22. Salvatore
22
SALVATORE
The door to Worm’s room opens with a blast of sound, and everyone except Marisol turns to look at the new arrival. For the past three hours, she’s barely moved an inch and hasn’t reacted to anything going on around her. It’s a healthy reminder of how defenseless she is when she’s in a flow state.
Dom strides in. For once, he’s not smiling as he leans down to whisper to me in Italian, “Aldo knows.”
I clench my fists, fighting to retain my composure as adrenaline shoots through my bloodstream.
I’ve never been this reactive to a piece of news before, but I know the difference today. She’s sitting in her computer chair only a couple of feet away.
“He wants you to come meet him now,” Dom adds.
Worm’s standing in the corner of the room, watching Marisol and pretending he’s not focusing intently on Dom and myself. I catch his eye.
“Where’s Junior?” I ask. His Italian’s shitty, but he can understand it well enough.
“About six hours out,” Worm answers.
I glance at Dom, and he shakes his head almost imperceptibly. After working together for so long, we hardly need words to communicate, and right now, he’s telling me shit I don’t want to hear. Targeting Junior is still a suicidal mission. I need to try diplomacy first.
My gaze drops to his bulletproof vest. Not that diplomacy is significantly less suicidal.
“I have another in the car,” he suggests.
Walking into Aldo’s house looking like I’m preparing for a fight will only piss him off more. I shake my head before standing and approaching Marisol.
She’s oblivious to what’s going on, slowly twirling a piece of hair around her finger just like how she would in her apartment and in so many of my dreams. My racing heart slows. I have her. I can figure out the rest.
I kneel next to her, and she startles, a hand flying to her chest. She’s so goddamn cute.
“Jesus, Sal,” she laughs shakily. She takes in my expression and Dom standing behind me, and her smile crumples. “What’s going on?”
“Junior’s on his way back. Aldo knows, and he wants me to come meet him.” Marisol gives a little desperate shake of her head. “I have to. It’s a direct order.”
“When are you coming back?”
“In a couple of hours. Aldo’s not gonna shoot me. I’m like a son to him.” And it almost sounds true when I say it out loud. She still looks doubtful. “You’re going to stay here and finish what you’re doing. If anything happens, this is your safe house, and Worm and Dom will know what to do.”
“Turi…” Dom says behind me.
“Stay, Dom. I need someone here who actually knows how to shoot a gun.”
“Hey!” Worm chimes in from where he’s not supposed to be listening.
Marisol’s voice drops to a whisper. “And if I told you I didn’t want you to go?”
A tempting thought. We could run. Right now. I’d take her to Europe with bags of cash. We could lay low for years, sunbathing on the beach and existing in a world of two.
But then I’d be leaving behind Worm and Dom and Giordana and everyone else who counts on me to be the necessary evil that protects us from men like Junior. And my sweet Marisol would get bored.
“I’d ask if you were getting soft on me. Is that true, wife?”
“No,” she says immediately, but her blush suggests otherwise.
As I lean in to kiss her soft lips, she wraps her arms around me. “Little liar,” I whisper into her ear, and she shivers.
I kiss her again and leave.
As much as I’d love to burn through traffic like wildfire, I force myself to observe the speed limit. I can’t risk catching the eye of some asshole cop tonight, not when I need everything to fall perfectly into place.
Things are good with Marisol right now. She found my lockbox of her things and Mom’s old Bible and was completely undeterred. And now with her tight, hot cunt dripping with my cum and her vows made, this is more progress than I could’ve dreamed of in such a short time span. She’s still flighty, not trusting fully what’s between us, but I can eventually tease that out of her. I just need to make it through the next couple of hours alive first.
I lower the driver-side window to let in a biting wind that lashes against my face and inhale deeply. I need discomfort right now, something to sharpen my focus.
I can see Aldo in my mind’s eye, whipping himself into a frenzy the longer he has to stew. That, and the fact that it’s two in the morning are doing nothing to help my case. The man hates to miss his beauty sleep.
