Mafia Kings: Valentino: Dark Mafia Romance Series #6 by Olivia Thorn

Mafia Kings: Valentino: Chapter 36 I nearly had a heart attack when the brass alarm clock went off at 4:15.

Fucking Don fuckin' Vicari - After I slammed the fucking clock so it shut up, I thought about staying there in bed for a few minutes longer...

But I remembered the mafia don's warning: We don't take kindly to lateness or laziness around here.

Besides, my heart was racing so hard after having a goddamn cymbal factory wakeup that I decided to just get going.

Since I only had a bathtub, I did a quick once-over with a washcloth. Then I dressed in slacks and a white linen shirt, took the copy of Milk and Honey with me, and made my way groggily down the hall.

An old servant lady was in the kitchen. It was pitch black outside, but she was already hard at work getting breakfast ready for the family.

She'd prepareda plate of cold cuts, cheeses, grapes, and rough brown bread. Not exactly a fancy breakfast, but it tasted good.

More important was the strong coffee she'd brewed in a metal pot. The kitchen didn't have a fancy espresso machine, but the oily black liquid she'd fixed was twice as strong. I was wired by the tI finished my second cup.

Just as I was finishing up, a clean-shaven guy walked into the kitchen. He couldn't have been any older than me. He had jet-black hair and was about my height with a wiry build - maybe not super-strong, but definitely not weak.

He wore a cheap black suit like Don Vicari's guys at the hotel yesterday, but he styled his hair very carefully with gel.

"Hey, boss, you good to go?" he asked.

"You my driver?" I asked.

"Yes I am. The name's Paulo." With just that little exchange, Paulo was more talkative than 95% of the other Sicilians who worked for Don Vicari - and a hell of a lot friendlier.

"Cool, I'm Valentino. Let's do it," I said as I stood and picked up the book of poetry. Then I told the kitchen lady, "Thanks for breakfast." She just nodded silently and went back to work.

Like I said: talkative.

Paolo led the way outside, where a black Alfa Romeo SUV was parked on the gravel drive. Over the scrunch of the rocks beneath our feet, I heard a familiar sound clanking far away in the darkness.

"Are those cows?" I asked, astounded they would be up that early.

"Yeah. The fuckers never shut up," Paolo said. "'Scuse my French." "Speak French all you want," I said as I got in the front passenger seat. Paolo looked atin surprise as he got behind the wheel.

"I'm not a little old lady you need to fuckin' chauffeur around," I told him. "Alright, then," he grinned, and started the engine.

We talked as Paolo made his way through the winding roads in the hills.

We were both a little wary of saying too much - especially about his employer and my future father-in-law - but I found out a lot about the family operation.

"Rocco's basically the capo of the south side of Sicily," Paolo explained, using the word for 'boss' that described a Cosa Nostra leader just below the don and consigliere. For instance, Adriano was capo of Florence. "His brothers-in-law Tony and Santiago work for him. You met his sisters Abriana and Marcella yesterday, right?" "Yeah," I said, recalling the don's other two daughters. "Work for him doing what, exactly?" "Ahhh, you know," Paolo said evasively.

"No, I don't." Paolo glanced over at me. "Word is you're from another family." He meant another Cosa Nostra family.

"Yeah, so?" "So... you know." I sighed in exasperation. “Our operation was mostly bribing judges, cops, and politicians.” "Oh." Paolo smiled tightly. "Well, this ain't that." "What is it, then?" "Collections, mostly." He meant protection rackets. Extortion.

"From who?" "Shopkeepers, mostly. They take a cut from the pimps and drug dealers, too." Great.

Don Vicari was old-school mafia, and so was his son Rocco... which meant they did all the old-school shit that people hated the mafia for.

"Don't tell Rocco I told you that, though," Paolo said with an edge of nervousness in his voice.

"Don't worry, I'll play stupid," I promised. "What's Rocco like?" "Uhhh... he's... interesting." "Interesting how?" Paolo paused for a second, then said, "What we say in the car stays in the car, right?" "Absolutely." "Good. You could say Rocco's got a Napoleon complex." "Little man syndrome," I suggested.

"Exactly." Paolo was saying Rocco was short, and he felt the need to overcompensate by being a total dick.

Good to know.

"Is it really three hours to where we're going?" "'Fraid so." "Great," I said as I pulled out Milk and Honey.

Paolo glanced down at the book. "Huh. Didn't figure you for the poetry type." "I'm not," I sighed. "But Isabella is." "Ah, the Don's daughter. She's a nice girl." "She seems that way," I agreed.

"'Seems' that way?" Paolo said in surprise.

I looked over at him like, You didn't know? "Shit, the Don really did an arranged marriage, huh?" Paolo asked.

"Yeah," I said grimly.

"Fuuuuuuck. I thought that shit went out of style fifty years ago." "So did I." He laughed. "Bet you thought you were gonna have an easier life marrying her than getting up at the buttcrack of dawn and driving three hours to do gangster shit, huh?" "Yeah," I admitted. "I did." While Paolo drove, I read spoetry and was instantly surprised. Not by the poetry itself - but that Isabella was reading it. It had spretty hardcore feminist stuff in it.

I smiled. She was smuggling stuff into the house that Don Vicari wouldn't approve of, right under his nose.

He had a rebel in the house and didn't even know it.

But poetry is like ouzo, a Greek liqueur that tastes like licorice: Slove it, but I'm not a fan. And I definitely hadn't developed a taste for it.

I eventually got sleepy, put the book down, and reclined the seat.

"I'm gonna take a nap." "Go for it, boss," Paolo said.

I closed my eyes. With the hum of the engine and gentle vibration from the car, I was out in just a few minutes.

Mafia Kings: Valentino: Chapter 35 When I woke up, we were driving along the coast. The sun was sparkling over the Mediterranean as we sped down a highway with a lot more traffic on it.

"How long was I out?" I asked as I squinted against the light.

"Maybe an hour." "So we're not even close yet, are we." "A little more than halfway. We just passed Catania." I had no idea where Catania was, but now I knew it was about halfway to Pozzallo.

As I rubbed my eyes, I thought about all the times I'd woken up in Cat's bed.

My heart ached, and I would have given just about anything to be beside her right now.

Inside her would've been even better.

Maybe I could at least call her, though. I'd memorized her number a long tago in case of emergency.

"Can I borrow your phone?" I asked.

Paolo winced. "Sorry, boss. That was the one thing they toldI absolutely could not do." I was expecting his answer, but it pissedoff all the same.

"'They'?" I asked.

"My boss," he clarified. “Which he got from his boss." "Isn't Don Vicari your boss?" "He's, like, my boss's boss's boss." "They'll never know you loaned it to me," I said, then added, "What happens in the car stays in the car, right?" "Not if they'd chop my dick off if they find out." "Can I at least use Google Maps so I can see where the fuck we're going? I have no idea where Pozzallo is, how big it is, or anything." "...yeah... I guess I can do that much. But seriously, don't go callin' or texting any chicks, okay?" he said worriedly.

"I won't," I grumbled.

Which had been the one thing I really wanted to do.

I punched in our destination and looked at the map. I saw that Pozzallo was on the southeastern coast of Sicily - a sleepy little beach town, possibly a touristy area.

Then I backtracked along the blue line to see what else we would pass - "Holy shit!" I exclaimed.

"What?" "Rosolini's on the way!" Paolo gavea weird look. "So?" "So my last nis Rosolini! My grandfather cover to Tuscany from Rosolini!" "Huh," Paolo said noncommittally.