Page 55 of Dirty Mafia Torment

I relax in my chair, faking annoyance.

“The war is spilling out into city streets,” Luciano comments. “Last night, Cassio’s men barely dodged an ambush in Naples. They had no choice but to defend themselves and killed a few men.”

Dante leans in. “We stay clear of the Cosa Nostra drama,” he commands. “No more deaths, capisci? The famiglie will not take a side. Our suppliers are skittish enough, worried about retaliation if we side with the wrong family.”

I snort.

Dante looks offended.

“We’ve a long-standing agreement with the Grassi family.”

Dante jerks his chin at me. “I forgot you and Massimo are friends.”

“We’ve a mutual respect for each other and share similar interests, is all.”

“Same kinks.” Luciano smiles like he’s said something that might upset me.

I smirk back, unfazed. How the fuck did this numbnut pull off the most shocking initiation into the famiglie yet? “Dante likes quantity, I’m into variety, as is Massimo—even if he’s old-fashioned at heart. But you, my friend…” I pause for a few beats. “…get your kinks from being a bottom.”

“Motherfucker.” Luciano shoots out of his chair. “Where did you hear that?”

Dante, my source, subtly shakes his head. “Jesus,” I mutterinnocently. “What’s the big deal if you lie back and take it? It’s just a matter of perspective, with you … looking up…”

“Sit down,” Dante orders. “You’re causing a scene.”

Luciano obeys. “Whoever started that rumor is a dead man.”

“Enough. Let’s get to the real reason we’re here.” Dante locks eyes with him. “I have a job. I want you to find out who’s sabotaging my pistachio harvests.”

His harvests, with Sandro’s backing. I didn’t laugh when my twin invested heavily in Dante’s passion project. Everyone underestimated the emerging nut market, and pistachios turned out to be a gold mine. Puddings, syrups, even chicken recipes. They’re the next big trend since pumpkin spice.

But Dante’s behind. Knowing my brother, his men are already hunting the thieves.

“It’s someone on the outside,” Luciano tosses out, just to hear himself talk.

I’m not convinced. Feels too clean, too convenient. My gut says it’s someone on the inside, and an Italian-based famiglie. And if we cross the Youngbloods off the list, that leaves only one name.

Vito Cardini.

“It’s costing us a fortune, and good men have died.” Dante’s fist tightens, catching my attention. “Whoever is behind this is a threat to neighboring farms.”

Neighboring farms. Right. Like Don Gallo’s—and his lovely daughter’s—farm. One right next door to the acreage Dante unexpectedly purchased. Do I doubt Dante’s fooling around with Gallo’s daughter? No way. Hollywood will tap anything with two legs. The only criteria is that they’re good looking. Despite the age difference and Dante being much older, word has it that Luna Gallo harbors a huge crush on my father’s right-hand man. Easy pickings.

So why the clenched fist?

Luciano straightens his shoulders. “I’ll get right on it.”

“Production’s paused for three weeks.”

“I’ll have it dealt with in two.”

I roll my fucking eyes. What I don’t do is admit this won’t be Luciano’s moment but mine. It’s the turning point I’ve been denied. Another chance to showcase exactly what I am—ruthless, calculated, the worst of the Beneventi monsters.

No way am I letting another asshole steal my thunder.

Actions speak louder than words, and mine will land like a mortar blast.

The chef returns with three dishes. With a plop, she sets my meal before me, then leans in. “Boo.”