waiting at the main entrance.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, grasping hold of her kindness with both hands. Seconds later, I exit through the back and walk a block to the waiting Uber.

Everyone believes their governor was mugged, and Father will be thrilled by the attention. He’ll point the finger at someone other than Sebastiano Beneventi and spin this to his advantage. The headline will read: Fearless New York Governor Takes a Stance on Crime. Because that’s what he does.

There’ll be no headlines if the mafioso kills him first.

There must be another solution, something more easily accomplished than this ridiculous list.

But as nighttime creeps into our Tribeca loft, I become more and more frantic.

I crave a few things in life: security, stability, and love. A normal life, where I feel protected and understood.

But my well-being never mattered. And, although this isn’t a new revelation, it still hurts.

I pack my suitcase, remembering Sandro’s warning. “Get lost,” he snarled at Sienna and me when the town car pulled up to the curb. “If you ever come back here, you will fucking disappear.” He tossed two thick envelopes at us, and then left.

Mean and rude,nothinglike his brother.

Sienna took his warning to heart and caught a flight the next morning to Tokyo. Freedom from my sister was never a permanent goal. She wasn’t supposed to be ripped from my life like a page torn from a book. Was it fear that made her flee, forgetting to ask if I’d be okay? Or was it the hundreds stuffed inside the envelope? For once, my sister took something seriously.

And what did I do?

I’m my mother’s daughter. Leaving my father isn’t an option. Not until I do something he’s never done for me and make certain he’s safe and cared for before I say goodbye for good.

My throat hitches tight. So alone. So uncertain what to do. I close my packed suitcase, just as my phone chimes.

I hesitate, fearing reporters discovered my number. But then it could be Sienna—maybe she’s checking in on us? I hit the message button and find a name I never expected to see.

Renzo?

He added my phone number to his cell, and vice versa, the day on the golf course but up until today never contacted me. And now I’ve a series of texts … all bloodcurdling.

He’s out for blood.

Fuck, ur still in NYC!!!

On my way. Plz. Answer me.

Lessie, come on. This is urgent.

Oh, God. There’s a six-hour gap between these texts and the next.

I’m here.

My hand shakes as I quickly type.

Where?