The Mafia King’s Doll

AngeloThis is from NôvelDrama.Org.

I throw down a Jack of Hearts and mutter, “One card.”

Carlo, one of Damiano’s men, slides a card my way, and when he sees me frown at the Jack of Spades, he gives me an apologetic look.

Tonight’s game is being hosted at Damiano’s house. We each take turns to host a game, and I had mine the last time we got together.

“You have zero poker face,” Dario says with a mischievous grin while he slides another chip into the growing pile. “I raise you all another hundred thousand.”

“Fuck off,” I grumble.

I’m on a losing streak, and they’re all getting a kick out of it.

Damiano’s also frowning, and when Renzo and Franco throw down their hands to bow out, Dario lets out a chuckle.

Damiano narrows his eyes at Dario. “If I catch you cheating, you’re going to bleed.”

“I never cheat.”

“Right,” I mumble. Knowing I have a shit hand, I fold. “I need a drink.”

Carlo moves to the bar and pours a round of bourbon while Damiano matches Dario’s bet.

The two men stare at each other for a while before Dario adds another two chips to the pile.

“Fuck you,” Damiano mutters as he bows out.

Dario starts to laugh as he gathers the chips, which has Damiano demanding, “Show us your hand.”

Dario turns the cards over, and it’s the shittest hand I’ve ever seen.

I pin my friend with a dangerous look. “Do you want to die tonight?” Dario just shrugs. “It’s all about the poker face, brother.”

“How’s business for everyone?” Renzo asks before popping a pretzel into his mouth.

“Busy,” Franco replies. “I got new printers, so the cash is flowing again.”

Printing counterfeit cash is where most of Franco’s profits lie. “Things are quiet on my side,” Renzo mentions.

“Your shipment of arms will dock next week, then you’ll have something to do,” I say before taking the tumbler of bourbon from Carlo.

A smile spreads over Renzo’s face. “Thank fuck.”

Damiano glances at me, and seeing the serious expression in his eyes, I ask, “What’s on your mind?”

“One of your men owes me half a mil.”

Christ.

“Who?”

“Giorgio Romano.”

The fucking fucker.

My eyes flick from Damiano to Renzo, then Franco, before settling on Dario. “Does he owe anyone else money?”

The other three shake their heads.

I turn my attention to Damiano. “He’s a problem I’m currently dealing with.”

“I’ve sent my men to rough him up.”

My eyes narrow on my friend. “Where?” “At his house.”

Vittoria.

“They’re not to lay a finger on his sister,” I order.

Damiano’s eyebrow lifts, and curiosity sparks in his dark brown irises. “Why?”

Damiano is the least forgiving out of the bunch of us. He has no problem killing an entire family for the sins of one.

Knowing I can trust the men in the room, I admit, “I’m making her my wife.”

Silence falls over the table until you can hear a pin drop. Four faces stare at me in shock, but Damiano is the first to recover from the bomb I just dropped.

He gives me an incredulous look. “You’re getting married?”

“Yes, but there won’t be an elaborate wedding because Vittoria doesn’t know, so don’t expect an invitation.” Wanting to make sure Vittoria will be okay, I say, “Call your men and make sure they don’t touch my future wife.”

The corner of Damiano’s mouth lifts as he pulls his device out of his pocket, “Never thought you’d force a woman to marry you,” he mentions, and after he dials a number, he mutters, “Don’t touch Romano’s sister when you pay him a visit.”

He listens to whatever his man says, then lets out a sigh. “Who?” There’s a moment’s pause before he mutters, “Bring Vito to me.”

When he ends the call and sets the device on the table, he mutters, “They already went to Romano’s house.”

I suck in a deep breath of air. “And?”

“Vito tossed her around, but she’s alive.”

White-hot anger ignites in my chest as I rise to my feet. “Where are you going?” Dario asks.

“To make sure my woman’s okay.” I pin Damiano with a glare. “Keep Vito here. I’ll deal with him when I return.”

He climbs to his feet and mutters, “I’m coming with.”

Franco, Renzo, and Dario also stand up while Dario says, “None of us are missing out on this.”

The incident won’t bring bad blood between Damiano and me, but I can’t promise Vito will live to see another day.

As we all leave the room, Damiano tells Carlo, “When Vito arrives, have him wait for us.”

“Yes, boss.”

We all file out of the house, and seeing as Dario’s car is parked behind ours, I say, “Dario, you’re driving.”

I take the passenger seat of the G-Wagon while Damiano, Franco, and Renzo climb into the back.

When Dario starts the engine, I give him the address. Suddenly, opera blares over the speakers, and it has me giving Dario a what-the-fuck look.

He turns the sound down to a bearable volume, then says, “I was jamming on the way here.”

“To opera?” Renzo asks. “You’re fucking weird.” “Thank you,” Dario says with a joking tone.

“It wasn’t a compliment,” I mutter.

Fifteen minutes later, when Dario pulls up at the front of Vittoria’s house, I don’t wait for him to switch off the engine. I climb out of the car, and halfway up the path, I hear my friends’ footsteps behind me.