For as long as I’ve known him, he’s been content to let Junior and me run the business, so long as it meant he can smoke cigars, play cards with his friends, fuck his mistress, and be in bed by eight p.m. Through the crystal ball of my microphones, I know he’s been planning to retire to Trieste in the next few years with Barbara’s slip of a daughter Serafina. I would’ve been the obvious choice as the next don. If only Marisol had found Beta after Aldo’s retirement…
Well, no use fixating on what I can’t change.
At Aldo’s house, I park on the street. Two other SUVs I recognize as Barbara’s and my own are in the driveway.
I breathe in and out as my car engine cools.
Aldo wants an audience. He’s invited my men tonight because he wants me humiliated.
Good. If he wants me cowed, that’ll play in my favor. Aldo’s never had the imagination to understand that a man could be motivated by more than pride. If I can sell that I’m properly broken, he might take that as punishment enough.
I lean forward to slide my gun out of my pants and into the glovebox.
Don’t bring a weapon when you’re asking for a favor. One of Dad’s many lessons.
Looking pale behind his glasses, Davide opens the door before I knock.
“Davide,” I say.
“He’s in the kitchen,” Davide whispers and then falls into step behind me.
I step over the squeaky floorboard in the hallway as we pass a framed photo of Matteo, Mom, and me in Christmas finery and a photo of Junior as a solemn, skinny third grader. It wasn’t until seventh grade that we all found out what he’d been doing to the neighborhood cats.
A sizzling sound comes from the kitchen. When I turn the corner, Aldo has his back to all of us as he cooks up what looks like guanciale. Camillo sits straight-backed at the kitchen table with both his elbows on the polished wood, and Barbara’s snoring in a chair in the corner.
“Turi,” Aldo says in Italian without turning. “Sit down. I’ll be done with this in a minute.”
“A minute” turns out to be forty. Barbara eventually wakes up from his nap and finds a cigar to chew on. Davide’s developed a twitch in his left eye that he keeps rubbing with his fingertips. Camillo doesn’t move, his scarred face blank.
Aldo passes out loaded plates of creamy white carbonara speckled with salty guanciale, and I’m hungry enough that my mouth waters. He pours out a glass of white wine for everyone.
“For Paola,” Aldo says, meeting my eye. “A loyal sister and a loving mother. You were taken too soon.”
Everyone mutters for Paola and I say for Mom , and we all take a sip. The wine tastes like venom, but I manage not to spit it out before sliding my glass to the side.
“Eat up!” Aldo shouts. Davide’s seat scrapes as he startles at the sudden order.
We eat in complete silence. Once everyone’s plate is cleared off, Aldo’s ready to talk.
“You know, Turi,” Aldo says, swirling his wine glass thoughtfully. “Once we’re done with the wedding, I don’t think I’m gonna stick around here much longer. Might take Serafina to see the old country or go to one of my other properties. I’m getting old. And whenever I try to forget, my joints remind me otherwise. What I’m trying to say is, there’ll be room for the two of you at the top. Junior, he’s got guts. He’s never shied away from a difficult decision or hard work. And you, Turi, you got the brains to keep the ship afloat. So tell me why, when I’m weeks away from the first real vacation I’ve had in years, you’re starting shit?”
“He took my wife.”
“He says she was a thousand miles away.”
“He broke omertà.”
Aldo drags a hand down his jaw. “So that’s the kind of pussy shit I can expect from you now? You’re gonna marry some random whore and send her to bumfuck nowhere just to instigate your cousin to violence?”
Pretty fucking hypocritical when Aldo’s been married four times—once to his favorite prostitute. Barbara must really not give a shit about his daughter to let Aldo marry her, because Junior makes sure his stepmoms don’t last long.
“I have the right to marry who I want.”
