Page 24 of Dirty Mafia King

My eyes trace over him in alarm. His clothes are soaked. A cut mars his cheek. A glossy emptiness fills his eyes. Blood drips from his forehead.

“A puddle did this? You’re bleeding.”

“I am?” He dips a coffee-stained napkin into a water glass and presses it to his cheek.

“Your forehead, Renzo.”

He flashes me a smile before bringing the dirty napkin to the correct spot. He dabs it three times, and then stuffs the napkin in the half-empty glass. “I forgot how sweet you are.”

“Are you drunk?” I frown. Only the one glass is on the table.

He offers me a sheepish look. “Just coke and pot. No heroin this time.”

I stare in shock. “This time?”

“Joking,” he mumbles, yet I wonder if he really is. What demons drive him to self-medicate? What troubles him so much he’s so reckless with his life? These aren’t questions I can ask him. Hell, I barely know him.

And Lord knows, I’ve my own problems to deal with.

Still, I reach across the table, take his free hand, and squeeze, before releasing it. “Friends, remember?”

His eyes soften. “You make me want to get clean.”

I try not to wince. “You might need professional help getting there.” Marijuana and coke are one thing, heroin another.

“Or an angel by my side.”

“I’m serious.”

“You talk to my father?”

His father. Sebastiano Beneventi. The reason I’m here right now. The last person I want to talk to.

“He spanked then fucked three women silly yesterday morning, yet evidently,I’mout of control.”

I gasp.

“Always three. Sometimes two. Never one.”

The scene at the villa flashes across my mind. My life hangs by a thread, and he holds the knife. Kinky as fuck. Sexy or not. He’s not a man you fantasize about.

“You look like hell, angel.”

Says the lost and bleeding soul high on Lord knows what. “I’ve been through hell.”

“Same.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand, but then draws my fingers to his lips and bites the tips.

“Stop that.” I snatch my hand away.

“Just a lesson on how hell can be enjoyable…” He smirks. “…under the right circumstances.”

Oh, God. He’s as kinky as his father, isn’t he? Yet, I’m more horrified than enraptured.

“Fuck. I’m sorry. I forgot how inexperienced you are.”

I bristle at his assumption, despite it being accurate.

“I’m screwing this up, aren’t I?” he whispers, his expression sobering. This is the Renzo I’m familiar with, the one with his heart on his sleeve. “I’ve a plan to get us both out of hell. My father will save face. Your father won’t be killed. Or you, and your sister, hunted. With you by my side, I’ll get sober—”