Mafia's Devil part 2

KARINE

I watch that sleeky black car, suspecting that Luciano is driving it. I’m tempted to pull over and give him a matching black eye, but I don’t want to alert my father.

So instead, I slouch in my seat and fantasize about Luciano Genova. Most women daydream about bumping uglies with him. I daydream about bumping him enough times to make him ugly.

Is it even possible?

He’s a Greek statue, but not like the ones described in books. Luciano has no smooth edges. He’s rugged and sharp. His jawline so refined it could cut glass, eyes the color of silver bullets, dark eyebrows, hair, and lashes serving as warning signs.

And his body…

Less poetic and more pornographic descriptions flow through my mind. I groan and consider giving myself a blackeye, too.

The car makes a sharp turn when I approach my house, and I lose sight of it.

My father and I live in a mansion nestled on the tip of Manhattan. I grew up without neighbors in this groaning, old, lonely place.

“Hey, dad!” I shout. Other than him and his goons, it’s just us in here.

I take a quick shower, where I practice my singing. I’m still deafening shrill even after two decades of practice, but I’m sure I’ll be as good as Beyonce by the time I’m ninety.

I go to the living room, where the largest TV is displayed, and I play a romantic comedy. In the rare event a guard passes by in the background, I switch the movie to 1000 Ways to Die. If I want to maintain the image of the big, bad, boss with vertical deficiency, I can’t be caught watching Friends With Benefits (2011): Deleted Scenes.

Just as the movie reaches a spicy scene, my phone rings.

I groan but pick up the call. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Manny greets. “What are you doing on this beautiful night?”

“Watching 1000 Ways to Die and taking notes.”

“God,” she scoffs. “You’re so morbid.”

“You’re insulting me? Did you not hear the part about me taking notes?”

“A clinical psychologist should be the one taking notes on you.”

“They would run out of paper. So, what do you need?”

There’s a pause. “Don’t get mad.”

I’m already mad, because she made me pause a steamy part of the movie which I planned on studying meticulously and recreating with my pink vibrator, which has been renamed from “Destroyer2000” to “Jamie” for the night.

“Get on with it, woman.”

“Remember that hot guy at the restaurant? Is there any chance you can invite him back so the girls and I can get more eye-candy? We’ll consider it extra job benefits.”

“The only place I’d invite that beast to is the Mesozoic era, so he can go extinct with the rest of the dinosaurs.”

Manny giggles. “So you admit he’s a beast?”

“I’m hanging up now, bye!” I put my phone on mute and go to bed, where my hot date with Jamie awaits.

— * —

The next morning, I go to work. There’s not much activity in the restaurant at this time of day.

“Good morning to you too,” I tell Manny when I find her giving me the stink eye.

“Watch your food, bitch, because I’m keen on poisoning it.”

“Hah, I get poisoned every time I have your food, Manny. You can’t cook.”

She sticks her tongue out. “And yet here I am.”

“Purely for comedic relief.” With a wink, I saunter to the freezers. We need to clean them up today. Just as I’m stepping inside, I remember way #643 to die: Getting caught inside work machinery and dying a slow death overnight.

Nope. Not today.

“Hey Manny!” I call for her. “Want to try your luck?”

Hours later, the freezers are clean, Manny is still unfrozen, and business is booming. It’s a smooth night. No more Santa Clauses or other legendary figures stop by to terrorize me.

I lock up a little after midnight and follow my driver to the car. It doesn’t take long to notice that we’re being followed again. It’s another Maserati, only this time it’s red. As red as my anger.

“Stop the car,” I blurt to my confused driver.

We pull over, and I swing the door open and run my little legs over to Luciano’s car.

“You!” I point to the headlights.

Forget my father. I’m not going to be stalked by this Italian bully.

The passenger door opens, and Mr. Greek statue appears, wearing black slacks and a white button down. He looks as tall as ever, and I do a quick math in my head. If I hop, will my fist reach his face?

“When are you going to stop stalking me?”

He raises a dark eyebrow, and I decide that’s the eye I’m going to punch.

“If you think I’m following you,” he bends a little at the waist, as if to mock me. “Then you must be off your meds.”

“Stay away from me,” I rise to my tippy toes. “And my restaurant.”

His scent wraps around me. It smells like danger, but I can’t tell if that’s his perfume or his natural musk.

“Go home, pup.”

He learned how to push my buttons.

I’m sure he researched me by now. He knows my age, net worth, occupation, and that the only medication I’m on is the dopamine Destroyer2000 pumps through me.

He knows I hate taunts directed at my height.

As if I’m dismissed, he turns and goes for his door.

“Let this be you last warning, you pain in the ass.” I pull my keys out of my pocket and press them against the red hood of the car.

Luciano turns. His gaze is lazy and shoulders relaxed as he warns, “You don’t want to do that.”

But I’m determined to draw first blood, so I drag my keys across the hood.

Way #893 to Die: Vandalize Luciano Genova’s car.

He lunges, looking like darkness in the flesh. I raise my hands to push him off, but this Greek Statue is heavy. All the wind in my lungs whooshes out when I land belly-first on the hood of his car.

“Pain in the ass, you said?” The question is growled into my ear.

Before I can process it, I feel lightning crack down on my ass when Luciano shows me just how big of a pain in the ass he can be. In two quick strikes of his meaty paw, he spanks my unsuspecting, already-flat ass so hard that he has me dancing salsa as I jump away and shriek.

If my ballroom dance teacher saw me now, she would burst with a joy as fierce as the fire exploding out of my nerve endings.

“Miss?” my driver calls from a distance. Smart man.

Luciano bends a little, and my brutalized cheeks clench. “I told you not to do that, pup.”

And then he slides into the driver’s seat and drives off, barely giving me time to jump out of the way. I’m so humiliated that I kinda wish he ran me over.

My inner chihuahua’s tail is tucked between her legs as I waddle into my own car. I lie on my belly, because my ass burns so badly that it could probably light three city blocks.

“Are you alright, miss Karine?”

“Peachy with a dash of suicidal,” I groan.

He sighs. “I will not tell your father about what happened tonight, miss Karine. Just this once.”

“You’re the best. Now, will you be a dear and drive me to the Hudson?”

“You wish to go sight-seeing at this time?”

“Yeah, from the bottom of the river along with the bodies down there.”