Page 51 of Dirty Mafia Torment

“Youshot Conti’s uncle.”

“What about it?”

I blankly stare at him, waiting for the assumption.

He doesn’t disappoint. “You stood there with this stupid expression, like the night of partying had finally caught up with you. You froze like a pussy.”

“I was manifesting the moment.” Savoring the rush, the elation that took me by surprise.

He fucking blinks.

“You know, projecting an outcome you want and sending it into the universe. But you ruined it.”

“I did what was necessary and covered your ass.”

“You stole my moment to satisfy your raging hard-on to please our father.”

He leans in. “You didn’t have it in you.”

“You have daddy issues.”

That hit the mark. “You don’t have the killer gene.”

I stifle a laugh. I can’t wait to prove this asshole wrong.

“Want into the Life?” he snarls when I don’t give him the reaction he wants. “Focus on earning and not enforcing. The fall will be less messy that way.”

He rolls back in his seat, satisfied he’s out-assholed me.

“Fine,” I say after a few minutes, curious if he understands how I manipulated the fuck out of him. “Float me the million and a half so I establish myself as an earner.”

“Jesus Christ,” he utters. It’s followed by a long pause. “You really want in on the Life?”

I shrug.

“I’ll float you two million with twelve percent interest. If the money ends up in your bloodstream or up your fucking nose, I’ll beat the living daylights out of you.”

I toss my information, which I wrote on a piece of paper, onto his desk. “Transfer the money to this bank account.”

“Now?”

“No. In a fucking year from now.”

He fiddles on his computer. A few moments later, a single satisfying buzz of my phone confirms the transfer.

Mission fucking accomplished—two million dollars is now at my disposal. “This is the smartest investment you’ve ever made,” I murmur, a sliver of excitement coloring my tone.

He leans back, arms crossed. “You think you can give up the lifestyle? The partying, drugs, the excess?”

I tap my temple. “Mind over matter, baby.”

“I hope you can do it, but I won’t bet money on it.”

I straighten, feeling more inspired than ever to prove him wrong. “Say hi to Riley for me.”

He looks perplexed. “You’re not staying for lunch?” His voice dips into something gruff, reluctant. “She’ll want to see you.”

I have a meeting with Dante tomorrow afternoon, something I don’t intend to share. The less he knows about my movements, the easier it’ll be to slip beneath our father’s radar.