Page 81 of Dirty Mafia King

His warning has merit. My life would be ruined if I had a different mindset. But I’m completely, utterly awake when I’m in Sebastiano Beneventi’s presence. Like I’ve risen from a deep sleep and entered a world where my curiosity’s sparked and my mind’s invigorated. This is more than a crush. Closer to being enraptured by him and my base desires. I feel secure in his home and on his estate. Protected from my father’s indifference and a harsh world that swallows up shy people like me. And Bastian understands me on so many levels.

“He cares about you, Renzo.”

“Holy hell. Are you … defending him?” His tone is filled with hurt. He’s carrying so much pain inside, he’ll crack without professional help.

I reply as gently as possible. “You’ll see things differently once you’re clean. Stay in rehab.”

“Too late.”

I squeeze the cell phone harder. “It’s not too late. You can do this.”

“Not that—I’ve escaped.”

My thoughts spin. “Where are you?”

“Still in Maine, unfortunately. The woods around the facility are scary as shit at night.”

Lord, what do I say? What do I do?

“Pack your bags,” he informs me. “I’m coming for you, Angel. Later.”

The call disconnects.

And I do what has to be done, and with Renzo’s best interests in mind. I hurry toward the main house to alert Bastian.

* * *

BASTIAN

The incessant knocking stops the second I jerk my bedroom door open. “What the hell?” I growl at the guard standing there.

“Sir. She insisted.”

I blink. Because, sure as fuck, Alessia is in the shadows beside him, eyes wide and hungrily devouring my dick. Did she expect I’d be wearing pajamas with bulls printed on them?

My eyes narrow. Desperation is written all over her. I know she watches me when she thinks no one is looking. A few tastes, and now the little kinkster loves my dominating manner, doesn’t she? Who’d believe her attraction would escalate this far? It takes balls to show up at my bedroom door at this hour. Yet here she is, hovering in the hallway, all flushed and meek. Nervous about disrupting my sleep? Or is she reconsidering her ploy to get into my bed?

My eyes rake over her.

She’s dressed in nothing but a white crop top that stops under her gorgeous breasts and the tiniest pink shorts that show off her long legs. Her feet are bare, her toenails painted baby-girl pink.

Looking so ripe for the plucking I feel like punching the door.

“I have something important to tell you,” she stammers.

“Of course you do.” What I should do is send her running scared or remind her which Beneventi her attention should be focused on. But I drank several whiskeys earlier, and I’m not thinking clearly, so I do the opposite, snatching her elbow, dragging her inside, and slamming the door in the guard’s stunned face. I’d laugh, if I weren’t fucking keyed up, my overconsumption of booze a poor replacement for the hard fuckage I need.

Which is why Chiara Renselli will be at Saturday night’s party. She likes it rough, submits so beautifully, and knows better than anyone what I like. It’s been a few years since I entertained one woman, but Chiara’s tears always excite my inner demons, and that’s exactly the release I’m looking for.

I should be in bed and jerking off at the idea, not entertaining some curious little kinkster I’ve dragged inside my bedroom.

This is my fucking sanctuary. I’ve been with tons of women, but never invited them into my private space. I entertain them in other rooms, or in the Red Room when I feel the urge.

Frustrated, I glare down at Alessia, and discover a strange expression on her pretty face as she soaks up the decor.

Everything’s my favorite color—black. The wallpaper and paint, brick fireplace, furniture, light fixtures, bedding, even the soft silk sheets. Only my king-sized bed frame and the oak floors are a natural wood color. And the massive painting over the fireplace is black and white.

I give her ten seconds to acclimate herself before pointing to my right. “On the bed.”