CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

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I entered the casino's heavily garrisoned underground conference room, where the low-ranked soldiers, soignée, fresh-faced and armed, awaited this week's closed-door conclave

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I entered the casino's heavily garrisoned underground conference room, where the low-ranked soldiers, soignée, fresh-faced and armed, awaited this week's closed-door conclave.

Everyone helped themselves to strong coffee and warm pastries delivered by the ubiquitous java shop and gathered around the long-stretched negotiation table to converse with zestful panache.

I had the lassitude of a moribund pensioner. I could barely walk in a straight line, let alone hold a conversation because the mountain of stress I had endured had finally taken its toll on me.

The cachinnation of cheerfulness in the smoke-filled room grated on my last nerve. I picked up the cafetière, pouring black coffee into a white mug with a perceptible tremble in my hands.

Sleep deprivation precipitated error-prone absentmindedness. My body is not at optimum performance. I am not in the right frame of mind to preside over the syndicate.

Tomorrow, perhaps, with recharged batteries, I can submit the assignments. Or, I can get my arse into gear and leave self-pity at the door.

A short, caustic laugh fell out of my mouth.

Yeah, right. I will simply pretend to be unaffected by the problems and quandaries of life. I have tackled hardship before. It is easy enough, with the right dose of debauchery and ignorance.

But I did not want to pretend this time. I wanted the unattainable—an emotionally unavailable woman who has consumed me for the better.

I truly believed that all would be right in the world with Emma in my bed. I would be happier seeing her face every morning or hearing her voice every night.

If only she had reciprocated my good intentions and my romantic feelings.

God is punishing me for years of compulsive womanising. I have used, shamed, mistreated and disrespected women since the moment I embarked on the dangerous terrain of criminal soil.

Of course, he put an unreachable love interest in my peripheral as punishment, the sadistic fucker.

Well, fuck you, giver of torment.

He who claims to be high and fucking mighty can choke on the puniness of his godly dick.

I do not bow to his command.

If I want to sin, covet and lust after a woman determined to keep me at arm's length, then so help me, creator-and-ruler of the universe, I will do it with the rebelliousness of a blissful villain.

What is the worst that can happen?

I won't get the girl.

And I really don't want to accept that fact.

I am worthy of her attention.

I am worthy of her smiles.

I am worthy of her laughter.

DECEPTION | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUTWhere stories live. Discover now