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

Mafia Kings: Valentino: Chapter 37

An hour and a half later, we pulled off the main highway, navigated through a bunch of smaller streets, and wound up at an open-air café within sight of the Mediterranean.

Outside on the patio, a bunch of wannabe tough guys were sitting and standing around.

They were trying to look like badasses but not quite pulling it off.

To the average person, they were probably frightening – but none of them had the presence of Dario, Adriano, or Massimo. And they didn’t look one-tenth as scary as Don Vicari.

Plus, they were all dressed in tracksuits or clubbing clothes, with too-tight shirts to accentuate their biceps.

Super try-hard, super cringe.

In the center of the group was a smaller guy holding court. He was dressed in a black tracksuit with red and white piping on the sleeves and legs. He wore a wife beater under the unzipped jacket, although he probably shouldn’t have. It revealed his slight gut.

I could tell he was Don Vicari’s son just from the facial resemblance: the same vicious eyes, the same meaty nose. But he didn’t have a mustache, and his hair was buzzcut down to a dark fuzz on his scalp.

All in all, he looked like a cheap, two-bit thug.

How he acted towards me didn’t change my impression.

“Ahhh, here he is,” Rocco half-joked, half-sneered as Paolo and I walked up. “My new brother-in-law. Pop said you were pretty as a little girl. He wasn’t kiddin’, was he, boys?”

They all laughed.

“Better than being ugly as fuck,” I replied.

Rocco’s smile faded as he glared up at me. “You’re late.”

“What, did I hold you up from eating another pastry?”

The tough guys around him shifted uncomfortably. Apparently nobody talked back to Rocco.

“Funny guy,” Rocco said in a pissed-off voice. Then he turned to Paolo and tapped his Rolex. “What the fuck?”

Before Paolo could speak, I said, “That’s my fault. I ordered him to go see Rosolini.”

Rocco gave me a bewildered look. “Why?”

“My family’s originally from there.”

“That piece of shit town? My condolences,” he said with a laugh, and all his buddies laughed, too.

That pissed me off.

Partially because I kind of agreed with him –

But I wasn’t about to let him know that.

“My last name’s Rosolini,” I said coldly.

“Then I’m doubly fuckin’ sorry,” Rocco said with a grin. “Must suck to be named after a shithole.”

All his buddies laughed again.

I smiled. “Well, we can’t all be named after child-molesting, wannabe priests.”

‘Vicari’ was Italian for ‘vicars,’ which were lower-level representatives of the Catholic church.

There were a couple of scattered laughs from the dumber thugs –

Until they realized Rocco was pissed, and they shut the hell up.

“What did you just say?” Rocco asked, his nostrils flaring.

“Oh – I thought we were just having fun. But sure, if you want me to say it again: we can’t all be named after – ”

Rocco shot to his feet, his chair scraping on the concrete, and stomped over to me.

I had to stifle a smile.

Dude was 5’3”. He didn’t even come up to my chin.

I soooo wanted to reach over and rub his head like I would a little kid –

But guns might get pulled if I did that, and I didn’t have a gun.

So… not a good idea.

There was silence from all his friends as Rocco glared up at me, his chest all puffed out like an angry rooster.

Then he gave a dead-eyed smile. He was obviously copying his father, but Rocco couldn’t quite make his look as unnerving.

“You’re a real joker, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Sometimes.”

“You like bustin’ people’s balls, huh?”

“Only if I know they can take it.”

That last comment was totally calculated on my part.

implying that he could

was showing he couldn’t take a joke – and I knew he wouldn’t want to admit to

at the moment, I had to give him credit. He was a master of verbal judo, and

bind he was in and reacted

buddies, and everybody

was trying to build bridges, I figured I should

bad, because you’re late. Late fuckers don’t eat, they go straight to work. Now let’s

not trying to

cut me down to make himself look

was going to be a long

behind. Lucky

rattled off a bunch of introductions. “This here’s Tony and Santiago

after

Star, listen up and watch the pros do it. Time to make the

money,’ he

laughing and jabbering as they went, acting like it was Friday night instead

and his friends entered a restaurant or shop, the owners immediately tensed up, like they were

Nothing bad happened, though.

Not at first.

was pretty much the same every

You’re gonna be seein’ him a lot in the months to come, so memorize the face. Now where’s my fuckin’

count it – moving his lips like he was too stupid to do it in his head – and give a nod

hit 15 shops,

and more nauseated as time

was like I was trapped in a shitty movie, forced to watch a bunch of douchebags play tough

the movie. I wanted to reach over, tear the money out of Rocco’s hands, give it back to the shopkeepers, and deliver a little speech: These assholes won’t be back again – ever. Keep

knew that was a good way to

were all show, and that I could

hardened foot

time, I clearly saw what Dario was trying to do

more drugs, no more human trafficking, no more prostitution, no more extortion – all things Papa

Roberto, but he held fast, and we’d gotten out of the dirtiest aspects of the

we were still

didn’t prey

Don

were shaking down hated them for

ill will for what – a

sure it was a fair amount of cash for the shopkeepers, but it was chump change for

everything up, our family made ten times more

Vicari was richer than us, why bother

was the way Don Vicari kept his idiot son and his dipshit

wasn’t

one of the

sells t-shirts and stuffed animals with ‘I Heart Italia’

guy who ran it looked like he was in his 60s. Grey

us enter the

called out in a

looking at metal paperweights of the Colosseum – two sunburned women with

to the women in

of them answered in an American accent. “But it’s the middle of

meeting,” I said in English. “We need to confer with our friend here. You can come back

“But – ”

QUI!” Rocco roared at the

think the women understood Italian, but they understood

the

back to the old man. “So,

Vicari… please…”

turning his head slightly like he was

have your money

Rocco asked

me know he was expecting

all

an example of the old

stomach tightened

Signor Vicari,” Nazzareno whimpered. “I’ve had to take her to doctors in Palermo –

the fuck do I care

of the meatheads used his arm to rake a bunch of knick-knacks onto

I would have gunned them

nearly crying. “I have to close

hire somebody, you old

hire anyone – no one wants to work

care about my fuckin’

on the wall. Dozens of

guy who’d torn down the display, then looked back at Rocco. “I know,

who’re late?” Rocco asked in

Vicari – I can give you everything in the cash register, but –

not gonna be enough, is it?” Rocco

of snow

the glass shattered, and water spilled over the

and held out a handful of small

the register and held them out, too. “This is another eight

he could finish counting, Rocco slapped his hand and sent the coins clattering to