Page 1 of Dirty Mafia Torment

PROLOGUE

RENZO

Sweet oblivion beckons.

My body slackens as soft leather cuffs tighten around my wrists, holding me aloft. A lullaby called pain wreaks havoc on my mind, and I cling to it, reveling in the twisted comfort accompanying it.

Fina. Fina. Fina.

I stop struggling … stop breathing …

“Aiuto!” a panicked man screams in Italian. So close yet so far away. “Qualcuno venga subito.”

She appears out of nowhere, a furious angel, the most infuriating creature I’ve ever met. Her full red lips are moving, angrily, desperately, yet it takes so much fucking effort to hear her.

Don’t you dare die and abandon me forever.

She should despise me, fuck knows I’ve earned it. I’ve done a lot of twisted things, and sunk to the lowest lows while chasing fleetinghighs. My world is destruction; shattering expectations and breaking hearts. It’s who I am, the man I was always meant to be.

Still, she’s always there, isn’t she? Lurking in the corners of my mind. I told myself it meant nothing. We’re tangled together, whether we want it or not, both dragged into a mafiosi world that devours the weak and rewards only the most cunningly ruthless. But Fina was never the type to be forgotten. All I see is her now—daring, relentless, waiting on a promise I never should have made.

Fina …

Far away, people are shouting.

Far away, my mind drifts into a memory, of us and how we came to be.

Eight years ago

“You’re dead, motherfucker.”

My brother straightens beside me, panting between curses, his face contorted with rage.

I flex my fingers. I’m the wild Beneventi, yet Sandro’s boldly eye-fucking Maria DeLuca like he’s a made man and not some sixteen-year-old sexual deviant, like our living room isn’t lined wall-to-wall with mafiosi—men draped in dark suits, their shoes polished to a mirror shine, their eyes full of secrets and silent threats. My father’s hosting this luncheon in celebration of our capo di tutti capi’s birthday, and all twelve famiglie are present. Members of a rival mafia famiglia, the Cosa Nostra, are even in attendance, traveling from Italy to pay their respects to Don Lucchese.

Everyone has been on relatively good behavior—except Maria.

Still, you don’t gather lifelong rivals with violent tendencies together, toss a big-breasted, blue-heeled grenade into the room, and expect a positive outcome. Disaster can strike quicker than you can say, “On your knees, Maria.”

Because her husband, Don DeLuca, is Cosa Nostra.

The woman in question is presently bending over to retrieve a hair clip she’s dropped. Her blue dress rides up her thighs and over the curve of her tight ass, and every man in the room—aside from her oblivious husband—gawks.

Easy conquests like the lovely Maria don’t interest me. I prefer a challenge, the chase. Once she’s mine, I’m down for a good fucking flavored with some pretty twisted shit, the kinkier the better.

I swore to my father I’d be on good behavior and won’t turn his luncheon into a bloodbath. He didn’t even demand my twin do the same.

Sandro shifts on his feet. “My dick aches so bad it might fall off.”

“Stop looking at her. No one wants to see your dick rolling around on the floor or shoved down your throat.”

“Speaking of dicks…” Sandro goes stiff beside me. “Here comes one.”

Massimo Grassi approaches, his stride equal parts confidence and arrogance. His father, Tito Grassi, is the most powerful capo in the Cosa Nostra, and Massimo wears that truth like an invisible fucking crown. Like Sandro, he craves control. Unlike Sandro, he has no twin to humble his ego. I sometimes imagine them locked in a room together, curious who’d be the last man standing. The thought makes me smirk, though the truth is I could outplay them both without breaking a sweat. I’m the Clark Kent of alphas, with my kryptonite being the simple truth that I couldn’t care less about flexing it or chasing the Twelve’s approval, especially when I can run circles around them.

Massimo’s different. Wicked smart, and at sixteen already accepted into Harvard. Men twice his age respect him, even fear him. Cunning and brutal, he’s a dual threat and built to rule. One day, he’ll be the capo no one dares cross.

Me? I’d rather watch paint peel off walls than be part of the Life.