19. Salvatore
19
SALVATORE
Once, when Mom was in rehab, Aldo took Matteo and me to our first baseball game. Said it was a crime we hadn’t gone before and got us matching Sosa jerseys. Junior came too, sulking and throwing Matteo dark looks the entire time. They were always at each other’s throats back then. After the fifth inning, Aldo left to take a piss.
Matteo threw his middle finger up at Junior, swiped Aldo’s beer, and chugged the whole thing while I held Junior back by his skinny arms. I swore Aldo was going to give us the belt, but he just laughed and told Matteo to go grab another beer and the biggest bag of popcorn Matteo could carry so us boys would stay off his drinks. I kept waiting for Aldo to punish Matteo or teach him a lesson, but it never came. The Cubs won twenty to one. It’s one of my happiest memories.
And now I’ve paid him back by taking his son’s eye.
He still doesn’t know yet. At the moment, he’s eating steak at Celsius with Barbara and Serafina.
Junior’s just managed to lower himself from the hook.
I’ve had plenty of time on the long drive back to identify even the smallest shred of guilt, but there’s none. Guilt implies regret, and the closest thing I feel to regret is wishing I’d taken his other eye so he’d never be able to look at Marisol again.
I do feel pity for the old man. If Junior dies out in that cornfield, Aldo will be devastated, even if he knows deep down what a piece of shit his son is. And I don’t envy the choices he’ll have to make after today—both as a father and a don. I won’t blame him. I understand what it’s like to be compelled to protect someone entirely set on your ruin.
Aldo hasn’t fought his own battles for years, but he’s been a good don. The other capos will stand by him—for now. I’ll need time to win them over, and I’m prepared to do so, but I won’t get that chance if Aldo decides to blacklist me before I set foot in Chicago. I’d have to take Marisol and run.
Each time dark apprehension tears at my insides like a carrion bird, I rub my thumb over the soft skin on the underside of Marisol’s forearm, and the tension inside me untwists. She’s been awake for over an hour, listening to me talk on the phone and pretending to be asleep, but she’s not fooling me. She snores.
This is the longest I’ve been able to touch her without her pulling away. After she came on my mouth and promised me that she was mine, I thought I’d never have to lose her. And then she left anyway. I thought I knew what she wanted.
I always know what people want. It’s a talent that’s kept me on the right side of a gun for as long as I’ve been with the Outfit. Five years ago, Camillo wanted to quit. I hired Nola. Giordana was suddenly skittish at work. I offed her abusive ex-husband. Dom needed brotherhood and a sense of purpose after Matteo died. He’s my right-hand man.
I can always reach into a bag and use a variation of money, power, love, or revenge to tether someone to me.
But Marisol?
I thought her carnal nature led her. She likes thrill and pleasure, and I gave that to her. But then she left without a second thought.
What did that milquetoast ex-boyfriend of hers offer that I don’t? Stability? Normalcy? I didn’t think she cared about those things.
Right now, I can’t fucking afford to be uncertain with her. I need her completely and utterly loyal to me because I’m going to be putting everything on the line for her. I already have, wagering all my chips without even knowing what cards I have.
Dom says I’ve lost my fucking mind.
“Didn’t I say you should’ve just let her fucking run?” Dom shouts in Italian. He made the rest of our men pile into a separate car so he could speak freely. “Aldo’s never going to turn a blind eye to this. He’s going to slaughter Marisol, and if you’re lucky, that’s all he’ll do.”
I trace aimless shapes over Marisol’s arm. “You know how Junior is. Give him a finger and he takes an arm. He broke omertà. Aldo will respect the code.”
“That girl will be your ruin.”
I turn onto my driveway and release an exhale. We’re home.
“He had her like Matteo,” I say. Dom is the only other person who knows. Who was there. He helped me take my little brother’s body down from that hook, even though there was almost nothing left to take down.
I’ve always suspected Junior had a part to play, but not a single one of those Columbians ratted him out while I razed my way through their gang.
He hoisted Marisol up in the exact same position and tied her hands with the exact same bowline knot that I released Matteo from all those years ago. If he didn’t kill Matteo, he’d been there.
He was lucky to lose an eye.
Dom sighs deeply. “I know.”
“I have to go. The doctor’s here.”
“Bye, Turi.”
I park next to Dr. Macaluso’s car and step out into the biting cold to open Marisol’s door.
“We’re here,” I say in English.
She opens her big, dark eyes and offers a drowsy smile that wraps me in warmth. Then I see the bruising that’s formed around her wrists, and anger and grief threaten to suffocate me.
