Page 117 of Dirty Mafia Sinner

I scowl.

Riley studies me. Probably preparing for me to lash out, as I’m notorious for doing.

“Because of the car, my ass,” Tommaso comments. Perceptive motherfucker.

“Keep talking to me like that and I’ll be handing you yours.”

Time isn’t on my side.

Yet that’s exactly what I’m doing—stealing time.

Was it foolish presenting her to Don Gallo as my girl? He might mention it to my father, but the check I wrote to extend nut sales into the US market will more likely be at the heart of any conversation. If my sidepiece accompanies me to themeeting, so fucking what? What, does my father expect celibacy before the vows are read? Which would be rich considering he’s likely screwing my fiancée.

Anyway, news that Hollywood still has his star on the Beneventi Walk of Shame is a more interesting topic than who I’m fucking.

She glances up from beneath her lashes and offers me a shy smile.

My dick stirs. Christ, I can’t keep my hands off her. I was seconds from taking her virgin ass against Don Gallo’s bathroom door. But like the obedient son I am, I refrained from disrespecting a good business associate.

“And Hollywood?” Tommaso asks.

“All clear. Met Conti in Rome to handle an issue with the Atlanta casino expansion. Heard it was ugly.”

“It always is with that worm.”

I place my arm on the back of her seat and coil a lock of her hair around my finger.

“Your weekly call’s tomorrow with Don Beneventi.” Dread fills his tone. You’d think he spent his formative years picking daisies in a fucking field instead of burying bodies beneath the soil.

I weigh my answer. But if I call my father from the yacht, it’ll raise questions. Fucking pass on that. “Tell him business with Don Gallo went better than expected and I’ll review our new arrangement in two days, that something’s come up.”

“Like your dick.”

Jesus. Am I that fucking obvious?

Dusk spills across the horizon, the sun’s golden warmth fading into a cool wash of silver. I'm not one for sentiment, but when I catch sight of the lone billboard rising in the distance, I see it for what it is—and opportunity. I’ll fuck her right there, driving her into the sunset and back again.

“Gotta go,” I tell Tommaso.

“Wait.”

I pull off the road and park. “Be quick. I’ve shit to do.”

“I’ve a present waiting for you.” His excitement says our men have done the impossible. But I’m done with business and focused now on pleasure.

“Call you from the yacht.” I disconnect, then turn to Riley. “Out, and on the hood.”

She turns pink, glances around to be sure no cars are around, and then scrambles out.

By the time I’m in front of the car, she’s seated on it.

“On your stomach.”

She obeys.

“Should I spank your pretty bottom for your disobedience?” I ask in a silky voice.

She looks over her shoulder at me in confusion. “I thought…”