Read My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Ep. 6 Consequences for Free Online

looked
like they wanted to take a bite out of it. I blew them a kiss,
making the women giggle. I didn’t like fucking females, but oh, I
loved flirting with them. Compliment them, blow them kisses, or
even just look their way, and they creamed themselves. Women were a
quick ego boost, unlike Italian men, who were too scared to show
their appreciation. Only the openly gay ones had enough guts to do
so, and even they were careful, unless it was at the clubs, then
they couldn’t stop groping me ... shit, they were grabby bastards
here. I didn’t mind the hot ones doing that, but the greasy ones
pissed me off.
    I pulled out my sunglasses and
put them on, then yanked my cap lower. I cut through the trees and
shops, entering the market place. Long lines of stalls filled the
field with a mixture of smells assaulting my senses: baked bread,
flowers, and wet grass along with a hint of mud thrown into the
mix. I weaved my way through the buyers as they moved from one
vendor to the next. A middle-aged man from a stall on my left,
dressed in a stripe blue and white apron, held up a salami,
jabbering away in Italian, probably trying to sell it to me. I
ignored him, not understanding a word he was saying. Yeah, I should
have learned Italian, especially since it was in my blood, but I
was never good at foreign languages. I could talk a horse’s ass off
in American, but if I even tried to speak in Italian it always came
out wrong. Christ, even when I spoke English to Italians it
sometimes turned nasty. Once I’d told one of my aunties she had a
nice figure and she’d slapped me, yelling at me in Italian. I had
no clue what she’d said, or why she was even angry, until my uncles
burst out laughing, one of them telling me that I’d told her she
had a nice pussy , the Italian word for it, figa , sounding like figure.
    I stopped a few stalls away from the shop
that Mini-Jagger went to, aka Thierry, and glanced at my watch. I
had a few minutes to spare, if he was even coming, since he was now
living with the Landi. I wondered whether the Landi would be
following him around like they were doing to Frano. Most likely,
Frano would’ve sent the kid to them so that Thierry could be
watched twenty-four-seven. I didn’t know Thierry that well. The boy
had only come to live with the D’Angelos a month prior to me
leaving, the recon I’d done on him not as extensive as the
others.
    A shout came from behind me,
capturing my attention. I looked in the direction of a stall, where
two teenage girls were arguing over something ... no, not
something, someone —Thierry. The boy was definitely a mini Jagger, his dark
hair and fine features almost as beautiful as his older brother’s,
just more effeminate, which the two girls seemed to be
appreciating, their fight over him leaving the boy flustered.
Another girl, who looked similar but older, barked at the girls to
let Thierry go. I instantly recognized them: the Landi sisters.
They were well-known on the nightclub scene. Although, they didn’t
tend to go to the clubs I went to, I had still seen them around and
knew the strip they frequented.
    My focus shifted to the two big men
shadowing the group, without a doubt the girls’ bodyguards. One of
the motherfuckers looked my way. I quickly shifted my attention to
the stall next to me, pretending to show interest in the
watermelon. I highly doubted he recognized me, because he would’ve
been on me in a second. Instead, he was probably scoping out the
area, making sure there weren’t any threats. I had done similar
work for the FBI, and these guys were just as good, which was bad
for me, because it made it just that much harder to get at Thierry.
I shot a glance back at the group, sizing up the females. Maybe
they could be a way to get to the boy.
    I fished out some coins from my pocket,
and handed it over to the vendor, buying a slice of watermelon.
Since the bodyguards would’ve been given my photo, I wanted to use
the fruit to hide my face. I