6. Salvatore
6
SALVATORE
I didn’t like leaving Davide to watch over Marisol in the car. Only a made man for a year, he’s still too green. But I hadn’t lied to Marisol about not having been in her apartment. This would be the last time we came back here, and I wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.
I left Davide with a cold warning to keep his eyes forward and not to talk to my captive.
Prigioniera, I said, although she doesn’t have to be one for long. She’ll see I’m doing this for her own good, and then I won’t need to keep such a tight leash on her. She’ll come around.
I savor a slow perusal of her living room. For so long, the only part of her life I could see was a square around her desk, but now, I have her whole world exposed to me.
She’s got a DVD player near her TV to complement the massive collection of old sci-fi shows and films. Star Wars, Star Trek, Dr. Who, The Twilight Zone, Stargate… the list goes on. I don’t make time to watch TV, and not for the first time, I ask myself why this woman has a stranglehold on my attention unlike any other.
Then I flick open a wooden box on her bookcase. A handful of locks have been thrown inside, along with a metal file and a few keys. There’s my answer. She loves a good challenge and doesn’t respect rules and judging by her longtime attachment to her loser boyfriend, she’s loyal—or clingy—not that it matters to me. An unfamiliar wave of urgency crests over me. I don’t want to be forced to wait for her to accept she’s staying with me. I want her to understand it now and let us skip to the good parts. Resisting the urge to take something for myself, I let the box fall shut.
She couldn’t have known how close I was to sawing off her ex’s fingers until he squealed like a pig. I didn’t intend to show my face to him, but after hearing the way he insulted her… he’s lucky he left fully intact. Not for the first time, I question the wisdom in bringing Marisol into my life. First Junior, then her ex. Something about her pulls me into snap decisions.
Once she gets back to the house, and she’s safely tucked away, I’ll keep my distance until I can control myself around her.
I reach out for one of Grant’s model airplanes. Six of them take up a shelf, free of dust thanks to Marisol. I don’t know which one is his favorite, but I know they were expensive and took painstaking effort to build, so I snap the wing off of each model. It’s a good start.
Her fridge is empty, save for a few bottles of hot sauce with images of skulls and ghosts on them. No wonder she ate like a starved animal this morning. As soon as we get home, she’ll get three square meals a day—four, if my chef Conchetta has anything to say about it.
Her bedroom is simple and, for the sheer indulgence of it, I lay down next to where I imagine she sleeps. I grab her pillow and press it to my nose, inhaling deeply. Cherry blossom. My dick jerks up like a dog who’s heard the dinner bell. I give it an idle stroke and lean over the mattress to tug open her bedside table.
Why didn’t she take these? She left her giant pink dildo, fuzzy handcuffs, and nipple clamps on top of a small pile of lingerie. She’s going to get so needy without all her toys.
I take the soft garments out and rub them against my face without an ounce of shame. They smell overwhelmingly of Marisol. My mouth waters. My cock is begging to be released and stroked against all of the decadence here, but I simply shift it in my jeans and return her things. I’ll order her new toys and lingerie once she’s ready. And once I’ve regained control of myself and can think clearly around her, I’ll see if she’ll wear them for me.
I don’t take any souvenirs. Now that I have Marisol all to myself, I don’t need to.
When I place her computer tower into the back of the SUV and slide into the backseat, Marisol narrows her eyes at me like she has a few strong guesses as to what I was up to. Davide clears his throat and draws his hand back from the cat carrier in the passenger seat.
He passes me the blackout hood. Marisol studies it without recognition, but she still presses her pouty lips into a tight line when I crook a finger toward her. After a moment, she hesitantly inches toward me. Too slow. I grab her by her soft waist and slide her over the gap in the car seats until her plush thigh’s pressed against mine.
I eat up her look of outrage as I slip the bag over her head and cinch the drawstring at the base, plunging her into darkness.
“Lay on my lap until we get there.”
Again she balks, but once I wrap my fingers around her delicate shoulder, she rushes to press her cheek against my thigh. This feels good. It feels right.
As Davide drives off, I pull her phone out.
“What’s the password to your phone?”
She doesn’t say anything until I squeeze her shoulder.
“Eight-zero-zero-eight.”
“Boob?”
Davide coughs to cover up a laugh.
“I thought it was funny,” she says, voice muffled by the bag.
I absentmindedly draw a pattern over her arm as I thumb through her text messages.
“You’re a popular one, Miss Vasquez. Want me to read some of your ex’s texts?”
She groans. “No, I’m good.”
“Why not? Some of these are funny.
“ I didn’t mean it. Lilah just lost her job, and I had to be there to comfort her because Jeremy’s gone all the time.
“ I’m sorry I’m such a fuckup. I screw everything up, and I don’t deserve you.
“Baby, please send me the data at least. I have a meeting with Terrence on Tuesday.
“Who was that guy? How long have you been seeing him? He looks like a felon. ”
When she doesn’t say anything, I continue, “Looks like your ex can’t keep his mouth shut. Jeremy and Lilah are asking after you too. Why don’t you help me write up some replies so they know they have nothing to worry about?”
“Tell Grant he can have that data over my dead body. And tell him I met you September 11 th of last year.”
“Hmm. Dead body? Nine-one-one? Not very subtle, Marisol. And you know he won’t figure it out.”
She exhales through the fabric. “At least tell him to fuck off.”
Warmth spreads through my chest. “Much better.”
I send out dry, boring texts to all of her friends, telling them she needs time alone. Her parents haven’t texted her, and she has no other friends checking in on her.