“You see, that’s where you’re wrong! You should’ve come to me for permission first, and you didn’t. So the way I see it, you owe me an eye and a marriage!” Aldo leans back in his chair and jabs a finger at me. “This is what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna take an eye out of that girl’s head and send it off to Junior. And then you’re gonna annul the marriage. You can keep her as a mistress, and I’ll make Junior swear not to touch her. When we finally get you married to a nice Italian girl, you can put Mari up in a bougie apartment in West Loop. Or maybe you’ll get over her a little faster with the one eye, eh? Either way, I want that eye tonight, Turi, and be fucking grateful I don’t make you take two.”
“I’ll take care of Rekhson for you,” I say quickly. I pause. “If you let me keep Marisol. And her eyes.”
Barbara’s gaze cuts over to me from the cigar in his hands, and he grunts in surprise. Aldo raises an eyebrow.
“How do you think you’re gonna do that?” Aldo says. “The boys would gut you like a fish if you tried.”
“The boys”, being the Commission, the five elite families in New York that reign over all crime in North America. Aldo’s right. The Commission’s made it very clear we don’t touch officials like Rekhson. If they catch even a whiff of what I’m offering, I’ll find myself on a list, and then there’s no hiding where I take Marisol.
“I’ll talk to my dad.” My back burns and my ribs ache, but I school my face into neutrality.
Aldo turns to make a spitting sound. “That bastard piece of shit. He doesn’t know family. He’ll shoot you sooner than help you.”
“He won’t. I clear it with him first, and then I’ll handle Rekhson.”
The Commission is supposed to be an oligarchy with no family having more power than another. But that’s never how things shake out—power can’t be shared. And Ottavio Matassa’s been making deals and earning debts for years to make sure he has just a little more sway to his vote than the other bosses. He’s a shit excuse for a dad and a husband, but he’s a through-and-through businessman. If I come to the table with something good, he’ll listen.
The problem is, I don’t have a damn thing to offer him.
But Aldo and Barbara don’t need to know that. They consider me for a long moment while my hands form fists under the table. Finally, Aldo looks back at Barbara who nods once deeply, and then he turns to me, standing.
“Alright, Turi,” he says. “You got yourself a deal. You have three months—no, I don’t wanna hear it. That’s being generous, and you know it.”
That’s putting me on a time crunch to produce a miracle, and he knows it, but I don’t say shit about it.
“And Junior?” I ask.
“He should’ve respected omertà. Everyone has to learn.” Aldo levels a gaze at me. “And Turi, if you don’t handle this in three months, she’s gonna lose both eyes, and then I’m giving her to Junior. And if you ever lie to me again like this, it’ll be your eyes. Now all of you, get the fuck out of my house.”
A woman with blown pupils and glittery tits stumbles into my path, smiling up at me. I weave past her and the mass of other bodies while the bass speakers drive a nail through my skull and my shoes get pulled to the floor by whatever’s been spilled tonight.
Loud, dirty, crowded. I fucking hate Hightop.
I nod to my man stationed outside Worm’s room and barge inside. Worm stumbles up from the couch, pulling a gun from his boot and pointing it at my head. From the wall, Renato is already lowering his weapon once he sees it’s me. Dom gives me a lazy salute from the couch, his eyes fixed on his phone.
Worm lowers his gun with a shaky laugh. “Oh, hi, boss. Maybe knock next time, yeah?”
I ignore him and stalk over to Marisol who’s completely absorbed by the contents of a screen. Déjà vu crashes through me. When will I stop being stunned by the sight of her in front of a computer? I’ve watched and jerked off to and obsessed over this specific image for so long that seeing her like this grabs me by the throat every time.
Marisol startles, hand over heart in that adorable gesture, and then throws herself into my arms.
“Sal!”
Just like that, the angry buzzing in my head mutes as her soft curves push up against me. My cock swells. God, the shower . Her perfect little sounds and her plush, soaked pussy.
