Page 58 of Dirty Mafia Sinner

I wait until he’s gone before collapsing on the weight bench and relax enough for exhaustion to take over.

My father isbig into excesses. Power, money, sex … the Beneventihonor. Renzo and I used to joke his pigheaded determination far exceeded everything else.

Neither Renzo nor I are laughing now.

“Everything still set for Tavern on the Green?” It’s 6 a.m. in Rhode Island. He’s up bright and early and starting off the day with a fresh cup of bullshit. With everything else on my plate, sweet Alessia’s been an afterthought.

I’ll bet my right arm he’s plucked Alessia Amato’s cherry and tasted her sweet pie repeatedly. He’s a bit of a psycho where she’s concerned. If only he’d admit the truth and leave me the hell alone. “Unless you’d like me to cancel?”

But his mind is a steel trap—once it closes on an idea, there’s no prying it open again. He vowed to Don Lucchese he’d bring a corrupt politician into the Eleven, and I realized months ago there’s no changing his mind. Still, there’s a brief pause, likely to prolong the inevitable torment. “Listen, you little shit. I shouldn’t have to remind you we’re under a goddamn microscope with Don Lucchese’s health on the decline. We proceed as planned.”

“Fuck.” I roll my office chair backward, stand and then move around the office, pacing until a familiar resignation settles in.

Things teeter on the edge of unpredictability right now. When my godfather dies, the Famiglie will choose a new capo di tutti capi from the two candidates Don Lucchese secretly selected. No one knows who the two are—their names are notarized, sealed, and hidden away, only to be revealed after the old man is gone. Then, the Eleven will cast their votes, though it’s technically ten votes—since my father eliminated Benny from the equation—that will decide who’ll rule with Dante Lucchese at his side.

My father already controls most of their finances, and—ironically—bank accounts have swelled since Bible Belt Benny’s demise. “Takes the sting out of Benny’s departure,” my father confided after manipulating portfolios to crash and soar, timed perfectly with his rival’s death. “From ruin to riches with just a click,” he boasted, as the Eleven heaved a sigh of relief, more concerned with their finances than the loss of a fellow capo.

And I nearly ruined everything.

“I’ll fly to Rome and pay Don Lucchese a visit.” Pay my godfather a visit and remind him I’m my father’s son.

“Hell, no. Not while you resemble Freddy fucking Krueger.”

I grimace.

“Recover at the villa, that’s your orders.”

Caged, he means. Like a fucking animal.

“Your current condition will fuel more rumors.”

Rumors that suggest we’re weak.

Rumors our rivals will latch on to and use to our disadvantage.

He’ll never forget I fucked up.

I pace some more, but it’s no help, so move to my chair. Before I can sit, my foot collides with a bowl on the floor, and whatever control I have over my temper snaps. I kick the offensive object and send it flying, milk spraying everywhere, all over my desk, my new fucking suit, and even my face, before it crashes and breaks against the wall.

“What in God’s teeth was that?” my father demands.

My dignity.

My self-respect.

“Your pride and joy is in Rome,” I snap, deflecting.

“That right?” is his immediate reply. Anything to do with Renzo elicits the same eager response.

I flick my wrist and check the time. “I’ve a meeting in five minutes. I’ll offer my men advice on how to proceed and send a team after him.”

“If anyone can outwit your brother, it’s you.”

My shoulders relax at the rare compliment. Even if Renzo and I are twins cut from the same stone.

“I’ve another matter I’d like you to handle. Discreetly, of course.”

“Of course.”