Seduced by the Mafia Boss (Forbidden Confessions 8)

I suffer through a long fucking hour of their celebration, trying to tamp down my panic. There’s no way Ransom would allow himself to be offed in some shitty, crime-ridden part of town, right? He’s the assassin. He’s too smart. He’s always been the hunter, not the hunted…unless whatever’s distracted him for the past few weeks—and I suspect she must have two shapely legs and a great pair of tits—got the best of him.

Finally, I dash back to the john. I’ll suffer Sal’s jokes about having to pee too often. Whatever. Or maybe I’ll just tell him I have diarrhea and offer to shit down his throat. Bastard.

The minute I close the door behind me, I quickly sweep the bathroom. Still no surveillance equipment, thank fuck. Nice to know there’s some honor among thugs and criminals. Then I yank out my phone and dial Ransom with shaking hands.

Collectively, my brothers and I do some dangerous fucking jobs, but I’ve never come close to losing one of them. We’re tight, and I don’t know how the fuck I’ll cope if Ransom really is gone.

“C’mon,” I mutter under my breath. “Answer.”

Then, like a miracle, he does. “Ridge? Talk to me.”

Relief blindsides me. For a moment, all I can do is breathe. “You’re alive?”

“What made you think I wasn’t? And if you thought I’d kicked it, why are you calling me?”

I drop my voice. “Paul Carboni came tearing in here about an hour ago, whooping like an idiot.”

Ransom snorts. “He is an idiot.”

“I can’t argue with that. But he gave Donzelli the thumbs-up and started popping champagne. When I asked why the fuck we’re partying, Paulie announced that he iced you tonight in the parking lot of some ratty-ass strip mall.”

“Carboni tried. He tagged me twice. But I got some stitches and meds. I’m good as new.”

Thank God. “Donzelli thinks you’re dead.”

“So he’ll get brazen. One less competitor, right? See if you can get him to move on the next part of his operation so we can figure out what the fuck is happening.”

“Actually, I should have a lot of new information soon.” I’d say more…but here and now aren’t good. “You lie low until then, ’k? And hey, thanks for not making me mourn you yet.”

“Nah. I wouldn’t let a punk like Paul Carboni off me.”

I’m so fucking grateful for that. “I gotta go. I’ll call when I can.”

“Stay safe.”

I would have liked to ask more questions about where he’s at, who patched him up, and how he’s watching his six. But I can’t risk it. It’s enough to know he’s alive and taking care of himself. “You, too, man.”

This time, I really do piss, then wash up, my thoughts racing.

Donzelli and Carboni both think their competition is dead. This presents an opportunity, and if I’ve just been put in charge of this skeevy operation, then I need to act like I intend to take advantage of this moment to expand our market share.

But when I emerge from the bathroom, Donzelli doesn’t look in the mood to party. Sure, Paulie and Sal are passing around the champagne and pouring it over their faces like water. Half-witted Rudy chortles like a middle-school mean girl reveling in another’s misfortune. But the boss? He’s on his phone, looking grim.

“Shut the fuck up,” I bark at the other three morons, gesturing to Marco.

He probably thinks I’m showing him deference, but I’m really fucking worried that somehow, someway he’s already figured out that Ransom isn’t dead and will contract someone way better to do the job.

Finally, Donzelli nods. “Of course.”

I can’t follow the conversation because Paulie gets in my face. “Stay the fuck out of my operation. I run the sex biz around here.”

“Not anymore, according to the boss.”

Carboni ignores me. “You fill his head with stupid shit. Now the people we’re keeping alive simply because they have tits and a pussy or an asshole someone wants to poke are going to fill up the fucking empty wing of the hotel. Do you know how much harder they’ll be to keep an eye on up there?”

“Marco agrees with me that the merchandise should be kept in better shape. You don’t like it? Take it up with him.”

“I hate you, you pansy-ass, Ivy League, brown-nosing motherfucker. I’m coming for you.”

I smile Paulie’s way. “Please do.”

Donzelli slashes a glare at both of us as he continues to speak into the phone. “I understand. Thank you for the heads-up. I’ll have it taken care of.”

With a curse, the mafia don stabs his phone to end the call, then looks up with a snarl. “We have a…situation.”

“What? Tell me how I can help.” Maybe I can use it to destroy this fucking organization.

Suddenly, his phone lights up, then he glances at the picture with a grim smile. “Gotcha.”

What the fuck is he talking about? “Boss?”