Page 30 of Dirty Mafia Sinner

“Your bodyguard’s job is to protect you.”

“He did what I asked him to do,” I grind out.

“That right?”

Do I confess? Admit Tommaso was making a phone call during the most critical time, when we could have escaped?

I purposely shift on the bed so pain shoots through me. To manipulate a master manipulator and trigger more fatherly concern.

He ignores my efforts. “You were snatched off the street. What the hell were you thinking?”

Riley, on her knees.

Riley, struggling against the tie I used to secure her to the bedpost.

Riley, and her sweet smile.

Gone … possibly dead.

I wasn’t careful. I was obsessed.

God, the truth pains me in its own special way. “I fucked up.”

“You almostdied.”

I don’t argue. What’s the point?

“When you’re healed, I’ll beat the living crap out of you. Capisci?”

“I understand.” My failure. His disappointment.

“You used a goddamn chain saw, huh?”

I blink in surprise. Jesus, he even knows how I escaped? “It was a messy kill,” I admit, glancing at my arms. Someone cleaned the blood off me while I was out—probably the tattletale doctor. Can’t have Sebastiano Beneventi’s son looking like a casualty of war. “They tied me to a wooden chair.”

“That right?” His curiosity is piqued. His men gave him the facts; now I fill in the details.

“They left me alone for a coffee break.”

“Like attracts like; Conti’s a dumb bastard.” He pauses, waiting for more. “How’d you get a chain saw?”

“First, I sharpened a chair leg against the cement floor—like you had us do when we were nine.” Boy Scout training, Beneventi style. We were taught to be prepared for anything. Chain saws, though, that’s a new one. “Then I surprised them when they came back. Sure, I could’ve gone caveman with the chair leg, but why not use modern tools when they’re right there?”

I brace for the tiniest fucking hint of praise—hell, I’ll take even a nod.

“Your brother would have bare-knuckled it and used the chair leg.”

I flinch.

“But they’d have to catch him first.”

There it is—the inevitable comparison. Renzo thumbs his nose at my father, and my father rubs mine in how clever Renzo is.

I stifle my irritation and repeat my warning to Renzo. “I’ll hunt him down, then straighten his ass out. I promise you that.”

“Start in California. He’s still chasing a pipe dream.”

By pipe dream, my father means Elia Seraphina Lombardi, our main rival’s daughter. Renzo’s been fucking around with her for years, since we were kids. If Renzo’s a flame, she’s a goddamn firecracker. And they aren’t the only ones who’ll burn in hell if Renzo can’t keep his filthy mitts off her.