Page 80 of Dirty Mafia Sinner

I roll my eyes. “Your point?”

“I’ve not seen you like this for months. You must be feeling better.”

He arches an eyebrow, pushing my buttons. But I’m not discussing decisions I made while he was gone. Fuck, I don’t even ask him if Riley’s lame friend had anything more to sayabout her before he warned her old-fashioned style—a few cuts here and there, a reminder to keep her trap shut—and set her free. The truth won’t change this arrangement. I’ve got Riley where I want her, and I’m keeping her.Until you grow bored.

Until your father’s own neat arrangement requires you let her go.

The thought kills any lingering humor, as does my next question. “Any updates on Conti?”

“All bank accounts have been cleared. No trace of Conti. He must be using cash only.”

“Crafty fuckhead.” My eyes drift to my desk, and I picture her sprawled out across it. I need a stiff drink, and a housemaid to suck me off so fucking good, I’ll forget her.

“The doctor change your meds?”

“No, why?” I ask.

“No cursing? No threats? Less evil bastard. You seemlighter.”

Jesus Christ. I’m tempted to punch his face, then ask him if that felt lighter. Whatever bullshit he’s thinking, he’s wrong. “Listen, asshole.” I roll to my feet, conversation over. “Find Conti, and the evil bastard you think you know will seem like an angel.”

RILEY

His,to order about.

His, to play with, on his time and at his beck and call.

His, to sit on a sofa in his office quietly, with my breasts on display while I watch him work.

“Market was down yesterday.” Alessandro taps the blunt end of a pen on a paper on his desk. “Good time to purchase gold before it rises.”

He listens intently, and then nods. “Yes,sir.”

Despite how the last word is layered in sarcasm, the honorific signifies respect. He must be on the phone with his father, Sebastiano Beneventi.

I tilt my head, regarding him. Tense shoulders. Tight expression. The tap, tap, tap of the pen because he can’t stop moving. He’s wound tight, and I feel for him. It’s obvious not only does he respect his father, but he’s also hungry to please him. The revelation’s startling. My perception of him was based on his actions mixed with a handful of conversations. I hardly knew him in New York, and I know less as his captive. Though today, I’m seeing a different side to him. The dutiful and somewhat reluctant son to an important mafioso capo.

Our eyes meet, and his pen halts.

He tosses it aside, then turns away.

Why demand I sit here if he doesn’t like me eavesdropping?

I curl my legs beneath me on the cushion, forcing my attention elsewhere. Unfortunately, it drifts to thoughts of my father and our dynamic when I was a little girl.

One Christmas, my parents bought me a plastic four-wheeler. Every day, I’d wait on the corner for him to return from work. As soon as I saw his car turn onto our block, I’d pedal as fast as I could to race him home. We had a front stoop with concrete steps, and I’d ride down the sidewalk at full speed until the wheel crashed into the stoop, stopping me. I did it so many times I wore out the front wheel. We were close. I was loved and protected.

Until he mether.

An engagement’s supposed to be a happy occasion. What kind of man hides news like that, especially from a loved one?

I frown. Is this the festering wound I keep digging at? Is this why I can forgive him for poor judgement yet hang on to his lie by omission?

I quickly brush aside a random tear before Alessandro notices. My father and I are both victims of monsters. Except mine likes to keep me on hand, caged, bare-breasted, and at his command.

“Less Frankenstein,” he cuts in.

I stare at him, wide-eyed—it’s almost as if he’s read my thoughts.