Mafia Kings: Dario: Dark Mafia Romance Series
Mafia Kings: Dario: Chapter 11

I was too stressed out by my talk with Lars to eat lunch, so I was ravenous when 6PM finally rolled around and it was time to get ready for dinner.

I took a shower and used the amazing scented soaps and shampoos lining the tub. I thought about using the blow dryer on the countertop to dry my hair, then decided against it. It could just dry naturally, though that would probably take hours.

After all, I wasn’t going to a beauty contest.

I was going to dinner with a bunch of criminals and killers…

One of whom would apparently murder me if need be.

I was about to slip on one of my own dresses, then saw the one the servant girl had left while I was sleeping.

It was still draped over the chair. No one had moved it.

I wondered if Dario had commanded the servants not to move it until I had worn it.

Part of me rebelled and wanted to throw it out the window –

But I also remembered Lars saying Not me when I asked who would kill me if the time ever came.

“Don’t make the monster any more angry than he already is, Alessandra,” I cautioned myself.

I slipped on the dress, though I gritted my teeth while I did it.

It was actually extremely nice, far more luxurious than anything I had ever worn before.

The blue silk was like a constant caress on my skin… and it was cut modestly, revealing no more than my own clothes.

But I resented it.

It felt like a shackle around my neck, one more chain binding me to this beautiful prison I couldn’t leave… and to the jailer who held my life in his hands.

Still, my fear was enough that I wore the dress down to dinner.

I didn’t know where the dining room was, but I found it by listening for Niccolo’s animated speech as he talked and laughed with his brothers.

When I walked through the doors, everyone in the room looked at me and fell silent.

That is, until Niccolo said, “Madonn,” under his breath.

All the brothers (and Lars) were seated around the table, three on each side. Dario sat at the head of the table on the other end of the room.

His eyes flashed at the sight of me – and his eyes dropped to the dress.

He didn’t smile, exactly, but his gaze was softer when he looked me in the eyes again.

Valentino whistled.

Massimo gently smacked him on the back of his head.

“What?! She looks beautiful!” Valentino protested to the others. “Don’t tell me you’re not all thinking it, too!”

I blushed.

“Sit, Alessandra,” Niccolo said from his spot at Dario’s right hand. “We saved the seat of honor for you.”

Roberto, who was closest to me, stood up and pulled out the empty chair at the far end of the table from Dario. Then he pushed it underneath me as I sat.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

“Thank you for joining us, bella,” Niccolo said. “And punctual, too!”

“Yes, well, you should congratulate yourselves,” I said. “I’ve never seen six Italian men be on time for anything.”

Everyone chuckled except for Dario.

Although he smiled… just barely.

“It’s Lars,” Niccolo joked. “His Swedish-ness cancels out our perpetual Italian lateness and makes us all on time.”

“I thought it might be il Duce at the head of the table there,” I said, nodding at Dario, “making the trains run on time.”

My joke was met with silence.

For a second I was worried I had made a horrible misstep –

And then the entire room burst into laughter.

Even Dario grinned.

“Mussolini Rosolini,” Niccolo rhymed.

“What can I say,” Dario said. “It’s good to be dictator.”

The brothers laughed, but his little joke set my teeth on edge.

Dario was the dictator of the house…

And his boot was firmly on my neck, just as my life was in his hands.

I tried to ignore my feelings of resentment, but they slowly built throughout dinner.

Perhaps a little of my boldness increased with the delicious red wine. I might have had a little too much with dinner, which was marvelous. I had never eaten so many wonderfully prepared foods. Servants came and went in silence, whisking away plates and setting down new dishes:

Bowls of pappa al pomodoro, tomato soup made of sun-ripened Tuscan tomatoes.

Tagliolini al tartufo, long ribbons of pasta drizzled in melted butter, garlic, and shaved black truffle.

Potato tortelli, pasta filled with mashed potatoes and seasoned with garlic and sage.

Bistecca alla Fiorentina, tender steak seared with spices and salt.

By the time we had a heavenly tiramisu for dessert, I was stuffed –

And more than a little bit tipsy.

Which meant my tongue was a bit looser than it should have been.

