Long Live the King (An Italian Mafia Romance Duet #2) by Ws Greer Page B

keep myself afloat.

Dominic
    “A h! Alannah what the fuck?” I hear myself screaming as I jolt awake. My face is dripping with water and my pillow is soaked.
    “I’m sorry, I had to wake you up,” Alannah exclaims, wearing a t-shirt and short shorts. Even through the dripping water sloshing over my eyes, the woman looks mouthwatering.
    “You had to wake me up by splashing water on my fucking face?”
    “Yes,” she replies. “Your phone was going off, and I tried to wake you, but you wouldn’t wake up so I answered it. It’s Frankie, he’s here and he’s on his way up to the penthouse.”
    “What? Right now?”
    “Yeah. He said it was really urgent, and he absolutely has to talk to you, so I needed to wake you.”
    I wipe my face and think about what the hell Frankie might want at six o’clock in the morning. Nobody comes to River City to see me. I keep my business separate from where I lay my head, so I think of this as an intrusion, and if Frankie doesn’t have a damn good reason for this, we’re going to have a fucking problem.
    I rush to the bathroom and throw on a wife beater, and a pair of dark gray sweatpants, while Alannah throws on the sexiest red shorts known to man and a Cardinals t-shirt. By the time I finish grabbing her ass with a playful smile on my face, the elevator door chimes and Frankie steps into the penthouse, wearing a black and white track suit, like he’s intentionally paying homage to the gangsters of old.
    I notice his face when he walks in—tight lips with a furrow in his brow. He’s frustrated or worried about something, and the first thing I think of is Jimmy and the truck. What the hell has happened?
    “This better be something really fucking important, Frankie,” I say as I lean in and wrap my arms around my consigliere in a hug to show our mutual respect.
    “It is. I wouldn’t have shown up like this if it wasn’t,” Frankie replies. He runs a hand through his hair before motioning towards the living room. “There’s something you need to know, Dominic. We should go sit down.”
    I eyeball him for a minute, evaluating his strange demeanor. He looks upset in a way I haven’t seen in him before, and I know whatever he’s about to tell me isn’t something small, so I nod to Alannah, and she nods back to me before turning on her heel and walking back into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
    I lead Frankie into the living room and take a seat on one couch while Frankie sits on the other. Once he’s seated, Frankie starts fiddling with his zipper on his jacket like he’s too nervous to sit still. I scrunch my forehead wondering what the hell has gotten into him.
    “The fuck’s the matter with you?” I ask, frowning. “You’re sitting there looking all nervous, playing with your jacket and shit. You’re making me anxious.”
    Frankie looks down at his hand like he’s noticing it moving for the first time, and he stops himself by letting go of the zipper and placing his hand on the couch before finally looking up at me.
    “Have you ever thought about this thing with Victor? Like, what his intentions are?” Frankie asks, his eyes boring into me now.
    “What his intentions are? You mean besides being an old annoying cocksucker and diming me out to the Commission? Nah, I guess not. He’s a fucking Mustache Pete who needs to die already, preferably not by natural causes.” I reply. “But as far as his intentions are concerned, I ain’t thinking about that. Now that Jimmy found the truck, I just want the debt settled and the bullshit in my rearview mirror. But why do you ask?”
    “Because I’m starting to think Victor Fronzo intended to kill one of our guys from the very beginning,” Frankie says, sending me reeling.
    “The fuck you talking about, Frankie?”
    “Just hear me out a minute, Dominic. As soon as that truck got taken, I think Victor’s been out to flex his muscle on you. He’s an old head and he ain’t gonna stand for a