21. Marisol
21
MARISOL
After the flinching, sweaty-faced officiant took our signatures in front of Giordana and Domenico, Salvatore asked if I wanted to go see “Worm”.
I wasn’t gonna say no to that.
I can almost pretend we’re on a date as Davide drives us into the city.
For once, I’m not wearing a shirt with Darth Vader on it or holes along the hemline. Salvatore’s men brought all my things from the hotel and my apartment along with poor Buck who was too tired even to hiss at me. Salvatore whisked him away to eat while a pang of jealousy drove into my chest. I’m glad Buck trusts someone again, I just wish it’d been me .
The rest of my things were neatly packed and stored in one of the guest rooms. Someone even marked the boxes in tidy handwriting with labels like Mrs. Luporini’s DVDs , Mrs. Luporini’s Shoes, Mrs. Luporini’s Intimacy Products— which I learned meant “Marisol’s box of dildos”.
I picked through everything until I pulled out one of my sweaters, a loose, cream-colored, cable knit with a high neckline that makes me look like a Sunday school teacher and sleeves long enough to hide the white gauze on my wrists. I must’ve already gained a few pounds from Conchetta’s efforts because when I found my favorite jeans, they needed a few extra bounces to squeeze into. I paired it all with my thrifted leather boots and pulled my hair into a long ponytail.
When I met Salvatore downstairs, he gave me a once-over and said I looked stunning while Davide stood next to him, eyes cast downward and cheeks bright red.
The memory makes me steal a glance at Salvatore—and his amber eyes are already locked onto me. I turn back to the window, heart racing like I’ve been caught trying to swipe toothpaste from the drugstore.
I’ve never felt this nervous around a man before. I’ve always been able to do the dance. The squeeze-your-boobs-together, giggle-at-his-unfunny-jokes, give-great-head do-si-do. So long as I kept it up and didn’t show what was behind my back, I’d have a warm bed. Things like stealing, lying, cheating—basically everything that gets you a stern talking-to from the principal—got shoved into a black box and packed away in my mind, guarded by a laser fence and automated turrets.
Grant was past my defenses before I realized I wanted to charm him. I realized if I could figure out how to marry him, I’d get the Hallmark Christmases with my own gingerbread house to decorate and care packages full of gummy worms and burnt-on-one-side sugar cookies. I should’ve realized we were doomed before the start.
Grant already had me figured out when I pinged around his house on the weekends he and his brother left to spend with their dad because it meant I had his mom Kristin all to myself. I’d already dropped out of college to care for Kristin before he even thought to ask because I’d given myself a backdoor to his and Calvin’s text messages just in case. While he gifted Kristin another #1 Mom mug for her birthday, I made her cry with the porcelain baby from Lladró that she’d added to an online shopping cart months ago but decided was too expensive.
After she died, I worked twice as hard to keep him hooked. Half of his airplane models arrived in my purse with the tags ripped off. His parking ticket just… disappeared from the system. The coworker he didn’t like got fired.
Helping him with work was supposed to give me the ultimate trump card. But everything I did for him just pushed him further and further away, and why wouldn’t it? His mom raised a good boy.
This evening, I could’ve asked Salvatore to show me the contents of his lockbox, but a part of me wanted to see what he’d do if I didn’t ask first. He was supposed to shake me by the scruff of my neck and tell me, “Don’t ever do that again!” He wasn’t supposed to fuck me to complete satisfaction and ask me again to marry him.
Salvatore takes my hand in his— fuck —I never sweat, and now’s the time my palms decide to give it a try. With my other hand, I dig into the leather seat for something to pick at.
This late at night, the streets are soaked in flickering restaurant signs and red brake lights. Davide pulls to a stop and a cluster of friends burst out of the nearest bar, shrieking with laughter and stumbling over each other. The woman nearest to us grabs her girlfriend dressed in a matching puffy coat, and they kiss. When they break away, their faces are glowing with easy, relaxed smiles. The light turns green, and we drive off. Envy coils inside me.
“Have you guessed where we’re going yet?”
My fingernail snags a tiny piece of thread in the seam of my seat— jackpot— and I get to work picking at it. I don’t look at Salvatore. His thumb draws lazy circles over the back of my hand.
He made me come with my own hand. It was weird and hot, and now I can’t look at him, because even though I thought I was the kind of girl who eats danger for breakfast, it turns out I’m just a huge coward. I want him to like me so badly that if I look at him and it’s anything but utter adoration, I’ll melt in shame. And if it is adoration, I won’t know what to do—I’ll just turn to stone so I don’t mess it up.
His thumb stops moving.
Oh, yeah. I make a half-hearted guess. “Someone’s apartment?”
“No.”
That was on me. I map out what I know about this part of the city. We’re about to cross over the bridge, probably heading to River North, so… something upscale?
“A restaurant?”
“No.” He sounds amused—that barely perceivable lilt to his voice already plucking at my clit. “Do you give up?”
