Page 79 of Dirty Mafia Sinner

Wisely, Tommaso drops the subject. “But your brother left you a message.”

“Like hell he did.”

He holds out his hand. Scowling, I take the folded napkin from him. “Let me guess, the message is two letters,FandU.”

“Don’t know, Sandro.” Tommaso shakes his head. “He sealed the damn thing with chewing gum.”

My fist tightens around the napkin. “Yet he had time to do thisandescape?”

“He locked our soldiers inside a kinky sex dungeon, and then taunted them from a freaking watch tower above. High as hell, half-naked with no shoes, and Renzo still outsmarted them.” Tommaso’s tone reeks of incredulousness, but I’m not the slightest bit surprised. Renzo lives life like a game, in which he’s the chess master.

While I now become the Beneventi heir, filling in for him.

While I deal in reality.

While my life is completely fucked.

Tommaso nods at my hand. “You keep squishing that note, and you won’t be able to read it.”

I mutter a curse, and then painstakingly unwrap my twin’s present. Except the gum sticks tight, and finally all that’s decipherable is one word written in bubblegum pink lipstick.

Sicily.

I hand the napkin to Tommaso. “Must be about Dante.” It’s a logical conclusion. Except nothing about my brother inspires logic. Like my father said days ago, “Who the fuck’s in Sicily?” “Dante, and Pietro Gallo…”

Tommaso leans forward like he’s about to share a secret. “Ready for this? Dante’s fucking around with his daughter behind his back.”

I’ve a love/hate relationship with Dante Lucchese, my godfather’s only son and my father’s long-time protégé. He’s a cross between James Bond—with his good looks, charm, and revolving door of women—and Tony Soprano—with a hot temper, crazy-ass psychosis, and passion for violence. I saw himtake a butcher knife to some lying stranzo then, as the man’s guts spilled onto the floor, pluck the cigarette he’d given the man from his lips and, cool as can be, smoke it. An absolute psycho wrapped in movie-star-themed paper.

And I love him for it.

What I hate is how he assumes Renzo and I are his clean-up crew. Ever pick up a guy’s intestines? Pure grunt work—like Dante forgets we’re equals. That he and I will lead our famiglie one day.

My lips curl. “Hollywood’s asking for drama.”

Tommaso eyeballs me, surprised.

“What?” I demand.

“You cracked a joke.”

I scowl. “And?”

He thinks twice about answering, and instead turns the discussion back to Dante. “Want to hear the best part?”

Something in his tone says he can’t wait to tell me. “No,” I fuck with him. “Heard enough.”

“She’s seventeen.”

That's no big deal in Italy if she’s consenting. What’s mind-blowing is that Dante’s kink has always been older women.

“I’ve developed a taste for pistachios.” I grin. A trip to Sicily to visit Pietro Gallo? Can’t hurt, right? “Let’s investigate further before sharing anything with my father.”

Tommaso stares at me with a strange look.

“What now?”

“You’re fucking smiling.”