Chapter 7
Salvatore
Over the next week, Armando and I got in the habit of video calling each other every day. I’d told myself I was going to keep this casual, but I had a hard time staying away from him. Plus, I worried about him and wanted to make sure he was taking care of himself.
His schedule was my main cause for concern.
It turned out Sundays were his “early” night.
The rest of the week, the diner was open until ten p.m., so he didn’t make it home until ten-thirty or even later.
On top of that, he left the house by five-thirty seven days a week, to get the diner ready to open for breakfast.
To me, those hours were completely unreasonable. I didn’t understand how he hadn’t collapsed from sheer exhaustion or sleep deprivation. He tried to justify it by saying he’d been doing it for years. When I told him that didn’t make it okay, he’d shrugged it off by saying, “It’s what I’m used to.”
As hard as it was to watch him run himself ragged, I knew I couldn’t do much about it. All I could do was remind him to eat—which he often forgot, despite being around food all day—and encourage him to delegate more of his responsibilities to his staff, so he could cut back his hours.
“I definitely plan to delegate more,” he told me on Friday afternoon, as he sat at the desk in his office and organized a stack of receipts.
“But I couldn’t do that this week. I took all that time off last weekend, and I’m planning to take tomorrow off, so I don’t want to pile too much on Javier’s shoulders. ”
“But you said he enjoyed being in charge last weekend, and that he’s always asking for more responsibility,” I reminded him. “Do you think the real issue is that you have a hard time letting go of old habits?”
He grinned at his phone, which was propped up on the desk. “You sound like a therapist.”
“But do you think I could be right?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” He pulled out his giant desktop calculator—because of course he did his own bookkeeping instead of hiring someone—and said, “I need to finish up these receipts, before I take over for my cook while he’s on his dinner break.”
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven.”
“Are you sure you want to pick me up? I could just as easily meet you wherever you’ve made those secret plans you won’t tell me about.”
“The last thing you need on your day off is to drive all over Southern California. And I know you said you wanted to cook for me, but please, let me buy you dinner instead.”
He shook his head. “It’s the least I can do, after you paid for room service last weekend.”
“I want you to have a chance to relax.”
“It’s fine. I like cooking. It might have been better to do that at your place, though.”
“What makes you say that?”
“My apartment is… I don’t know. Just don’t expect much when you come over.”
“Are you worried that it isn’t posh enough?” He shrugged and looked away, so I said, “Remember what I told you about how I grew up? Our tiny apartment was in a building so old, it was literally crumbling. Besides, compared to this soulless corporate flat, your place will be a breath of fresh air.”
He murmured, “I hope so.”
“I’ll let you go, but promise me you’ll eat something tonight.”
He picked up his phone and smirked at me. “You’re a bit of a mother hen, Tory.”
“Just promise me.”
“Fine. I promise.”
After we ended the call, I dropped back against the couch cushions and sighed. Trying to take care of someone that stubborn was an uphill battle.
Sometime later, the sound of a buzzer jolted me out of the book I was reading.
I went into the foyer and pushed a button for the intercom to the lobby.
The security guard told me I had a delivery, so I asked him to sign for it.
But someone in the background called, “No can do, dude. Dante told me I had to hand this to you in person.”
I muttered, “Hang on,” and texted my cousin. Once he confirmed he’d sent me something, I grabbed my keys and headed for the elevator.
When I reached the lobby, the courier ran his gaze down my body and said, “Well, hello there, Hunky McHotterson.” He looked like he was probably a surfer with his long hair, board shorts, and flip flops.
He handed me a package, which was about the size of a shoebox and fairly heavy. Instead of a mailing address, the only thing written on the outside of it was ‘Sal’ which made me ask, “Did you bring this all the way from San Francisco?”
“Yup.” He leaned in and flashed me a flirty smile.
“I can be part of your special delivery too, if you want. Not that Dante’s pimping me out or anything.
I just think you’re sexy. My name’s Bowen, but you can call me Bunny.
All my friends do, and I’d like it if you and I could be very good friends.
” He wiggled his brows suggestively, just in case his meaning wasn’t blatantly obvious.
“I’m flattered,” I said, “but I’m seeing someone.”
He seemed surprised. Someone that pretty probably didn’t get turned down very often. But he stepped back and said, “Lucky them.”