Marisol moves to unbuckle herself, but I pick her up before she can get out, as much for my benefit as for hers. She seems to sense that I need this because she lays her head against my chest without a fight, calming me enough so I can think.
At this late hour, the household is silent. Macaluso’s exactly where I expect he’ll be—swirling a glass of whiskey in the kitchen.
He stands to attention once we enter.
Our arrangement is simple. Aldo paid for his medical school, and now he does house calls for our elites. Macaluso tried to leave once with a woman before I was inducted, but Aldo paid her to disappear, and he hasn’t tried again. I’ve never understood how he could have let go of that woman so easily, but it’s a rare thing to find someone who’s truly willing to do anything to get what they want. Most simply give up first. I won’t make that mistake with Marisol.
“Salvatore,” he says by way of greeting. His gaze ticks to Marisol. “Are we doing this in the kitchen?”
“My bedroom.” I make my way upstairs without waiting to see if he’ll follow.
“Sal,” Marisol murmurs as we cross the threshold. “He doesn’t have to be here. I’m not hurt.”
I set her on the edge of my bed. This is where I should’ve taken her the first day she arrived. “You were drugged and then hung from your hands for who knows how long.” I touch her wrist and then her cheek. “You have bruises.”
She gives me a questioning look. Probably wondering where the man who locked her in his basement is. I withdraw my hand. A moment later, Dr. Macaluso enters the room, and even though she must be exhausted and upset, she straightens her back and gives him a polite smile.
That’s my girl.
Dr. Macaluso nods to her and sets up the contents of his bag on my dresser. He turns and holds out a plain, white hospital gown.
“I will need you to get undressed. You can change into this. Salvatore, if you would, you can wait just outside the room for some privacy.”
I open my mouth to snap out a refusal, but Marisol interrupts as she rises to accept the gown, “He’ll stay.”
She strides to the walk-in closet while I fight between the urge to puff out my chest in pride and the need to snatch her back and demand an explanation.
Dr. Macaluso shrugs. In twenty years of knowing this man, I’ve never seen him crack a smile.
Marisol returns in the gown, her dusky nipples jutting out against the pale fabric. What I’d give to stuff my mouth with one of her beautiful tits. She catches me looking and smirks before sitting on the edge of the bed. I stand close to her shoulder while Dr. Macaluso rotates her arm at various angles. Wordlessly, she reaches for my hand, and I clasp her delicate fingers in mine.
Macaluso works efficiently. He might not like his role, but he plays it well, and he’s smart enough to know not to linger longer than necessary with my wife.
“I have to draw blood,” Dr. Macaluso warns us. He ties a rubber tourniquet around Marisol’s arm. “You might want to look away.”
Unsurprisingly, she observes every step of the process.
Afterward, she gets dressed while he cleans up his supplies.
“The good news,” he tells Marisol as she sits back down on my bed, closer to me this time, “is that you weren’t raped. As far as I can see, that’s not a concern. When was the last time you had sex? Including oral and anal.”
Marisol glances at me. “Oral was yesterday. Everything else has been more than two months.”
Dr. Macaluso follows her gaze and assesses me coldly. “ Ah… Well, in that case, you’re STD-free. When I come back, I’ll bring a list of physical rehabilitation exercises you can do for your shoulder. For now, you can start with these. Do them every day and call me if you have any sharp pain in your shoulders or wrists. Get lots of rest for the next few days. Any questions?”
“Can you preserve the eye and bring it back?”
Dr. Macaluso lifts an eyebrow at me.
“Wait downstairs. Camillo will give it to you when he arrives,” I say.
“Congratulations on the engagement,” Dr. Macaluso says without a hint of emotion and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
“Where do you plan on putting that eye?” I ask.
Marisol looks up at me and scrunches her nose. “ Egh . I’m not going to keep a gross old eye around. I just want to mess with Macaluso for not doing anything to help me while I was in your dungeon.”
I sit next to her to unlace my boots. The side of her thigh presses into mine. “That’s right. Dom mentioned a few of your claims. I didn’t realize you were a pregnant Venezuelan cartel princess.”
“Yeah, well, for all the good it did. The guy’s made of stone.” She leans back on the bed, totally without remorse.
I finish tugging off my boots and carry them to my closet.
“So,” she calls after me, “where’s my new computer?”
“What are you in a hurry for?” I cast an eye over the leather upper for scuffs, slip in cedar shoe trees, and return my boots to their shelf.
Her teasing voice drifts closer. “I want to see if you’ll make good on your promise, or if I need to make another escape attempt.”
I snap toward her, closing the space between us with a step. A smile flickers across her lips as she crosses her arms and rests her hip against the closet doorframe.
