Mafia's Devil part 3

UPDATED AGES: Karine is 21, Luciano is 30

KARINE

One. Two. One. Two.

“Are you trying to keep Taco Bell from raining out your ass, or did your cheeks get clapped last night?”

I grit my teeth. When I walked into the restaurant this morning, the few customers in here stared at my awkward shuffle and then turned back to their business like regular New Yorkers. We’ve seen too many naked men in the trains and carnivorous rats to be phased by much. Apparently not Manny. I’ll have to send her on more train trips to traumatize her into indifference.

“Well?” Manny pushed. “Which one is it?”

My cheeks were definitely clapped last night. But she doesn’t need to know that.

I send her a glare so deadly I hope she feels it right on her ass.

“So you had company? Who is the lucky guy?”

“A T-Rex,” I grumble.

Except that Luciano is the furthest thing from a T-Rex. He has large, heavy, ringed hands capable of pounding a meteorite between my cheeks.

Oh yeah, that man has large extremities.

I unload my purse and ignore Manny’s questions. A tear tickles my waterline when I sit on a metal stool. If my butt was flat before Luciano beat it, then it’s concave now.

When I got home last night, I planned his death enough times to produce a second season for 1000 Ways to Die.

How dare he? In this fucked up, patriarchical underworld, daughters of powerful men can only be touched by their husbands. Luciano disrespected my entire family by laying his hand on me. My father may only be an arms dealer, but he’s got a big name. The Kuznetsovs are one of the most respected Russian families.

Of course, I can’t cry wolf. I’m neither a bitch nor interested in spilling blood over a spanking. I’ll take care of this myself. The next time Luciano crosses my path, he’ll end up limping just like I am.

Irritated, I stand and hobble to the sink, where I wash my hands. It’s going to be a busy night, so at least I’ll have some distractions from that Italian bully.

I’m soon proven wrong. I do paperwork, email my accountant, review changes to the menu, and purchase new inventory, but I can’t forget Luciano because every time I walk, I’m reminded of the hand that put the pain there.

I’m pretty sure enough bitterness is leaking from my pores to poison all my customers.

Manny teases me the entire night. She’s desperate to find out if my legs stopped working because of a night of passion. I escape her by weaving through customers and occasionally looking out the windows in search of a black Maserati.

Luciano doesn’t drive by, so my butt and criminal record remain undisturbed for at least one more day.

I lock up the restaurant after a successful night. As my driver takes me home, my eyes remain locked on the rearview mirror.

— * —

I wake up at seven in the morning, and my fingers instantly twitch to get to work. I stop my hands from grabbing my laptop only because Manny has ranted a concerning amount of times that I need to get a life. Maybe—just maybe, she’s right, and I should put down the pens and pick up a penis once in a while.

If only Manny knew that I’m the daughter of a criminal whose virginity will be traded to the highest bidder. I hate the idea too. That’s why when I was eighteen, rebellious little Karine tried to flip off the system by sleeping with her boyfriend.

Long story short, I was so nervous about my father walking in that the second I was placed flat on my back, I farted. It wasn’t a flowery, gentle, breezy fart, either. It the type of fart that would earn me pats in the back if I was a dude. It sounded like the mating call of a predator and peeled the wallpaper off my walls.

I’ve been traumatized since. I still hear that fart in my dreams.

To prove to Manny that I’m not hopeless, I scroll through social media. I screenshot products I’m never going to buy, bookmark diets I’m never going to follow, and save podcasts I’m never going to listen to. But hey, it’s the thought that counts.

An hour later, I lock my phone and get up. I take a quick shower and I’m surprised when I find my father in the living room. Usually, he’s out in the streets by now.

“Hey dad.”

I circle the couch and instantly know something’s wrong when I see him nursing a glass of whiskey and a scowl.

Shit. Did I sleeptalk? Did I dream about the fart and blurt out my failed plan?

“What’s wrong?”

“Luciano Gevona.”

My buttocks clench, and pain thunders through them.

Oh, no. Did he find out about my little exchange with Luciano? Is he demanding blood over this? Shit. What if he already told the rest of the family? The Kuznetsovs are fucking crazy.

“He is hosting an auction and invited us.”

“Huh?” I blurt.

I rarely see that man, other than at the occasional wedding, reception, charity, or auction. From what I recall, the Gevonas don’t host many events. Their family is smaller, but powerful. Enough so that Luciano has more money than my father.

What game is he playing? Why is he pulling strings while having bad blood with us?

“He’s testing me,” my father answers. “He thinks I’ll be scared out of entering his territory.”

“Relax, dad.” I touch his shoulder.

By selling to Luciano’s competitor, my father disrespected him, but blood doesn’t need to spill over it. This is a wound that time has to heal, and going to this auction won’t help them get there.

“Reply to the RSVP. Tell them you’re not going.”

“Of course I am going!” he stands up. “I won’t be cornered into a wall.”

I cringe a little. He’s feral over protecting his pride.

“It’s senseless to go. There’s nothing there for you but trouble, dad. Let’s just hang out and—”

“Karine, do not lecture me.” He sets his glass down. “Find yourself a nice dress and clear your schedule for Saturday."

When he leaves, I collapse on the couch and cringe when my butt protests.

Instead of thinking about dresses and hairstyles, I think about revenge. Yeah, I’m already thinking about shenanigans after trying to convince my dad to be a peacemaker. I’ll wear the title of a hypocrite if that’s what I need to avenge my poor butt.

Luciano Gevona will pay. I just have to find out which prank can’t be tracked back to me. The last thing I want is to add fuel to the fire.