Sold: Dark Mafia Romance

“Sorry, I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to—”

“Oh, just ignore me and my old man jokes,” he says, snickering to himself. “I’ve not had a laugh in a good while.”

“Ah,” I reply. I didn’t realize he was only trying to get under my skin.

“C’mon, I’ll take you back upstairs. There’s nothing much to see here anyway. Not with all the guns being taken.” He shrugs.

I frown. “Doesn’t it worry you that Marcello is doing all this?”

He shakes his head. “He wouldn’t be Marcello if he didn’t.” He raises his brow at me. “I expect this of him.”

Expect? He almost makes it sound like he’s Marcello’s superior, but that wouldn’t be right, would it? I mean, Mario is his butler … At least, that’s what I always thought. But now I’m not so sure anymore. Maybe these two have a much more complicated relationship than I initially thought.

“But I won’t bother you with my ruminations,” he adds.

“It’s fine. I like hearing more about you and Marcello.” I smile. “It makes it easier to cope.”

He sighs. “I understand that. But it is not up to me what you get to know. That is Marcello’s choice, and it should remain his.”

“So you can’t tell me anything? Not even a little bit about him, his past, the business he’s in?” I ask as we both go upstairs.

“Marcello is the don of this family. He decides who shares what information, even if it involves me,” he replies.

“So you have no say in anything?” I ask. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“No, I chose this life.” He smiles politely at me as we reach the top of the stairs. “Life can be quite fulfilling when serving the ones who need you the most.”

Interesting. I hadn’t thought about it in that perspective. Maybe Mario really loves the subservient life. I can imagine it brings some peace knowing someone always looks to you in their times of need. He’s the one who’s always got Marcello’s back, and I kind of admire that in him. No one’s ever done that for me … not in such a wholesome way anyway.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some phone calls to make and errands to run.” He clears his throat.

Right as he’s about to leave, I ask, “Do you think Marcello will be okay?”

He doesn’t look my way, but his body still tenses. “I trust Marcello wholeheartedly. He will come back.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“A man just knows some things … in his heart.” He sighs and then walks off.

The answer he gave me doesn’t lessen the turmoil in my head. How does this man trust Marcello so implicitly, knowing what’s at stake and what he’s about to throw himself into?

I don’t want him to die.

But what could I possibly do?

I chew my lip and look around at the empty house, which has been nothing but a luxurious and expensive prison to me. Ever since I came here, I’ve been dying to get out and escape Marcello’s grasp.

But is that even an option anymore?

That’s when I notice the door at the end of the hallway that has never been open is now wide open, and behind it a bunch of cars are parked, along with a big truck. Claudio and Marcello are loading the truck with the bags they just filled with guns.

My stomach turns upside down. I can’t stay here.

So I take the only road left to me.

I creep toward those unguarded doors. When Claudio and Marcello are busy talking, I hop inside the truck and stow away in the back behind a bunch of bags of guns.

Claudio suddenly comes out again to inspect the shipment. Sweat drips down my back as I attempt to keep quiet and remain calm while muffled sounds come from the front of the truck.

“Do we have all of it?” Marcello asks.

“Yes. That’s all we have,” Claudio replies.

Marcello sighs out loud. “It will have to do. What about the men?”

“They’re waiting on your orders, sir.”

“Good. Tell them to meet us out front.”

The doors slam shut, and I have to physically restrain myself so I don’t jolt up and down from the scare the noise gave me. Especially when a gun pokes me in the back.

Oh, God.

The moment the engine starts is the moment I realize what I’m doing.

I’m stowed away in a mafia lord’s truck on its way to God knows where, straight into some mob war, just so I can get away.

But as the truck drives away, it truly dawns on me just how stupid this idea really was. And now it’s too late to turn back.

I can’t get out. The doors are locked, and even if I managed to unlock them, the jump would probably kill me from the speed at which we’re going. I can’t escape these guns prodding my side either, guns that could go off any moment if the safety isn’t on correctly. I could die right here, and no one would discover me until it’s too late.