I realize I’m squeezing her shoulder too tightly when she whimpers. I smooth over her arm with a flat palm. She deserves more than her shitty friends and parents. She’s been kidnapped, and no one seems to notice. No wonder she was so attached to her ex. Was he the only person in her life who gave her affection?
My hand drifts to stroke her hair splayed over her shoulder and back. She’s still and silent on my lap.
I can show her affection. She’s already responding to my touch even as she fights it. Physical attraction is a good first step. I can work with that.
Once the car crawls up the length of gravel leading to my driveway, I breathe more easily. There’s not a part of the house that isn’t under surveillance through electronic or physical means. I won’t have to push her so hard here. We can take our time.
“Davide, please take Miss Vasquez’s things to my room.” Marisol tenses on my thigh, and my cock twitches in response.
“Yes, boss.”
I ease her up and take her hand. “With me.”
I help her out of the car and down the concrete path to the front door. With the hood on, she’s forced to grab onto me for balance, clutching at my forearm.
“You can take that off now,” I say in a low voice once we’re inside.
Marisol fumbles to tear the hood off and, once it’s removed, blinks several times in the bright light. She gets a good look at the honey-colored marble flooring and twinkling chandelier in the foyer and parts her mouth for a moment before slamming it shut.
I can’t help but feel a little smug. “This is where you’ll be staying for the next week. Welcome home.”
“To your home,” she says quickly.
“It’ll feel like home to you too soon enough.”
Giving her a tour of the house is a small treat before I have to bury myself in work, a duty I’ve never shied away from until now. All the emergencies and obligations of the family business couldn’t be further away as Marisol examines a set of burgundy drapes in one of the guest rooms.
She examines every corner of the house like she’s looking for the final piece of evidence in a brutal homicide. She casts her eye over all of the windows, the seams of the walls, the vents. I’d guess our door locks aren’t up to snuff, because a faint, mocking smile tugs at her lips when she eyes them. I don’t allow her to touch anything, although I’m sure she’d love the chance to rummage through the cabinets and dressers.
My little sparrow is already looking for her escape. I told myself I’d give her space and a measure of freedom while she stays here, but the way she studies the stone handrails on the second-floor balcony makes me want to lock her up. She’s going to put herself in danger if she tries to run.
The housekeepers and the guards eye her warily as we tour the kitchen. They know to ignore any attempt for “friendship”, but that otherwise, she can roam freely through the house. I have men guarding every exit. Even if she slips out, she won’t get far.
“And this is your room.”
Marisol takes a faltering step inside as if there’s a trip wire she might trigger at any moment.
“Renovating?” she asks as she does her slow scan of the room.
“Not quite.”
I had all of the furniture taken out of the room, except for a barely dressed mattress on the ground. Davide’s already brought her things to my bedroom where they’ll sit behind an apparently pointlessly-locked door.
I lay a hand on Marisol’s shoulder from behind, and she stills. Will the two weeks before Aldo gets back be enough time for her to lose this fear of me? I haven’t hurt her.
You’ve threatened her plenty.
I release Marisol just as quickly. I threatened her because I needed immediate compliance. I won’t need to do that again.
“The room was fully furnished this morning,” I say. “Can you guess why I had my housekeepers strip it down to the essentials?”
“Anything to do with my tampons ?”
I smirk. “She learns. If you decide you want to stay put, I’ll add in a bit of decor.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says dully. She glances at the adjoining bathroom. “Buck’s going to need food and a litter box.”
“I already have someone out shopping for him. He’ll be set up tonight. And he’ll be staying in a special room for the next several days while he adjusts.”
“You mean while I behave ?”
“You’re a good girl, Marisol. I know you’ll behave.”
She flushes, but she doesn’t lower her gaze. “And if I don’t, you’ll hurt him?”
I remember this isn’t a game for her. My mouth twists downward. “I’m not a monster. I won’t hurt your cat. He’s a guest.”
“A guest…” She chews on the word as she looks over the room again, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. Stretching it. Picking at it. “I’d hate to see how you treat your prisoners.”
“They don’t normally get their own bed. They don’t get hot meals and access to the house.”
“Lucky me,” she says, looking pointedly at the mattress on the floor. “So, as your guest , what are you going to make me do all day?”
“You can do whatever you’d like. You are not to touch any computers or other electronic devices, and the guards or house staff are advised not to speak with you. I have a small library and a gym and the other guest rooms have TVs. Someone will help you pick out something to watch.”
“Can I leave the house?”
“No. It’ll be best that you stay inside until you speak with Aldo.”
She crosses her arms, but her fingers don’t stop searching for something to touch. She absentmindedly flips the hem of her sleeve several times. “This is all for my protection? What if I told you I didn’t want your protection?”
“You want it. You just don’t know it yet.”
“ You want it. You just don’t know it yet, ” she mimics in a god-awful impression of me that almost makes me laugh. “Do you even hear how patronizing that is?”
“You can think of yourself as a guest or a prisoner, but the outcome will be the same. So I suggest you adapt quickly and maybe show a little gratitude to the person who decided you were better off alive than dead.”
Her murderous expression suggests she’d rather crawl through broken glass than tell me thank you . Fine. I don’t need her permission to keep her alive.
I reach out and unroll the flipped hem of her shirt sleeve before smoothing over the fabric and her arm. Gentle, inoffensive, affectionate. She tolerates this with the barest twitch of her eyelashes.
“We don’t have to fight. Enjoy your day, Marisol. And one last thing, I will have a female staff member performing a body search on you before you turn in for the night, so please resist the temptation to pick up any souvenirs.”