Page 120 of Dirty Mafia Sinner

When we arrive at the Grand Hotel di Palermo, he parks on a dark side street, and then turns his blistering attention my way. “Listen to me. This is the life, Riley. We mafiosi live in a violent world. An eye for an eye, that’s how we deal with issues. Conti knows this, yet still moved to sabotage my famiglia. If Tommaso hadn’t warned you, you’d be buried beneath rubble, dead.” He punches the steering wheel. “I’ll murder that stranzo, and it won’t be pretty. I need to know if you’re in?”

I consider what he’s said. Is he asking if I’m in … like in love the monster? But there’s something else within his words that gives me pause. “Tommaso warned me?” Memories of thatmorning rush through me. “You had Tommaso call my cell to warn me to get out?”

“You’re fucking alive, aren’t you?”

He broke up with me that morning. Crushed my soul so it matched my empty heart.

The gunshots. The explosion. “What were you doing while he called me?”

His lips pull into a line. “Fucking up.”

I wait, sensing there’s more. And I get it, in spades.

“You want the truth? Conti paid Ciro to spy on me, and then sent his men to murder me. They sealed the apartment beneath yours, filled it with fucking gas, set a detonator, and then waited. But I didn’t show for three weeks, and the stupid stronzos were too busy drinking lattes and missed me by minutes. But when I spied them outside your building, I went back.”

I watch him closely, his frustration with his actions obvious.

“They grabbed me, beat me, and thought they’d chop me up with a chain saw. Turns out, I’m the motherfucking chef. It’s Conti’s turn now.” He turns off the car. “You in?”

After Stephanie’s murder sentencing for killing my father, I wanted her dead. Is it evil to feel this way? Yes. But her punishment ended up being a slap on the hand in the form of reduced jail time due to mental issues. The legal system is about whose lawyer knows whom. An eye for an eye … Yeah, I can see the merit in it.

“Yes. I’m with you, always.”

He leans in, and I blink, thinking he’s about to kiss me. Instead, he tugs at my dress, parting the neckline. “Go to the reception desk and ask what room Conti’s staying in.”

“They’ll think …”

“Exactly.” He reaches out and presses a roll of euros into my palm. “Just in case.”

“Okay.” I exit the car, then pick my way along a pebbled road and round the corner toward the main entrance. I smooth my dress but don’t fix the collar, entering without hesitation.

The foyer is spectacular, the floor covered in decorative Italian tile and tall white columns dividing the sprawling space. Reception is straight ahead, and I line up for the younger male receptionist to assist me.

When my turn arrives, I swallow back my nerves and lean in. “I have an appointment with Emilio Smith. Where can I find him?”

The man blushes, and I immediately sympathize with him. “Mr. Smith is in a private bungalow, suite number 1235.” He plucks a resort map from a stand, then circles the building. “The bungalows are at the back of the property. Follow the winding path from the pool area to reach them.”

Alessandro will be pleased. “Thank you.”

He rubs his fingers together. The universal sign for “pay up.” He’s done this before?

Oh my God. He has. And Alessandro knew …

I peel off a few euro.

He quirks a brow, prompting me to continue.

I hand him a small fortune then wait off to the side until he’s occupied before retracing my steps to the car.

A dark figure dressed in black sweats, a black t-shirt, and baseball cap waits by the car. The bag’s over his shoulder, and I’ve no idea where the chain saw is. “Did you know Conti has paid visitors?”

“What do you think?”

I pass him the resort map. “The bungalow he’s in is circled.”

He studies it intently. “Let’s go. I’ll park around back.”

We circle the car behind the resort and park. Then we’re moving. We push through hedges, and he lifts me over a greystone wall, then creates a path until we draw up behind the bungalows.