Seduced by the Mafia Boss (Forbidden Confessions 8)

Beyond the narrow hall and the guards behind, Marco tries the door, only to find it locked. He sighs. “This has been Paul’s ‘command center’ for the operation. There’s almost nothing in there, but he likes to feel important. I’ll get you a key later so you can study what he’s done and implement…what’s the term?”

“Process improvements,” I mumble absently.

I’ve got to get into that room ASAP. I need hard evidence so I can free these people and get out of this shithole.

“Precisely. Thoughts so far?” Marco asks as he steps back into the elevator and presses the button to return to the observation suite above the casino.

“About this venture?” I shrug. “If you want max profitability, we need to clean it up. If I had money and I was in the market for specific…companionship, I wouldn’t want anyone who looked mistreated and unwashed. Torn clothes and bruises should be a hard fucking no.”

“You have a fair point. The merchandise should come in pristine condition. What the buyer decides to do with it…”

“Should be up to them.” If I can convince Donzelli to treat his captives more like people than animals until I can deal directly with the situation, I’ll call that a temporary win.

“Their current accommodations were slapped together simply because we grew faster than planned and had nothing else prepared. I’ve been toying with the notion that we need better. This facility is secure, but…”

“But it smells like body odor and shit. You can’t get top dollar that way. It might have worked for a small-time operation, but you want to go big. So you’ve got to do better.”

“You’re right.”

“We have that old wing of the hotel shut down for upgrades. They’re not scheduled to start work on the west hallway of the eighth floor until the end of summer. Put the merch there. That will buy you a few months to find an alternate location. Move guards into position so that anyone who wanders that way can be redirected. Hell, put a passcode on the southern-most elevator so that anyone who gets on can’t stop at that floor.”

And if Donzelli agrees, all those people in cages now will have a bed, a toilet, a shower, and a few creature comforts. It’s not freedom yet, but it’s a step up.

“To be honest, I haven’t been down there in a few weeks. I’m displeased Paulie hasn’t improved his setup. I’ll have the product moved to that abandoned wing tonight. Those rooms haven’t been renovated in a few decades, so the doors still have old-fashioned locks with keys. Jimmy in Maintenance can flip the knobs around so they lock from the outside. The windows don’t vent out. We sold off the old phones for parts months ago. We can wire some video surveillance in each room quickly and tie that into the rest of the casino’s security. That way, we can monitor every piece of merchandise from my suite. We have the equipment. And you’ll be around to keep an eye on things while you study the business. It’s a great plan.” He claps me on the shoulder, clearly pleased.

And Paul Carboni will consider my involvement as welcome as me pissing in his Corn Flakes. “Like I said, I’m happy to help.”

We reach the level just above the casino. When Donzelli and I step into his suite, a glance out the wall of windows tells me the crowd on the floor has swelled again. Shoulders bump and bodies rub as people dash from one diversion to another, looking for empty, temporary amusement.

But that’s not the shock. Paulie standing in the middle of the room, rain-soaked and shaking up a bottle of champagne in his beefy hands as blood stains his shirt, is.

What the fuck has he been up to?

Instinct kicks me in the teeth again. Whatever it is, I’m not going to like it.

“What are we celebrating?” Donzelli asks.

“Boss!” Paulie uncorks the bubbly and turns toward Sal and Rudy. Yeah, he knows better than to spew all over the boss’s fancy duds. He celebrates over the duo’s sputtering with a laugh. “Boss, that thorn in your side? That annoying ‘competitor’ in the flesh biz, Ransom?” He barks out a low, ugly laugh. “I got him.”

My blood runs cold. I work like a motherfucker to keep all hint of reaction, especially dread, off my face. “What do you mean?”

“Shut up, you little puke,” he snarls. “I’m talking to the boss.”

“We’re family,” Donzelli growls. “We’re supposed to get along, Paul.”

But Carboni has already made it clear I’m like the pesky younger cousin he’d rather do without. The feeling is more than mutual. And I don’t need more family, thanks very much. I’ve got three older brothers.

Ransom just happens to be my oldest.

Paul sneers. “Then the little fuck shouldn’t interrupt me when I’m trying to tell you that I eliminated the competition—for good. I dusted Ransom in a strip mall about an hour ago.”