When The Sun Goes Down - A Midnight Mafia Novel

Eight

I woke up in the king's bed, alone of course, but it was still a frightening situation. My cheek was cool but my once frozen peas were now merely mush. I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. I needed a plan or something. There was a ray of light cutting through the darkness of the room and on a whim I decided to follow it, already assuming I knew where it would lead me.

Alessio sat in his office, his suit jacket was off, sleeves of his pin striped shirt were rolled up to just below the elbow, and his feet were propped up on his desk. He inhaled against the cigar in his mouth and puffed out smoke o's. "Sit." He offered, though I had a feeling it was more of a order.

I sat slowly and he finished his cigar in its entirety before speaking to me, making for a very awkward few minutes.

"What's your last name?"

"Bro-"

"Your real last name."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "It's Santoro." I croaked out.

"Katherine Santoro." He mused. "What do you do Katherine Santoro?"

"Freelance." I said quickly. It wasn't exactly a lie.

"Photography? Writing? Modeling? Assassinations?" He probed further and rolled his hand around at the wrist watch while he droned on.

"I-I write." He raised an eyebrow, I obviously had his interest, and he was waiting for more. "I'm a journalist."

The corners of his lip hitched up in a lopsided smirk. "I'll bet this would be a hell of a story."

I looked down to my lap, he was definitely going to shoot me now. I could still make a pitiful argument for my life, insist I would never tell, throw out the words I'll do anything and so on and so forth. You know, the things they all say when the head of the mother-fucking-mafia has set their targets on them.

"Not that anyone would believe it anyway." He kicked his feet off the desk suddenly and sat upright, he leaned over the desk with a glint to his eye. "I mean really, an entire establishment under ground? With electricity, and water, and people? What would we call this? A bar? A house? A brothel? A sex dungeon?" He chuckled. "Oh the tabloids would enjoy this all right."

He was right of course. If I brought this story to the paper I would probably be laughed out of the office. But if I actually got it investigated, took a drill through the ground, had proof, showed the world....

"Have you any proof?" He asked and laced his fingers together before setting them down on the table. I shook my head. "That phone of yours, had you sent any pictures or messages before I destroyed it?"

"Don't you think they would have found me by now if I did?"

"Oh no dear Katherine. They'd never find you." This too seemed to be laced with a threat. "So now, what do I do with you?"

"I could just stay here." I said quickly. It beat the hell out of trying on a pair of cement slippers anyway.

He was quiet for a few moments. The clock on the wall clicked loudly creating the most cliché scene I could have thought of. "It's late. You should go back to sleep." He said finally and pulled his phone to his ear.

"I'm not quite sure I know how to get back to my room from here." I admitted.

"You'll be in my room until I figure all of this out." He said simply. "I trust you remember the simple hallway that led you here?"

I nodded feeling awful and terrified. I was a reporter. He was a mafia member. The two of us together? Well my kind loved his, but his detested mine. My job made his peaceful life hell. And now here I was, open for him to make my life hell.