Dirty Sexy Saint

Chapter Eight

Jordan Miller

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Alessandro definitely wasn't thinking about me.

He'd said he'd give me a job but still had to think of something. It had been a week. A very boring and unproductive week since I wasn't doing anything useful with my life.

I'd expected Alessandro to think of something within a few days so I could go back home, but it seemed like I was the least of his problems. I barely even saw him. He was always out working. If he wasn't out, he was in his office, still working.

I knew the mafia was a dangerous thing, but I didn't know what exactly they dealt with apart from drugs and firearms. Alessandro must be doing more than that though because he was always fucking busy. It was infuriating.

I had nothing to do in his house either. I didn't have my phone or my laptop to keep me busy. I couldn't leave the mansion. Once, I was casually strolling around and giving myself the tour Alessandro or his men never gave me, but as soon as I reached the door, the guard on duty shooed me away, back into the mansion. I wasn't even allowed to stare at the fucking garden.

When I'd told the guard this, he directed me to the balcony that was connected to my room, informing me I could admire the garden from up there. I almost kicked him in the shin, but he had a gun on him and I didn't have a death wish.

Sighing, I exited my room for the umpteenth time that day. Even if I had to reason to be prancing around the house, I couldn't stay in my room forever. I couldn't be trusted with my thoughts.

They were dangerous, eating me up from the inside, and reminding me that I had no one to come for me. I had to fight my battles on my own and I had to be smart in doing those.

Slowly, I stepped into the dining area and froze at the number of eyes that met mine.

Apart from the day Alessandro had summoned all his dealers, I hadn't seen so many men in the mansion at the same time. Sure I'd seen a lot of unfamiliar faces, but they were only a few at a time, in usual groups of twos or threes.

This though, was unnerving as it seemed like they were all watching my every move.

I took my first step. Someone scoffed. My eyes followed the sound to see a guy with brown mop-like hair, staring at me with disdain. His grey shirt had a food stain on it, but he didn't seem to mind. "Is Alessandro fucking this one too?"

Not expecting the accusation, my eyebrows twitched in surprise. He wasn't directly asking me the question, but I felt the need to answer. Unfortunately, another guy beat me to it. This one had a scar running from the left side of his forehead, down to his chin, making it look like he was wearing a kind of half mask. It definitely made him look more dangerous. He looked just as ripped as Alessandro, wearing a fitted tee that accentuated his muscles. "She has a room here."

Mop-like hair's eyebrows rose to his fucking hairline. "She must be a really good fuck, huh?"

I decided not to grace him with a reply this time. I took another step, but he wasn't done.

"How much is he paying you?"

Scarface regarded mop hair with a look of disbelief. "Alessandro doesn't need to pay for his whores."

I narrowed my eyes at scar face. I was sure his happy face looked more threatening than my angry face, but I couldn't care less at that moment. I was so done with them talking about me like I was a prostitute. There was a reason I rejected Alessandro's offer to sell my body for sex and it wasn't so that they could talk about me like this.

"Good thing I'm not his fucking whore, huh?" I snapped sarcastically.

Scarface just watched me with interest while mop hair stood up, the chair scraping noisily against the floor as he pushed it back. The other men at the table merely watched as mop hair stalked towards me.