Ha. I’d play this game for hours if it meant I’d eventually make the correct guess. Infinite monkeys with typewriters and all that. I chew on my lower lip. We’re meeting a hacker friend of Salvatore’s. Davide seems to know where he’s going since he’s not using GPS. Maybe we’ll pretend to be Cold War spies and meet at a random park to exchange manilla envelopes.
“A park?”
“No.”
I fume. Think . It’d be smart to make your base of operations in the middle of the city where there are a lot of people who can hide your illegal activity with their own digital presence. A hotel would be perfect.
“A hotel?”
“No.”
“A club.”
“Yes.”
With a triumphant grin, I whip my face toward him. A strip of searing white light flashes his look of mirrored satisfaction in the dark cabin.
“Which club?” I ask.
“Would you like to guess?”
Two tries later, I have my answer. Hightop. I’ve heard of it—there was a shooting in the club less than a year ago. Three people died.
Our game ends when the SUV pulls up next to a brick building. Salvatore steps out, offering me his hand. I force down a blush as his long, elegant fingers wrap around mine. Davide drives off, and then it’s just the two of us on the empty street, standing under an awning as a light rain begins to mist around us. Faintly, bass thumps through the nearest brick wall. Time to go impress Salvatore’s friends and prove I’m the prophesied dark queen for his criminal empire. No pressure. I tug my sweaty hand out of Salvatore’s to wrap around my arm.
I’d rather be back in the car playing guessing games.
“Nervous?” he asks.
Ugh , not this kind of guessing game.
“No. I’m excited.”
“You were nervous in the car.”
I take a deep breath. I don’t get nervous. I get ready. I jump straight in, eyes closed and screaming in delight the whole way down.
“I’m on birth control,” I say instead, surprising even myself. All of a sudden, I’d rather provoke him to anger than be honest about some reasonable nerves. What is wrong with me?
I glance up at him. He’s completely unbothered by the conversational whiplash. He’s mildly amused even—like he expected this from me, like he knows exactly what I’m doing.
“I know.”
I don’t have to ask. “You shouldn’t go through people’s medical records. That’s illegal.”
He raises an eyebrow at that. His mouth twitches. It’s not funny.
“And I don’t want kids,” I add defiantly.
“That’s not a problem.”
“Really? You don’t want an heir? Doesn’t that mess with the whole Family thing?”
“I don’t like kids. And it does, but I’ve never wanted to bring someone into this lifestyle.”
“You brought me.”
Salvatore pauses. I tug the ends of my sleeves over my knuckles and try to look tough instead of quivering and pathetic in the chilly night air. He shrugs off his coat without hesitation. I shake my head no, but he still wraps it over my shoulders, bathing me in warmth and his clean scent and tying my stomach in knots.
“You were miserable,” he says and waits for me to deny it, but I don’t. “You crushed yourself into a shape that didn’t fit because you wanted someone to love you. And now you’re nervous because, for the first time in your life, you’re going to see what happens when you have no limits put on you. There’s no need to be nervous. You’re going to do well, and if you don’t, you’ll learn. You have nothing to worry about. I’ve got you.”
The look in his eyes isn’t adoration. It’s not gentle. It’s the same burning intensity that he always uses to look at me with—like I’m going to float away if he doesn’t pin me down with the force of his attention. Like if he watches carefully enough, my face will reveal to him the secrets of the universe.
I press my lips into a shaking line. “Whoever you’ve built me up to be in your head? I’m not her.”
Salvatore reaches forward to slip the end of my ponytail out from under his coat and then he cups his long fingers to the sides of my neck. Heat flushes through me, and my pussy—still sore from our shower—throbs.
His lips part as he observes me for a long moment. Without meaning to, I hold my breath.
“You are exactly who I knew you’d be.” He inclines his head and gives me the softest, most chaste kiss of my life. At the same moment he pulls back, he releases his hold on my neck, but I can still feel his scalding touch on my throat and mouth. “Let’s go, passerotta.”
I have a little time to blink the tears out of my eyes as he leads me down the sidewalk. Bass music rumbles louder with each step until we round the corner where a man with a scorpion tattoo along his temple guards the doors from a river of waiting people. Most of the women and men hold purses or jackets over their heads to shield their hair from the rain, but instead of being miserable in the wet cold, they’re all chatting animatedly with each other. Must be some club.
Salvatore takes us straight to the doors which Scorpion Face scrambles to open in time.
“Welcome back, Mr. Luporini.” The man gives me a curious look but says nothing else. The doors slam shut behind us.
The bass is louder in here, thumping against the walls of a barely-lit hallway. At the end, the biggest man I’ve ever seen stands in front of another door. He recognizes Salvatore much faster and opens the door smoothly. Whatever he says drowns in the music.
I grit my teeth as bass thunders down into my bones. Salvatore wraps one arm around me, drawing me to his side. It feels like hundreds of people are stuffed into the room, dancing and grinding against each other as women in fancy underwear gyrate in cages suspended from the ceilings. Neon lights cast the dancers’ skins in vivid shades of pink or purple. I couldn’t be more out-of-place tonight in my dumpy sweater and now with Salvatore’s coat hiding my body completely.
