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

and got pissed off, then he was showing he couldn’t take a joke – and I

hated Niccolo at the moment, I had to give him credit. He was a master of verbal judo, and I’d picked up a few things from watching him

in and reacted just like

said with a grin to his buddies, and everybody started chuckling again, albeit uneasily. “You hungry, tough

figured I should meet him halfway. “I could eat

“Well, too fuckin’ bad, because you’re late. Late fuckers don’t eat, they go straight to work. Now

to build bridges,

cut me down to make himself look like

to

stayed behind.

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

listening and just nodded after Rocco quit talking. “Nice

watch the pros do it. Time

he

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

Rocco and his friends entered a restaurant or shop, the owners immediately tensed

Nothing bad happened, though.

Not at first.

was pretty much the same

This 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

envelopes stuffed 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. See you next

shops, one

more and more nauseated as time

was trapped in a shitty movie, forced to watch a bunch of douchebags play tough guys and

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 your money. Spend it on

that was a good way to

Rocco and his minions. I was pretty sure they were all show, and that I could

Vicari’s hardened foot soldiers were another

Dario was trying to do when he

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

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

were still

we didn’t prey on

Don

the everyday people they were shaking

all of this ill will for what

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

Fausto fucked everything up, our family made

Vicari was richer than us,

come up with was this was the way

there wasn’t any violence

the shopkeepers

tourist shop, the kind of place that sells t-shirts and

it looked like he was in his 60s. Grey hair, glasses,

saw us enter the shop, his face filled

Rocco called out in a chipper voice. “It’s your

paperweights of the Colosseum – two sunburned

man said to the women in broken

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

meeting,” I said in English. “We need to confer

“But – ”

roared at the

think the women understood Italian, but they

the door without

back to the old man. “So, Nazzareno –

Vicari… please…” Nazzareno

asked, turning his head slightly like

don’t have your money this

asked in fake

let me know he was

all

about to make an example of

tightened

wife has been very sick, Signor Vicari,” Nazzareno whimpered. “I’ve had to

the fuck do I care

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

a pistol, I would have gunned them all

old man said, nearly crying. “I have

somebody, you old

hire anyone – no one wants to work for

care about my fuckin’ money, and this is the second time

ripped down a display of t-shirts hanging on the wall. Dozens of shirts collapsed

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

to people who’re late?” Rocco asked in a low,

– I can give you everything in the

it’s not gonna be enough, is

tabletop of snow

the glass shattered, and water spilled over the

the cash register and held out a handful

– I can give you eighty – no, a hundred!” Then he dug coins out of the register and held them out, too. “This

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