Page 97 of Dirty Mafia King

I’m stunned, and suddenly furious. “There is no why.” I thrust the vodka bottles into Sandro’s chest with such force, he steps back. “Bastian does as he pleases, whenever he pleases. I’m only a means to an end.” I push by him and make for the door. “And for the record, setting a wedding date to marry an asshole like you is the last thing I want.”

“Christ. Wait,” Sandro hollers after me. “Since when do you call him Bastian?”

CHAPTER34

ALESSIA

Sandro: November 2nd.

After reading aloud my asshole fiancé’s text, I want to hurl my phone into the pool. That’s all he has to say? With a sigh, I place my cell on a poolside table, pick up my margarita, and approach the pool.

“That sucks,” Zoey replies. “Almost as much as he sucks.”

I kick at the water and send a wave across the calm surface. My life is like that, rolling in one direction, then another, at the mercy of larger forces in nature. A swim might cool me off, though it’s doubtful. Rage has lit a fire within me, and with no outlet, I rebel in little ways.

By drinking.

By refusing to prepare his dinner.

By wearing whatever style of bathing suit I feel like—and today, I’m in a white crochet one-piece that covers my body like a cobweb woven together by a drunk spider. The peekaboo gaps reveal nearly everything, though the weave is tighter over my nipples and private area. I purchased it based on how soft it felt against my skin before realizing whoever designed the flimsy yarn suit wasn’t thinking swimming or sunbathing.

I was thinking stiff middle finger statement piece when I put it on.

Like Bastian would even notice. Even care.

I sigh and kick the water once more.

“Sandro’s not that bad.” Zoey joins me by the pool. “And setting a date was inevitable, right? I mean, you’ve been resigned to this marriage, even happy. Sandro will marry and then abandon you, leaving you to do whatever you want so long as it doesn’t reflect poorly on the Beneventi name. I thought you accepted how things are? What changed?”

I’m tempted, so tempted to confide in her. “Maybe my interest lies elsewhere?”

Her eyes light up. “It’s a guard, isn’t it? Which one?” She looks toward our ever-present audience discreetly stationed closer to the main house. The men pay us no mind, no doubt under strict orders to leave us alone. Zoey glances around like the man I’m referring to is hiding nearby in the bushes. When, in fact, he’s not hiding at all—he’s simply washed his hands of me.

“He’ll kill anyone who so much as glances at us.”

“What happened to our golf instructor is all on you, Alessia. Mr. Beneventi isn’t part ofmycheering section.”

I snort.

Through the grapevine, Zoey discovered Bastian had ordered the golf pro off the estate because our instructor was repositioning my body. For a wistful moment, it seemed Bastian might be jealous. Now, I believe otherwise. “Must protect Sandro’s innocent bride from being corrupted, right?”

“You would have thought the poor guy was helping you with his cock stroke and not your golf stroke. And you’d expect a devil who hosts orgies to understand the difference.”

I grind my teeth. Because, let’s face it, the party was a disaster.

“You can run.”

“What?”

She exhales sharply. “If you hate marrying into the Beneventi family, I’ll help you escape.”

I glance toward the guards. “Not so loud.”

Zoey tosses back her margarita like a tequila shot.

“Escape how?” I whisper.

“Leave the country. I’ve a contact in Mexico who sells fake IDs and passports. You’ll ask Sebastiano about wedding shopping in New York City. We’ll rent a car, drive to El Paso, and cross the border there. Hell, I still even have my red wig. Instead of Sugar and Spice, we’ll be Thelma and Louise.”