I fucking hate clubs, especially with a partner. Crowds like this always drench my natural competitiveness in gasoline and then flick in a match. I can’t be the most sexy, the most mysterious, the most fun all at once, but I’m sure as hell gonna try. A few of the men and women stop to openly stare at Salvatore and, as an afterthought, at me. I glare back at them, cataloging the women’s long eyelashes and toned bellies. Whatever Salvatore has planned for tonight, I won’t be sharing.
THUMP. THUMP. Salvatore stops us, and his mouth moves.
“What?” I shout.
He leans in until his lips brush against my ear. The rough scruff along his jaw makes me shiver.
“Go inside.” He points me to another door, his hand rising to cup the nape of my neck.
The next room is a shock of near-silence. Once the door shuts behind us, all I hear is my ears ringing and the barest hint of what’s outside. Two men kiss and grind against each other on a long sage couch while a woman in black boots and underwear mixes a drink at a little bar in the corner. A dozen computer monitors along the farthest wall form a semi-circle in front of a crimson computer chair fashioned to look like a throne.
I lick my lips. Hell yeah. I hope I get to sit there.
“Worm,” Salvatore growls.
One of the men detangles himself from the other and perks up with a grin. Standing from the couch, he spreads his arms wide, his button-up shirt falling open to reveal his tattooed chest underneath. His fingers and ears gleam with gold rings and his green eyes are lined with kohl.
The other man, dressed in a black button-up and trousers and sporting a massive erection, jumps to attention.
The woman leaves her drink to scurry behind us and slip out of the room.
“Sally!” the cat-eyed man calls out. He glances at me and flashes a roguish grin. A tooth glints gold under the light of the chandelier. “And Mari .”
“How many of my guards are you going to fuck, Worm?” Salvatore asks.
The guard glances at Worm with a hint of accusation.
“It’s just you, babe,” Worm says with a grin and kisses the guard’s cheek. “Relax, Sally’s already known for a while now. He likes to watch.”
Salvatore’s jaw ticks, but he says nothing. I burn the name Sally into my memory for later.
The guard looks like he’s bracing to get shot at any moment. Worm pats his back and turns to me.
“Well, you gonna introduce us?”
“You know Marisol,” Salvatore says. “My wife.”
Worm approaches to hug me, but Salvatore shoves him off. Worm stumbles back, laughing. “Nice to meet you, Marisol, my wife.”
“Uh, you too… Worm?”
“Has your husband told you why you’re here today?”
I glance at Salvatore. His glare flicks between the guard and Worm like he’s deciding who he’ll shoot first. The guard stares hard at the blank wall ahead of him.
“A little.”
Worm tsks. “ Come on then. Let me show you my throne.”
Salvatore follows us, close as a shadow, pausing only to drag a green tufted armchair to face the wall of Worm’s monitors.
The guard marches to stand in front of the door, clasping his hands over his bulge and staring straight forward.
One by one, I take in all the computer monitors in front of me. Two are open to candy-colored lines of code, a third plays a live gaming stream, and the other three are several pages deep into obscure computer forums.
“Sit,” Worm says, motioning to his computer chair.
“Worm,” Salvatore warns darkly from behind.
Worm rolls his eyes. “If you wouldn’t terribly mind and are so inclined, I beg of you to consider sitting. My queen.”
Salvatore doesn’t say a word to that. I settle into the throne. A girl could get used to this.
“Anyway,” Worm says. “What Sally didn’t tell you is that tonight is an interview.”
“An interview?” I scan over the two monitors showing code. One is in a language I don’t recognize but the second looks like it might call to a database—an area I’m not especially skilled in. “My impression was that you’d be training me.”
Worm laughs, not unkindly. “It’s more of a placement exam. You’ll be working with me no matter what because you’re beautiful and talented, and I guess also because Sally demands it, but I want to see what you can do first.”
“I’ve never done a coding interview, and I’ve only done one hackathon,” I start in a mild panic, but Worm shushes me.
“ Worm, ” Salvatore growls.
“Don’t worry,” Worm continues, undeterred. “In fact, I did most of the work already.”
He points to two of the computer monitors with his ring-studded forefinger and pinky. “ This is a section of source code from the servers of a little Swedish bank called Framh?rda, ever heard of it?”
“No.”
Worm scoffs. “I hadn’t either until a couple of months ago. Turns out that’s where our not-so-good friends the Corsicans have been storing a metric fuckton of cash. Now, I’ve already exploited the vulnerability here and made them very angry as well as your husbie there very rich. Well, richer . I want you to find the same vulnerability I found and tell me how I exploited it.”
I’m already squinting at the screen, trying to skim through it before Worm’s finished speaking.
“How long do I have?” I call out over my shoulder as Worm walks away.
“As long as it takes.”