Marisol takes a step back with a wicked glint to her eye. She holds me by my wrists and gives me a once-over, lingering on my erection. I’m such a fucking goner. She could lead me around the room by my wrists like this, and I wouldn’t give her any resistance. My cock throbs, and my balls ache. I need to get her to my bedroom as soon as possible.
“You made it back in one piece,” she says.
“I’m indestructible,” I say, and she rolls her eyes. “It’s time to go home, passerotta.”
Marisol chews her lip and flicks her gaze back to the monitors. She should be exhausted. There’s an open can of Red Bull on her desk and a pack of M&Ms—who brought her those? She never eats M&Ms.
“I want to stay. I’m getting close,” she says. She’s not asking for permission, but she’s not poking at me for a response like she was outside the club.
I need to get her home, locked away in a room with me so I can get back to work. But I know this is important to her. And I promised her.
“Fine, but I’m staying until you’re finished.”
She blinks. “Of course,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and something hot and satisfied rumbles inside my chest.
Once she returns to her work, I drop onto the couch next to Dom and start to fill him in, but he raises his hand to stop me.
“I already heard it all,” he says in Italian. “That little wife of yours eavesdropped on you at Aldo’s the entire time. And she made Worm translate for her. I had Renato face the corner of the room.”
A smile tugs at my mouth. Good girl.
“Keep an eye on Rekhson. I want to know her schedule like the palm of my hand, understand?”
Dom eases up from the couch with a groan. “I understand I’m about to be having a lot of sleepless nights,” he says.
“We’ll sleep when we’re dead.”
“Where we’re going, I don’t think there’s gonna be a whole lot of sleeping. Maybe a little more weeping and gnashing of teeth.”
“Real fucking cheerful, Dom. Thanks for that.”
He grins like an asshole and disappears through the door.
For the next several hours, I alternate between pacing the length of the room and failing to focus on my phone. I keep finding myself returning to the armchair stationed behind Marisol so I can watch her and the door.
She doesn’t seem to suffer from the same affliction. She’s completely blind to what’s going on around her as she parses through lines of code and computer forums and translation services. I have to draw my fists into my lap to keep from touching her whenever she pauses to stretch or yawn.
She’s not my mom, I remind myself with an echoing yawn. This is what she’s meant to do. I’m not pushing her too hard. She won’t crumble. She wants this.
When I wake up, she’s not there.
I lurch to a standing position, reaching blindly for my gun as a blanket falls from my lap.
“Hey, hey!” Worm says, rushing over to me. “She’s right there, chill out.”
Marisol’s asleep on the other couch with her head resting on the lap of Worm’s go-go dancer friend Joselyn. I frown. Joselyn might be a woman, but if Marisol needs someone to sleep on, it’ll be me.
“She did it,” Worm leans in to whisper.
Joselyn catches my eye and blanches, raising her hands in a don’t shoot position. Worm waves her off and takes my arm, pointing to the computer monitors.
“It took her a day,” he says.
I have no frame of reference for this. I tilt my neck until it releases with a satisfying pop . “With some training, you can help her move faster next time.”
Worm laughs and shakes his head. “No. It only took her a day. It took me three .” He lets the shock of that statement sink in for a moment. “Now, granted, I was going through a breakup and had a lot on my mind at the time, and I didn’t know there was a vulnerability to exploit, but yeah. She did fantastic. I’ll start putting some assignments through to her immediately. But she needs sleep now. And food, ‘cause she wouldn’t eat anything other than candy.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime, boss.”
Ignoring Joselyn’s whispered apologies for touching her, I slip Marisol into my arms and carry her outside where Davide’s waiting with the car. She stirs a little when I slide in with her, but she falls back asleep easily, clutching my waist.
I stroke her ponytail and her arms and over her hip like she’ll stop breathing if I lose the rhythm of touching her.
In three months, I’ll be preparing myself to move into position as the new don of the Chicago Outfit or huddling in the back of a shipping container on a boat.
I tighten my hold on the end of her ponytail. At least I’m certain of one thing—in either case, I’ll have Marisol at my side.