Blood rushes to my groin. Is she trying to test my restraint? She had me on my knees with a word. She should know by now how little it’ll take for me to break. I brace my forearm against the doorframe, edging closer until she’s pinned against the wood, and drag my gaze down her body, lingering on all my favorite places: her dark eyes, her elegant neck, her generous breasts, her wrists—beautiful, even when they’re wrapped in white gauze. She holds herself completely still for my inspection, but I’m not fooled by her apparent harmlessness. She’s both the hunter and the lure.
“I don’t have a computer for you,” I murmur. Her eyes narrow. “So you’ll have to order a new setup. Make sure you spare no expense—I want my wife to have whatever her heart desires.”
I’m playing with fire, calling her my wife before she’s agreed, but the way hunger flashes across her face tells me I’m not the only one who likes the idea.
“Whatever I want?” she asks.
Can I hook her with gifts? It’d be so simple to spoil her with whatever she’d like.
“Anything.”
She rises on her toes to bring her mouth to my ear, stoking desire down the length of my spine. I rest my hands gently around her waist, letting my fingers dip into the soft flesh there. Her body was made to be touched, to be pleasured, to be draped in silks and rubies. Whatever my little Aphrodite asks for, I’ll give her seven times as much.
“I want…” A tiny, breathy moan, then, “my cell phone.”
With a light shove that feels like a bucket of ice water, she pushes away from me and settles back on her heels.
“In the far nightstand, top drawer,” I grit out, hands clenched at my sides.
She glances down with a private smile at the angry bulge in my jeans before walking over to the corner of the room.
I told myself I would let her torture me for kidnapping her and throwing her in the basement. This is the least she can do.
As she leans forward to open the nightstand, the soft curve of her hips stretches her pants taut, and her hair spills over her shoulders in a shadowy waterfall. Lust chokes my thoughts. Before, she was just a fantasy—as dangerous as a ghost—but now, I’ve tasted what’s between her thighs and weighed the heft of her breasts in my palm, and I’m still forced to wait here like a beggar outside of heaven’s gate.
I’ll just ask her to shoot me and call it even.
She turns, holding out her phone and a small black velvet box. “There’s more in the drawer,” she says with a tilt of her head to where I’ve stored Mom’s Bible and my lockbox.
“You can go through those later.”
She won’t be able to resist the lock. That’s fine. I want her to see.
She makes a doubtful sound but redirects her attention to the box she’s turning over in her hand. “And this?”
“Open it.”
When she sees the diamond wedding ring and matching necklace inside, she inhales sharply and sinks onto the mattress. I didn’t know what she’d like, so I asked for something extravagant. I could buy her matching earrings next, then a bracelet—fuck, a tiara if she wants. She’ll never have to wear the same piece twice. I circle the bed eagerly to read her reaction.
She’s frowning.
“You don’t like them?” I ask, burying my disappointment. I should’ve known she wouldn’t be so easy to crack.
She laces her fingers through the gold necklace and concentrates on the pendant, drawing it close to her face.
“There’s a GPS tracker in this, isn’t there?” she asks.
“Clever.” I knew she’d figure it out eventually, but I didn’t expect so quickly.
“I want a matching one for you.”
The soft glow of the lamp casts her face in amber and obsidian.
I brush my fingers along her neck until I touch the necklace already there. She inhales and stiffens. For the first time since she’s returned home, she looks terrified. I ease the chain holding my ring over her head, and she blows out an exhale once I’m finished. Her eyes raise to meet mine with a spark of defiance as I consider her. Did Junior touch her like this too?
I hate that I couldn’t see what happened in that garage, but Junior would probably be dead if I had. In any case, he’ll die soon enough.
I’d half-hoped she’d throw out the damn ring like she did her phone, but it’s found its way back to me. I slide it back onto my finger and flex my hand.
“You already do. Pass me your phone.” I show her how to use the tracking app I had designed for my ring years ago when it was retrofitted with GPS to monitor Matteo. It didn’t help him, but at least it saved her. “You’re the only person with access to this, and you’re welcome to change the security settings to your liking. The charger for your necklace is in the box.”
She bites into her lip and picks at her leggings, pulling at a stray thread asshe studies the blip on the map that marks my location. She clicks her phone off, tosses it onto the bed, and then holds out her golden necklace as an offering, wordlessly sweeping her hair to the side.
I take the necklace, and my fingers kiss against her soft skin as I fasten it on her. I smooth my hands over her shoulders before dropping them to my sides.
She’s shy when she looks at me again, her hand rising to touch the pendant. An overwhelming sense of peace fills me. I’ll never have to lose her.