I bang on the front door with a fist, and a moment later, I hear Vittoria ask, “Who’s there?”

“Angelo.”

She mutters something I can’t make out, then opens the door. The moment her eyes land on the five of us, she shrieks and tries to shut the door again.

I quickly place my foot in the way and shove it open.

Vittoria staggers backward, her features tightening with alarm. “Oh, God. I don’t know what Giorgio did. I had nothing to do with it,” she rambles. “He’s not here.”

I grab hold of her shoulder, and as my eyes scan over her body, I see bruises on her arms and legs.

Damiano also notices the bruises and says, “Those are old, Angelo.” Vittoria limps backward to get away from us as we all enter her house,

and it has me barking, “Why the fuck are you limping?”

“I stepped on broken glass,” she whimpers, her eyes filled with terror and shining with tears.

Not thinking and just reacting, I stalk to her, and picking her up bridal style, I carry her to the kitchen table that’s visible from the foyer.

Her eyes are wide on me, and she makes a distressed, squeaking sound. I feel how badly she’s trembling, and when I set her down on the table, she grabs hold of my biceps to keep her balance.

I’m leaning half over her, and bracing my hands on either side of her hips, my eyes lock with hers. My voice is filled with fire and brimstone as I ask, “What happened when Vito and his men visited you earlier tonight?”

Tears spiral down her cheeks, and her chin quivers. The sight has me staring at her like a dumbfounded idiot because never in my life have I seen anything more adorable than the face before me.

Fuck. She’s way too fucking cute when she cries.

Something shifts in my chest, and not thinking, I push her legs open so I can move closer, and wrapping my arms around her, I press her head to my chest.

I’ve never comforted anyone in my life, and it feels foreign.

Renzo clears his throat, then mutters, “We’ll wait in the living room.” I hear my friends move to the other room to give us some privacy.

Vittoria pushes against me, and reluctantly, I take a step back. With her fingertips, she quickly wipes the tears from her face.

Her voice is strained as she answers my question, “Vito just threw me around. I fell against the liquor cabinet, and that’s when the glass panel broke, and I cut my foot. Besides that, they just trashed the living room, then left.”

It could’ve been so much worse.

“Which foot?” I demand.

“My right one,” she whispers, her eyes searching my face as if she’s trying to figure out the mysteries of life.

I take another step back before crouching, and taking hold of her right ankle, I inspect the bandaid beneath her heel.

Satisfied that it’s an injury she can easily recover from, I straighten to my full height. My eyes flit over every inch of her, and lifting a hand to her bicep, I brush a finger over one of the many bruises. “Who did this to you?”

I already have my suspicions, but I want to hear it from her. She shakes her head. “I’m clumsy.”

My eyes narrow on her. “I kill people for lying to me.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them.

She wraps her arms around herself and glances between me and the entrance to the foyer. “Why are you all here?”

“Damiano told me he sent men over to beat up Giorgio.” “Giorgio’s not here.”

I let out a deep breath. “I know. We’re just here to check on you.”

Her eyes dart to my face, and her features tighten with a fuck-ton of confusion. “W-why?”

I don’t bother lying as I answer, “You’re innocent.”

She scoots off the table and takes a step away from me before glancing in the direction of the foyer again. “Can you all leave, please?”

Nodding, I call out, “Let’s go, guys.”

When I leave the kitchen, the other four heads of the Cosa Nostra file into the foyer. Vittoria stays as far from us as the small space in the foyer will allow.

I need to get her away from Giorgio and out of this house as soon as possible.

With my eyes locked on her terrified face, I say, “I’ll see you soon,

piccola cerviatta.” At our wedding.

Stepping out of the house, I pull the front door shut behind me and follow my friends to the G-Wagon.

“Don’t kill Vito,” Damiano says after we’ve all climbed into the vehicle. “As a favor to me. He was only doing his job.”

Letting out a huff, I mutter, “Fine.”

When we get back to Damiano’s place, and I walk into the mansion, I shout, “Vito!”

Not even a second later, the man comes out of the kitchen.

“You hurt Vittoria,” I growl. Seeing his confused expression, I add, “She belongs to me.”

The emotion drains from his face, and he doesn’t even try to say something in his defense.

In our world, men die for less, so when I pull my gun from behind my back, where it’s tucked into the waistband of my pants, Vito nods and folds his hands in front of him.

“You can thank your boss that I’m not killing you.” I walk closer and, aiming at his right foot, I pull the trigger.

“Carlo,” Damiano shouts over Vito’s pain-filled cry. “Pour the bourbon.”

“After this bit of action, kicking your assess at poker is going to feel a little anti-climactic,” Dario chuckles as he follows Damiano and Franco to the entertainment room.

Renzo pats my shoulder. “Come on. One of us needs to beat his arrogant ass at poker.”

My eyes lock with Vito’s, and he quickly straightens up before saying, “Thank you, sir. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

Nodding, I walk to the entertainment room, and taking a tumbler from Carlo, I down the amber liquid.

Once Vittoria is married to me, I’m killing Giorgio with my bare hands for touching her, and then I can fucking focus on my work.