I’d said very little during dinner. Talk had consisted mostly of business dealings that didn’t interest me in the slightest. Lots of extremely mundane things involving shipping and bribing local officials.

Thankfully I didn’t have to listen to talk about people being ‘whacked.’

There were also a number of off-color jokes you would expect amongst a bunch of twenty-something men.

But I got the sense that if conversation veered too close to something involving the true ‘family business,’ Niccolo rapidly shut it down.

Which irritated me.

It was all a show – a façade meant to pretend everything was normal when it most decidedly was not.

I was forced to be here.

I could not leave.

One of the men at the table had killed someone last night right in front of me.

And he had let it be known that my life was under threat by the man sitting directly across from me…

…the same one who had said he would make me his whore.

Bastard, I thought to myself angrily on more than one occasion.

What annoyed me more than anything was how handsome he was.

How powerful.

How rich and mysterious and dangerous.

There I sat in his house, eating his food, wearing the dress he had given me…

His prisoner.

I was furious.

I hated him.

Partly because he was this oppressive, villainous figure in my mind…

…and partly because I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

His gorgeous face…

His broad shoulders…

The tattoos visible at the open neck of his dress shirt…

Dario mostly seemed to ignore me, although every so often he would catch me looking at him. His eyes would meet mine and he would hold my gaze.

The first couple of times, I looked away guiltily when he caught me –

But as I drank more wine, I began to see it as a challenge. I would keep my eyes locked onto his, almost as though I was daring him to look away first.

But he never did.

His eyes would drink me in… and I would begin to feel hot…

Almost like I could tell he was undressing me in his mind…

Until finally I would look away, uncomfortable with how my body responded to his gaze.

None of this improved my mood…

And it all came to a head at the end of dinner.

“I would like to leave the grounds tomorrow,” I announced. “Temporarily.”

“What for?” Niccolo asked.

“I want to go to church.”

It was actually a ruse to get off the estate. I didn’t care so much about going to church as I did contacting my father –

Or maybe escaping altogether.

“There’s a private chapel in the western wing of the house,” Dario said. “Go there.”

“I can’t say confession there,” I protested.

Dario leaned back in his chair and smirked. “What horrible sins have you committed, exactly?”

“None as bad as yours, I’m sure,” I snapped.

I immediately regretted it.

You FOOL! I thought. What are you DOING?!

Everyone’s eyes immediately went to Dario.

His smirk didn’t fade, though.

If anything, he seemed amused by my challenge to his authority.

“I’m sure if you ask, God will forgive you,” he said in a mocking voice.

I replied with my own brand of mockery. “Perhaps you don’t understand how these things work, having never set foot in a church before, but I need to speak with a priest.”

“The priests around here are worse than us mafiosos you so despise. Trust me, you’ll be better off in the chapel.”

“I want to – ”

“No,” he interrupted sharply. “Now stop asking.”

I narrowed my eyes and sneered, “But I really should do penance for all the hatred I feel in my heart.”

“Hatred is nothing. Be more concerned about what you feel between your thighs.”

The way he stared me straight in the eyes when he said it –

The way he made me blush –

I hated him all the more.

“Trust me, lust is the least of my sins,” I snapped.

“Probably true, considering all the lies you tell.”

I stared at him. “What?!”

“You don’t want to go to church to confess anything. You want to contact your father like you attempted to do today on the phone.”

So he knew.

“All the phones in the house go to a central switchboard,” Niccolo explained gently. “The woman in charge of the system said that someone tried to make an outbound call this afternoon. When they didn’t answer her question, she just assumed it was you.”

I blushed hard.

I felt like a fool.

I had thought I’d been so stealthy –

And they all knew.

They were laughing at me behind their backs.

The stupid little peasant girl…

I got up from the chair with as much dignity as I could muster. “Then I guess I’ll just go to the chapel… in order to get away from the asshole in here.”

It was one of the few times in my life I had cursed.

I felt a certain pang of guilt –

But it was also oh so satisfying.

Dario smiled coldly. “Careful, little girl. God may forgive you… but I forgive nothing.”

“I would expect nothing less from the devil,” I said, and turned and walked out of the room.