Page 85 of Dirty Mafia Torment

Bianca heard that he survived, though nothing more.

I try to pick up the pieces and slip back into the rhythm of my new life. Pretend I’m the same girl who fell in love with Rome and freedom’s illusion.

But everything’s changed, hasn’t it?

I’ve been exposed. Renzo and Dante know exactly who I am. Worse, I’m entangled with two mafia families now. I shot at the Cosa Nostra, wounded a capo di tutti capi’s son, and didn’t just ignore Aunt Teresa’s warning to not get noticed but turned it into a freaking spectacle.

Running’s an option, but what good will it do without a plan in place?

Nearly three weeks have passed; I feel like I’m suspended in air, feet dangling after my shoes have already dropped. Still, there’s no sign of Renzo or Dante.

Does he want me to let go? It seems that way.

A light rain falls as I exit the bus. Of course, I grabbed two corn husks instead of an umbrella when leaving the house, so I’m unprepared.

I tuck in my chin and, as the rain picks up, dash along the nearby sidewalk. Most people step inside, out of the elements. My prozia will be pleased—additional business is always welcome.

I’m two blocks away when a man slams into my side.

Then his arms wrap around me, and I’m being dragged into a narrow side street.

“Togliti le mani di dosso, stronzo,” I screech, struggling to break free.

He loosens his grip just enough to slam a fist into my ribs, driving me face-first against the stone wall. Pain blooms across my cheeks, raw and burning. I gasp, desperate for air, my lungs screaming. My mind in a state of shock and outrage.

The stench of cigarette smoke clings to him, thick and choking. Triggering the nightmare I escaped, the burn marks on my skin feeling as raw as the day Settemo assaulted me.

You escaped him and his uncle, Fina. There’s a way out of this, too.

Rain pours down in buckets, soaking my hair, my clothes. Undeterred, I brace my hands on the wall slick with water and grime.

Slide a foot behind his ankle.

And go slack, like I’ve given up, before he comes at me again.

It’s basic self-defense 101. The oldest trick in the book.

I draw courage from my outrage at all the men who’ve touched me without permission, who underappreciated my worth.

“Ahhh!” I scream, raw and sharp, shoving off the wall with everything I’ve got, ramminginto him.

He slams onto the cobblestones with a sickening thud, his right hand flung useless at my foot.

“Wrong woman to fuck with,” I growl, seizing the moment.

I raise my leg and drive my heel down onto his fingers.

The crunch is cruel, and oh so satisfying. As is the scream that tears through the rain.

I bolt, heart hammering.

Thankful to have escaped with just a few scrapes and my dignity intact.

Dante Lucchese walksinto the restaurant, and the place falls silent.

I pause midstep, then set two steaming plates onto the nearest surface before I drop them. His appearance isn’t unusual, but his manner is, as is the fact he’s alone.

This day keeps getting worse.