Page 92 of Dirty Mafia King

“Sugar,” I introduce myself, interrupting my friend before she says yes.

Zoey sighs. “Spice.”

The woman chuckles. “And everything nice, though not tonight?” She’s stunning and edgy, with enormous breasts and a tight little waist, and a python tattoo running down her right arm. “I’m Chiara Renselli.”

I flash a polite smile yet don’t say a word, instead choosing to drink deeply while listening in on the conversation in front of us.

“He’s started the selection early this time.”

My stomach drops. What selection?

“We’ll pass with no problem. Not with your pouty lips and her tight round ass.”

“Go bull or go home.”

They laugh. Like this is a game. And it is, to them.

But not me.

My future is intertwined with Bastian’s. And what I really want, deep down inside, is to shape it into a form I don’t dread but desire.

“First time, Sugar?” Chiara asks. Lord, my eyes must give me away.

I nod. “What selection?”

“He gets off on picking his partners publicly like a king does his subjects. Everyone calls it the selection.” She smirks. “Except tonight, he’s switched things up.”

“How so?” Zoey asks.

“The selection’s already been made.”

Everything stills. The activity around us. The air. My heart. It’s upsetting that Bastian loves being with three women at a time. It’s devastating learning he’s now chosen one—Chiara Renselli.

“Don’t tell anyone, or you’ll ruin the fun. But he called me and demanded I attend.” She lowers her voice. “I christened the Red Room when he first had it built and can’t wait for our scene later on.”

“What Red Room?” Zoey screeches.

I say the first thing that comes mind to change the conversation. “I left something in the oven.”

That derails the discussion, though the train wreck’s already happened. She’s exactly his type. Experienced and confident. Familiar with his kinks and, if she was personally invited back, clearly skilled at satisfying his needs.

I fight back tears.

She touches my arm. “You’re young, I can tell. One day, you might catch Sebastiano’s attention.” Her expression hardens. “But not tonight.”

“Let’s go,” Zoey snaps, clasping my elbow and practically dragging me away from the horrible woman.

We cross the hall and enter the movie room. It’s usually locked, so I’ve never ventured inside before. I take in everything at once. Giant reclining chairs make up three rows. An enormous movie screen hangs from the high ceiling to the floor. A theater-style stage standing a few feet high is pushed in front of it, and on it’s an oversized chair.

And that’s where I find him.

Oh. My. God.

Bastian’s sprawled across the chair, shirtless, maskless, barefoot, and dressed in black silk pajama pants. Thighs parted and one arm on the chair rest, he drinks straight from a whiskey bottle, and lazily watches the three women at his feet kiss.

He’s so sexy I could cry.

“God help us but he’s hot,” Zoey mutters.