Page 24 of Dirty Mafia Torment

“I’m like a starved animal.” He takes a long drag of his joint, then slowly releases smoke into the air. “My mind craves stimulation.”

Hiding my interest, I roll my eyes. “Is that why you dull your senses?”

“I wish marijuana were the cure.”

I snort. “Not just marijuana. Booze. Drugs. Picking fights with dangerous mafiosi, like Luciano Santoro?”

Silence fills the space between us.

“You keepingtabs on me?”

I bite my lip, weighing my words. I don’t want to scare him off, but fear isn’t a language he understands, is it? Fuck it. “You insinuated Luciano Santoro is a kiss-ass.”

“He’s all up in Dante Lucchese’s business.”

“You didn’t just disrespect him, you dissed the Youngbloods too.”

Everyone in the Life knows the savage way the Italian Youngbloods became made men, by luring a small army of enemies into a trap and setting them ablaze. It was twisted, gruesome, a spectacle of fire and fear, and the famiglie have been relishing every detail ever since.

Renzo takes another drag.

I’ve watched his life play out like a film, front-row to a starring role in a world of dark depravity. Lorenzo Beneventi at twenty-one was already a deviant. The man beside me, silently studying me, is sharper, wilder, more alive … more everything … than I remember.

He leans across the console to whisper in my ear, then gently blows smoke in my face. “You’re a piece of work, know that?”

“Bet you wish we stuck to the fucking niceties?”

His laughter makes me smile. Lord, when was the last time I’d done so?

Since he knows I looked him up online, I appease my curiosity. “Explain something to me.”

He relaxes back in his seat. “Shoot.”

“I don’t understand the appeal of underground fights.”

His head pivots toward me. “Jesus. You know about them?”

Renzo rarely posts, but other fight club participants do.

I air-quote the hashtag I saw. “#unstoppable.” I was shocked yet thrilled after discovering Renzo’s battered, bleeding mug shot.

“You’re a goddamn stalker, know that?”

I grin. “There she is.”

“You want into my psyche? Fine. I fight and fuck to let out the aggression.”

I swallow hard, clamping down on the wickedly delicious imageof him fucking out his aggression. Wishing I’d found more footage of that online.

“Why not the gym like the other mafiosi?”

He shakes his head. “Not hardcore enough. Nothing beats a bloody battle or deep penetration, especially when I’ve tied her up and she’s at my complete fucking mercy.”

I’m pretty sure the last part’s meant to shock me.

“As hardcore as snorting coke off Roberto Ferrara’s girlfriend’s ass before fucking her and her friend?”

He chokes on the joint.