Page 123 of Dirty Mafia Torment

“If you say so.”

“Says the black pot.” He sips his whiskey, his fingers tightening around the glass like he's barely containing something darker beneath the surface. “So, Elia Seraphina Lombardi? Seriously? I expected you’d show up with a girlfriend one day but not that hellhound. Always up your ass. Always following you around like a lovesick girl. You couldn’t shake her, and now she’s here? You playing games or what? You trading in your sex club admission for idiot-for-hire?”

He’s practically salivating, waiting for me to rise to the bait.

I don’t … can’t. My emotions are shot to shit.

“Well, damn.” He studies me intently, searching for clues without fully understanding the history between Fina and me, then lets it drop. “Father wants all resources directed toward Massimo.”

I lean my head back on the couch, my eyes heavy. I fucked up. Missed a chance to correct this misunderstanding. And now shit’s hit the fucking fan.

“How much time?” I ask.

“With Dante as collateral, I’m guessing a week? Father will want everything in place first.”

Time for me to get busy. Situate my men in Sicily. Watch every frame of footage from our holdings and Massimo’s and analyze each fucking detail for clues.

The cushion beside me shifts again as Sandro leans back. I glance sideways. His posture is almost identical to mine, legs sprawled, arms loose, breathing slow but controlled. Twin symmetry, which used to mean the world to me. We were close as kids, even as teenagers.

When did the cracks dividing us begin? Was it when his daddy issues kicked in? Was it after Rome, when my own began? When rumors about what happened began circulating?

Well, shit.

“You always wanted to be in the Life?” I ask.

“That’s random.” He turns his head to look at me. “I guess.”

“You’ve built quite the reputation. It suits you.”

He blinks. “You fucking with me?”

I give him a faint smile, tired, so damn tired. “Thanking you. For a long time, I blamed you for my shit when no one but my own twisted soul was at fault. You tried to help. Tried to cover for me. Tried to keep me clean. I just need you to know I see that now.”

That lands harder than expected. His mouth parts, closes, then finally, he says, “You’re my brother. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

The silence between us stretches, tense, raw, and oddly soothing. No bullshit, no pretense, we see each other clear as day.

Then his brows draw together. “I just got played, didn’t I?”

“Nope.”

“This isn’t about freeing up a few of my men to sic on Settemo Accardo?”

I tense at the name, the thirst for Accardo blood alive and well. “It wasn’t. But if you’re offering…”

“I’ll be going against Father’s order.”

I stare at him, unwavering. Whether he sends men or not, Settemo’s a dead man. I’ll burn Italy to the ground until I find him. And when I do, I won’t stop until he’s screaming in agony.

“If Riley looked half as bad as Elia … Fuck it, I’ll have them report to you tomorrow.”

“I owe you.”

He rolls his eyes, but his voice softens. “Stay clean. That’s all I ask.”

I nod, the pressure in my jaw easing slightly.

“You know, something about this bullshit with Massimo is off,” he mutters.