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.

was implying that he could

he was showing he couldn’t take

to give him credit. He was a master of verbal judo, and I’d

and reacted just like

said with a grin to his buddies, and everybody started chuckling

figured I should meet him halfway. “I

fuckin’ bad, because you’re late. Late fuckers

not trying to build

to cut me down to make himself look

was going to be a long

stayed behind.

left the café, Rocco rattled off a bunch of introductions. “This here’s Tony and Santiago –

after Rocco quit talking. “Nice to

up and watch the pros do it. Time to make

money,’ he

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

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

Nothing bad happened, though.

Not at first.

pretty much the same

here’s my new brother-in-law, Movie Star. That’s what we’re callin’ him. You’re gonna be seein’ him a lot in the months to come, so memorize the face. Now where’s my

with cash. Rocco would count it – moving his lips like he was too stupid to do it in his head – and give a nod of approval. “Alright.

hit 15 shops,

got more and more nauseated

shitty movie, forced to watch a bunch of douchebags play tough guys and shake down the

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

knew that was a good way to earn

sure they were all show, and that I could take them with the training

hardened foot soldiers

I clearly saw what Dario was trying to do when

down: no more drugs, no more human trafficking, no more prostitution, no more extortion – all things Papa and Fausto had

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

we were still outlaws

we didn’t prey on

like Don Vicari and

everyday people they were shaking down hated them for

of this ill will for

fair amount of cash for the shopkeepers,

family made ten times more money than Rocco’s stupid extortion

us, why bother with this

this was the way Don Vicari kept his idiot son

there wasn’t

of the shopkeepers

kind of place that sells t-shirts

he was in his 60s. Grey hair, glasses, dress slacks, and polo

soon as he saw us enter the shop,

in a chipper

tourists looking at metal paperweights of the

the

accent.

I said in English. “We need to confer with our friend here. You

“But – ”

QUI!” Rocco roared at the top of

Italian, but they understood

the door without

to the old man. “So, Nazzareno –

Vicari… please…”

turning his head

your

asked in

reaction let me know he was expecting this

all

to make an example of the old

tightened with

Nazzareno whimpered. “I’ve had to take her to

do I care about your wife?”

to rake a bunch

pistol, I

said, nearly crying. “I have to

somebody,

hire anyone – no one wants

give a shit about your problems, Nazzareno. I only care about my fuckin’ money, and this is the second time in

t-shirts hanging on

down the display, then looked back at Rocco. “I know,

what we do to people who’re late?”

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

not gonna be enough, is

tabletop of snow globes

the glass shattered, and water spilled over the floor in

register and

dug coins out of the register and held them out, too. “This is another eight euros –

finish counting, Rocco slapped his hand and sent the