My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 12 "Confrontation" by Marita A. Hansen Read Free Book Online Page A

was part African American, along with Mexican and Puerto Rican. He
was one handsome motherfucker—and he knew it, too. He wielded his good looks
like a superpower, making women fall at his feet. I just wasn’t one of those
women. He was more like a brother to me. I just hoped he hadn’t betrayed my
trust like Dan had.
    Julio held his arms out wide as
though he was greeting a long lost relative. I went into his arms, feeling conflicted
about seeing him. Although I liked him, I was worried he’d ruin my plans, considering
they were probably in direct conflict with his orders. Though, if anyone would
break the rules for me, it would be Julio, since he wasn’t exactly clean. In
fact, he was downright dirty, but only in the sense it got the results
required.
    I unwrapped myself from him.
    He grabbed my face, staring at me
in wonder. “I didn’t think I would ever see your smart-ass face again, beeyatch.”
    I smiled. “Ever the charmer.”
    “That’s what happens when you go
off the grid.” He let go of my face and grabbed me again, giving me another
hug. “Girl, you scared the shit outta me.”
    I gave him another squeeze. “That’s
my job.”
    He let go of me, then punched me in
the arm, making me yelp.
    “What was that for?!” I said,
rubbing my arm.
    He grinned. “I told you if you
didn’t make it back for my birthday, I’d give you a dead arm.”
    “Guess I deserved that, old man.”
    “Ha! Thirty isn’t old, and you’ll be
the same age soon.”
    I shook my head. “Nope, I just
found out I’m fucking twenty-four.”
    He frowned. “What?”
    I smiled, relieved at his surprise.
“Guess you’re not involved in my mindfuck.”
    “What are you talking about?” he
said, looking confused.
    “Dan set me up to come here. His
bosses thought I was a mafia informant. Apparently, the bastards have been messing
with my memories since I left this island seven years ago. I was born here, and
get this: I’m Frano D’Angelo’s lover.”
    His eyes widened. “You’re fucking
with me.”
    “Nope, and just to let you know, I’m not the informant. It was my double-crossing, lowlife of a husband, aka,
Matteo the Asshole Donatelli.”
    The surprise dropped from his face.
“I heard about that bastard. I fucking cried at his funeral, and I never
fucking cry. The next time I go to his funeral, I’m going to fucking laugh.”
    “You have such a lovely way of
saying things,” I smiled, Julio’s language always peppered with expletives.
    “I sure as hell do, though I don’t think
it’s our lot playing with your mind. I’d say it’s the mafia doing a number on
you.” He placed a hand on my arm, looking concerned. “What did they do to you?”
    “Nothing much,” I lied, not wanting
to get off topic. “And it was definitely the FBI. After Federico died, I
started getting my memories back. They must’ve been spiking my food.”
    “And aliens have been anally
probing me for years.” He shook his head. “C’mon, do you really believe that
horseshit?”
    “Then why did I suddenly start
getting my memories back after Federico died?”
    “What memories?”
    “Ones that have been confirmed by
Frano and Jagger D’Angelo.”
    “They’re playing with you, Rita.”
    I shook my head. “I know they’re
real. I also remember other things. I was from a low level mafia family called
the Salvi.”
    He exhaled loudly. “Guess they let
anyone into the FBI now.”
    I smacked his arm. “This isn’t
funny.”
    He grinned. “I always thought you
weren’t good enough to be let in.”
    “Asshole! You said I was the best.”
    “Only because I wanted to get into
your pants—until you turned around and showed me your small ass. And ever since
you’ve been sister-zoned.”
    I shook my head, giving him a
smile.
    His face turned serious. “And I’m
not joking about it not being the FBI. Honestly, do you truly believe they
could’ve spiked your food for all these years? Seriously, think about it.”
    “I know it