Mafia Kings: Roberto: Dark Mafia Romance Series #5

Eventually, I tired of my rage and self-loathing and went and poured myself a glass of scotch.

While I did, I took stock of the two men guarding me.

They weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed.

Ming – or Jin; I had no idea which was which – sat in a chair and leaned back against the wall, far enough that the chair continually threatened to slide out from under him. He seemed to be doing it solely to amuse himself and see if he could keep from falling.

I thought about going over and grabbing the pistol out of his shoulder holster, but I was fairly sure his companion would kill me before I could get a shot off.

The other man sat nearby and started complaining about something in Chinese. The two of them argued back and forth until the guy leaning in the chair raised his voice in irritation.

I had no idea what he said, but it sounded like, Either do it or shut the fuck up!

“Hey,” the complainer called to me in heavily accented English. “We order room service. You want food?”

I glanced over at him, then looked back out the window as I sipped my scotch. “No.”

The complainer walked over to the single phone remaining in the penthouse and called the front desk. He spoke in Chinese for about half a minute, then hung up.

Twenty minutes later, a man in a hotel uniform arrived at my door, pushing a cart with two silver domes.

The complainer shooed the man away, wheeled the cart in himself, and removed the domes…

Revealing greasy cheeseburgers and fries.

Figured.

I watched as he and the chair leaner stuffed their mouths like seven-year-old boys.

Ah well.

At least some people were enjoying themselves.

“Hey,” the chair leaner called to me.

I looked over at him.

He pointed at the bar full of alcohol and raised his eyebrows like, You mind?

“Go ahead,” I said.

I almost said Knock yourself out –

But then realized that maybe, just maybe, they might.

The gangster grinned and pulled a bottle of Grey Goose vodka off the shelf.

Much to my consternation, he was the only one who drank it.

The complainer stuck to a soda from the mini-fridge. He smirked when he saw me glance at him.

Thought we were BOTH going to get drunk?

Wrong, asshole.

Maybe they weren’t so dumb.

In fact, maybe I was the dumb one.

After all, I was the one being held captive…

Because I’d thought with my dick instead of my brain.

STOP IT, I inwardly shouted.

I knew it wasn’t just about sex.

It was because I’d trusted my heart instead of my head.

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That was even worse.

I spent the rest of the evening in a dark depression, lying on my bed and listening to my captors watch an action movie in the other room.

I eventually gave in and had them order me a steak from room service.

I forced myself to eat, even though I didn’t have much of an appetite.

I figured… just in case… I should keep my strength up.

One other thing:

I didn’t have any more alcohol. Despite my foul mood, I refused to get drunk.

Just in case the hopeful part of me was right…

And there was a reason Mei-ling hadn’t entirely ratted me out.

I fell asleep praying for a straw to save me from the hurricane.

My prayers were answered the next morning…

In the oddest of ways.