Page 38 of Dirty Mafia King

BASTIAN

“Why did you let him hit you like that?” Dante asks in awe.

I touch my swollen cheek. A reminder that pain often accompanies glory. I knocked out a notoriously fierce fighter during today’s brawl. I host no-holds-barred fights inside a barn on my property whenever I need to take the edge off. Street fights, where few rules apply. We Beneventis have our vices, and the challenge invigorates me as much as it grounds me.

Overall, it’s been a fucking celebratory week. Conti’s sports racket’s ruined. Benny’s scratching his head, wondering what the fuck happened. Amato’s swift, effective, and does as commanded. The East Coast Gaming Commission has given the green light on Atlanta along with another expansion project: building the Riverview Casino in New York City. Don Lucchese booked a flight to Providence to bless his godson’s engagement, and no doubt interrogate me about the next steps toward making the famiglie rich.

I’m a fucking mafioso king.

“Or are you simply a sadist?” Dante continues. “You’ve scratches on your neck.”

“Says the son of a man whose vineyard is watered with his enemies’ blood.” Rumor or truth, it’s hard to fucking say. I hate wine, anyway. “Nothing better than pain mixed with pleasure. You should try it. Or are you too afraid of damaging that pretty face?”

He smirks. “Don’t tell my father, but I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

“You speak to the old man?”

His scowl says it all. “Tomorrow.”

I smirk. “He has you dragging your ass out of bed at an ungodly hour?”

“Goddamn time change. He likes to talk over morning coffee.”

“And a cigarette.”

Dante grunts. “That, too.”

We enter the kitchen. My cook, Nonna Rosa, hovers in front of the refrigerator, rolling pin in hand. Homemade pasta fills a plate on the island, and my stomach growls with pleasure.

“Buon pomeriggio, Nonna,” Dante greets her. “Diventi più bella ogni volta che ti vedo.”

The manwhore. Complimenting Nonna on how she grows more beautiful each time he sees her is expected. Dante flirts with anyone with two legs. He can wear a woman down like a new pair of sneakers, slowly and methodically, no matter the age. Once he fucks them, he moves on.

“Who’s that behind you, Nonna?”

My head snaps back to my cook.

Miss Not-So-Innocent-Anymore steps into view. Cheeks flushed and body covered in flour. Pretty little thing, with the sweetest pussy I’ve ever touched. Just thinking about her clenched around my finger—like she hoped I’d never stop—makes me hard.

The kinky slut took a digit so well, imagine her stuffed full of cock? She’s begging to be broken in.

Sandro’s a lucky little shit.

I scowl.

Dante shoots me an expectant look.

“This is Sandro’s fiancée, Alessia Amato.” I wave her forward, and she reluctantly obeys.

“She’s young.”

“Twenty,” I reply.

Her eyebrows lift like she’s surprised I remember her age.

“She’s living at the estate?”

What the fuck?“We have her set up in the casita.”