I shifted the box and tipped him with all the cash I had on me. It was almost two hundred dollars, which didn’t seem like nearly enough for a thousand-mile round trip. But knowing Dante, Bowen was probably being well-compensated for this errand.
Once I was back in my flat, I carried the package into the kitchen. After I cut the tape with a chef’s knife, I plucked out a wad of bubble wrap and whispered, “Bloody hell.”
I gingerly removed a sleek, black handgun from the box, checked that the safety was on, and placed it on the counter, along with a box of bullets. I’d been able to push it to the back of my mind, but just like that, the fear of being on the run came rushing back to me.
I exhaled slowly and went back to unpacking the box. It also contained two thick stacks of cash, a padded envelope, and a decorative floral tin, which turned out to be full of sugar cookies. I fished one out and raised a brow. It looked like a chubby cock and balls.
After I ate the cookie, I raised the flap on the envelope and slid a passport, credit card, and driver’s license onto the counter, along with a note from Dante.
It said: Hi cousin, thought I’d send you a little care package along with your new IDs.
The Ruger’s totally untraceable, just FYI.
If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.
P.S. The cookies are from Nana. Apparently they were meant to be palm trees in honor of your move to California, but they puffed up while they were baking.
I muttered, “If you say so,” and called Dante. When he answered, I said, “Thank you. I appreciate the care package, but I don’t want the gun.”
“Are you sure? I thought it might provide you with some peace of mind.”
“It’s doing the exact opposite.”
“Okay, no problem. Put it back in the box, and I’ll have Bunny swing by and pick it up.”
“Thanks.”
There was a smile in his voice when he asked, “How do you like your new IDs?”
“I haven’t looked at them yet.” I folded back the cover of the Italian passport and saw he’d gone with the name Mikael Romano. “You named me Mike from Rome. Funny.”
“You really do look like my kid brother.”
“So I’ve heard. The documents look great, though. Thanks again for doing that.”
“Happy to help.”
“I know it’s only been a few days,” I said, “but have you been able to dig up anything on Philip Ashcroft?”
“Nothing we can use against him. Not yet, anyway. But from what my people are discovering, he’s no run-of-the-mill businessman. There are some indications that he might have ties to organized crime.”
I muttered, “That’s really fucking great.”
“But you do too, Sal. Don’t worry, okay? He’s not going to find you, and I won’t stop digging until we come up with something we can use as leverage.”
We spoke for a few more minutes, and despite his reassurances, I had a knot in my stomach by the time we ended the call.
Fifteen minutes later, he sent me a text to let me know his courier was in the lobby, so I packed up the gun and the bullets and went back downstairs.
Bunny looked hopeful as he hurried over to me. I handed him the box and said, “Thanks again,” before turning around and pushing the button to reopen the elevator doors.
He muttered, “Damn. I thought you changed your mind, and this was a booty call.”
“Nope. I’m still seeing someone.”
“What does he have that I don’t?”
I grinned and stepped onto the elevator. “Me.”
Once I was back in my flat, I came up with an excuse to send Armando a text, because I wanted to talk to him again. It said: I forgot to tell you the dress code for tomorrow is jeans and trainers.
He video called me a minute later, sounding amused when he said, “I had to look that up.”
“Look what up?”
“Trainers. Apparently it’s Brit-speak for sneakers.”
“It is. I don’t always realize how my time in the UK influenced my speech.”
“I like it,” he said, as he moved around the diner’s kitchen. “By the way, you’re going to be proud of me, because Javi talked me into leaving early. As soon as my cook gets back from his break, I’m out of here.”
“How did Javier succeed where I’ve failed?”
“He asked me if he could work extra hours, because he’s saving up to take his family on vacation. I obviously wouldn’t say no to something like that.”
I nodded. “Sounds about right.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve noticed you’ll gladly do things for other people, but if it’s something that only benefits you, you’ll fight it.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, but then he admitted, “You might be right.”
“I’m glad you’re going to get some rest, and I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
“I wish I could see you sooner,” he said shyly. “If you wanted to spend the night, I could make us a nice brunch in the morning, before we do whatever it is you have planned for us.”
I leapt up from the sofa. “I’m on my way. I just need to pack an overnight bag, and then I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”