A Pet for the Mafia Dons
Catching a glimpse of myself in one of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, I gasped.
I looked like I had been to war!
My hair was in a mess, my eyes were large and wounded, with a fast-developing black eye, puffy and painful. And apart from that, the scratches on my chin and cheeks looked red and raw.
I stepped to the fridge and retrieved an ice pack, wondering bitterly if this was a constant occurrence. Girlfriend/fiancée meets resident slut; chaos erupts?
Sighing, I took up the tray.
Someone had thoughtfully provided a couple of painkillers as well besides the Jibarito, the Puerto Rican-style sandwich that was made with plantains instead of bread. And a lobster roll. A bowl of fruit and a glass
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