29. Marisol
29
MARISOL
I wake up in the darkness to Salvatore shaking my arm.
“Sal?” My mind rushes to catch up. Some of the phones came in late last evening by a harried-looking delivery driver, and we started distribution. I must’ve fallen asleep at my desk. “Did you take me to bed? When did you get back?”
I push myself up, but Salvatore gently eases me back down. “You should go back to sleep. You’re pushing yourself too hard.”
I scoff, remembering I’m still pissed at him for hiding that safehouse conversation. “That’s rich coming?—”
“Turi!” Dom’s voice calls from inside the house.
I flick on the bedside lamp, and my breath hitches. Salvatore’s dressed, with a bulk around his chest that suggests a bulletproof vest. Panic swells inside me.
“What’s going on?” My voice sounds shrill. Scared.
Salvatore kisses my forehead. “I got back an hour ago. I have to go. Fighting’s broken out in the shipping district, and someone set Barbara’s warehouse on fire. The Irish are hitting us hard, and I need to go help.”
“What?” This has Junior written all over it. “How did they contact you?”
“One of my men called me. He spoke in code. Mad Dog’s using the blackout to hit us while we’re down.”
“ Mo! ” Dom’s voice sounds closer.
Salvatore inhales sharply, but his voice stays soft for me. “I have to go. Do you remember how to get to Worm’s club?”
“What?”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“That’s your safe house. If anything happens, and I’m hurt, you go there, and Worm’s instructed to take care of you.” Salvatore brings my hand to his mouth and kisses my palm. “You’re a very tempting target. You can’t let anyone take you.”
I reach under Salvatore’s pillow where he keeps his gun, and my fingers brush over the cool metal.
He smiles in the gentle light. “Good. Go through the escape tunnel. There’s a car at the end. Use it. Giordana and Nola are here in the kitchen, along with Camillo. Eduardo and Davide are walking the perimeter outside. Don’t trust anyone but Dom or Giordana, understand?”
“ Turi! ” Dom calls again. With his own bulletproof vest, he fills up the doorway as he glares at us. He throws his hands up in exasperation. “For fuck’s sake!”
“Coming!” Salvatore barks over his shoulder. Then quietly to me, “Don’t open the door to anyone. Don’t trust anyone. Don’t leave until you have to.”
He hesitates and repeats more slowly, “Don’t leave.”
I nod. “I won’t.”
“I love you.” Salvatore crushes his mouth to mine. I fling my hands around his neck and hold him against me, savoring every moment of his mouth pressed against mine, but he tears himself away too soon. He strides out of the room, nearly crashing into Dom. They start speaking rapid-fire Italian, and after a few moments, the house’s front door slams shut.
For a long time, the only sound is my heartbeat thundering in my ears. Even though I’ve still never shot one, I pull Salvatore’s gun into my clammy grasp.
My phone says it’s two in the morning. Did Salvatore sleep at all? He’s walking into a war zone, running off of caffeine and adrenaline.
After several minutes of watching the bedroom door while dread claws up my throat, I decide I’m going to get ready. I don’t know for what yet, but I can’t sit here any longer in this room. I pad out of Salvatore’s bedroom to my old bedroom, still stuffed with boxes of my clothes. The rest of the house is silent as a crypt. Everyone must be bunkering down, resting in the calm before the storm. I can practically see Giordana now, eyes closed as she sips her tea while Nola and Camillo hold each other’s hands across the table. Davide, looking broken and ragged with his black eyepatch as he patrols the grounds.
I pick out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and toss them onto the bed.
I dial the shower to its coldest setting.
While the freezing water pelts my face, I make a plan. I’m going to get dressed and head to the watchtower. It’ll be safe and, more importantly, I can search for any of Salvatore’s cameras in the area and provide some kind of surveillance support.
If Mad Dog’s doing this, Junior’s involved somehow. Maybe I can prove that in some way. Finally pin down what a traitorous bastard he is.
I step out of the shower, sliding a dry towel around my hair with shaking, frigid fingers, and notice that my outfit’s been changed. Has Giordana been by? Why would she change my jeans into a white summer dress?
I approach the bed, reaching out to graze the fabric, when something cool and sharp presses against the back of my neck.