“And the ring?” she asks, a hint of teasing returning. “Is that also a tracker?”
“It’s a normal ring. But when you say the word, I’ll have an officiant come to the house to marry us.”
She spins it in her hand, making the diamond glitter in the lamplight. “You’re going to be in trouble for what I made you do to Junior, won’t you?”
“In trouble” is an understatement. This isn’t the type of thing that blows over with a slap on the wrist. It’s more like the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand detonating into World War I.
Even knowing how deeply we are fucked, I still want to tell her of course, of course it wasn’t her fault, and that I can protect her from this too. But there are too many moving parts for a guarantee like that, and I don’t want to start our marriage on lies.
“Yes.”
“And if we’re married… that’ll give you more credibility when you have to defend yourself.”
“I believe so.”
She considers the ring for a long moment and then, with the same finality as pulling the trigger of a gun, she jams it on her finger.
She’s not doing this because she wants to. It’s a necessary and practical evil for her. I know that, but I still have to shake the low, possessive satisfaction that rumbles through me.
“Sal?”
“Hm?”
“When was the last time you slept?”
“Last time you were here.”
“That was almost two days ago.”
I couldn’t sleep, knowing we still hadn’t caught Junior. “That’s not so long to go without sleep. I’ll survive.”
I’ve been running off of espresso and fury since she’s been gone. What I need now is a shower. I need Marisol’s body wash in one hand and my cock in the other so I can burn off some of this excess energy. I need to get back to work so I can catch up on everything I’ve neglected while tracking down Junior. Marisol needs to rest.
I lean down to kiss her forehead and make my way to the bathroom.
“Where are you going?”
“To take a shower. Then work. Sleep in my bed, passerotta, I’ll join you in a few hours.”
“You said I could set the terms if I came back, right?” she says from behind.
I pause and half-turn to look at her. Technically, she didn’t come back of her own volition…
She narrows her eyes as if she’s reading my thoughts. “You said you’d give me whatever I wanted if I stayed. I put on the necklace and the ring, and I’m here. So is that true or not?”
I give her a brief nod.
She smiles like a cat that’s caught a particularly fat bird, and I bite back a measure of amusement. She might play dirty, but I’ll never get tired of watching her win.
She scoots herself back on the bed until she’s leaning against the headboard and hooks the waistband of her leggings with her thumbs. I pivot my entire body toward her, more alert than if a gun had gone off. She slowly exposes lush bronze skin that looks like it’d bruise copper if I kissed it too hard and a set of simple black panties I could tear off with my teeth. A soft exhale draws me a step closer.
Maybe I do need sleep. Several of my dreams have started off like this.
She gives me a dazzling smile as she slips her legs under the sheets and pats the empty space next to her.
“You let me sleep in the car. It’s my turn to keep watch,” she says.
“The doctor said you should rest.”
She wiggles her phone at me. “Nah. I have some computer parts to order. And when you wake up, you can show me how I can start my new job.”
I want to argue, but a wave of exhaustion crashes into me. Maybe she’s right. I sit on the side of the bed to take off my socks.
“You know,” I say as I fold them together. “I normally sleep in my underwear.”
Something rustles on the side of the bed.
“I normally sleep without a bra.”
I catch a glimpse of the bra she’s tossed to the side, more closely resembling a battered, beige military tank than a piece of lingerie.
“Something on your mind?” she asks. My attention snaps to the pillowy breasts she’s smuggling under her t-shirt, and my thoughts go blank.
I finish folding the rest of my clothes and set them on my nightstand before sliding into the sheets with her. She’s so warm and soft and inviting with that wicked little grin on her sweet face. And she’s wearing my ring. Every night could be like this.
I drape an arm across the tops of her thighs, and she laces a hand through my hair. While the rest of my body’s wiped out, my cock still hasn’t caught the memo. I grind it once into the mattress. It’ll have to wait a little longer.
I glance up into Marisol’s expectant face. She raises an eyebrow.
“I was wondering how many generations back that bra goes.”
Her laugh is brief and delighted. “It’s actually a prized family heirloom.”
“Great-great-grandmother?”
She leans in confidentially. “Rumor has it, she used it to strangle her ex-husband.”
“Poor bastard never stood a chance.”
She grazes her nails against my scalp, and a hum of relaxation ripples down my body. I haven’t been touched like this in years. How have I gone so long without this? I bury my face into her thigh, and she gives a short gasp. I smile against her skin.
“Goodnight,” I murmur.
“Go to sleep, Sal.”
Something Dom said to me lingers at the back of my mind, but the only thought I form before I pass out is what I’ll do to Marisol when I wake up.