“Mari, what a pleasure is it to meet again.”
Fuck.
“Junior.”
A thousand questions race through my mind. How the fuck did he get here? Did someone let him in? Is this a trap for Salvatore?
Salvatore.
Has he done something to Salvatore?
“Get dressed.”
My phone’s on the side table. If I can reach it, I can call Salvatore—even though the knife pressed against the back of my neck warns me not to. The blade trails to one side, flaring pain along its path. It was a light touch , I tell my racing heart. I can still get to my phone.
“Don’t bother with the phone,” Junior says. “I’d rather this be just between us. Why don’t you get dressed now?”
“Could you turn around?” I ask as I pick up the dress. I’ve seen him naked through the cameras dozens of times, though I don’t think he knows that.
“No.”
His tone is still relaxed, and I’m not dead yet, so I take a deep breath and let my towel drop. Junior whistles, and I grit my teeth as I yank on underwear.
“I didn’t get it at first, why Salvatore lost his damn mind over you. You look like every other fat nerd. But I see it now. It’s the tits. I get it.”
Salvatore, where are you?
Probably miles away in the middle of a firefight. Dead maybe, bleeding out before some strange man comes to pick up his body to dump into Lake Michigan.
I can’t think about that right now. My hands shake as I clip on my bra and slip the dress over my head, anticipating a vicious stab from behind at any second. I reach for the dress’s zipper, but Junior bats my hands away.
“Let me.”
He smells like blood and gasoline. Bile burns my throat. When he’s finished, I turn to face him, rocking back a step toward my nightstand.
He’s not wearing an eyepatch.
His eye is… less horrific than I’d imagined. Even weeks later, faint yellow bruises linger on his skin, but the rest is healed. His eyelid droops over the empty socket, allowing the smallest glimpse of the red flesh underneath.
He gives me a sinister grin.
My gaze lights on the knife in his right hand, and he waves it at me. Conchetta’s chef knife. He’s dressed in dirty jeans and a black hoodie with a spray of dark liquid across the front. Blood.
“Giordana was not happy about me taking this, but I shut her up. And Nola. And Camillo.”
He’s bluffing.
“Don’t believe me?” Junior puts on a woman’s voice and screams, “Camillo! Help! He’s raping me and cutting me up into a thousand itty bitty pieces!”
The answering silence wraps around my throat like a noose.
I might have a chance if I run, but I won’t be able to grab my phone at the same time. I’ll just have to find one later. I can’t be stuck in here with him. I inch toward the door.
Junior shows me his teeth again, brilliantly white and perfectly spaced.
“Thinking you’re gonna fly off, little birdie? I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’re safest with me.”
I sway a little closer to the door.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Junior sniffs and rubs his missing eye socket. “Hurt like a bitch when that husband of yours tore my damn eye out. You gonna say sorry about that?”
I don’t feel bad for him. I wish I’d asked Salvatore to take his other eye too. I’ve seen Junior do lots of horrific things. He deserved it.
His gaze hardens. He wants an answer, now, but it’s a trap. I lie, and he cuts me with his knife. I tell the truth, and he cuts me with his knife.
“You kidnapped me. You were going to pull out my eye.” I’m close enough to the door now that I can touch the frame. I’m not fooling Junior, though—he’s tracking my every movement.
Does he want me to run?
He scoffs. “I was only going to take your finger. Salvatore knew you’d have to pay some price. You know that’s why he let you drive off? So I could scoop you up, and he could play hero. He gets his little dick warmer and an excuse to come after me. I thought you were supposed to be smart. He’s been using you from the start so he can take my position as underboss and work his way up to don.”
I barely register what Junior’s saying. I’m too focused on positioning myself as subtly as I can. I’ll throw myself into the hallway and try to slam the door shut behind me. Then I’ll make it to the tunnel or the back door.
Except, Junior hasn’t moved to stop me the entire time I’ve been creating distance between us.
What am I missing?
Junior sits on the bed and crosses his feet at the ankles. He lays the knife flat across his lap and chuckles.
Bait or not, this is my chance. I dart out of the room and immediately stumble forward, pinwheeling into the wall and clawing at the crown molding to support my weight.
My feet are cut .
Junior’s lined the hallway with broken glass.