13. Salvatore
13
SALVATORE
The next morning, I’m up before most of the staff to drag myself to the kitchen for an espresso. I wave off Nola who’s already awake to bake the day’s bread. She’s annoyingly cheery most mornings, but not today. Her face is gaunt with worry, and she doesn’t meet my eye as she flits through the kitchen. I have to snuff out a flicker of guilt as I prepare the espresso machine. After that royal fuck up, Camillo’s lucky to be alive. Nola will have to deal with it.
I’ve downed a few espressos by the time the rest of the staff trickles through the kitchen. I like to let myself be seen down here every once in a while to prove to my employees that I’m calm and approachable, but today, with Nola holding back tears, I give the opposite impression— don’t disappoint me.
That’s also acceptable.
Dom slips in through the back door and slumps over the kitchen bar in typical man-baby fashion until Nola brings him a cup of coffee, American-style. Giordana makes her cup of tea and then sits away from the rest of us, eyes closed and soaking in the morning sun like a cat.
Hefting a box of shallots that has to weigh as much as her, Conchetta slams it down on the counter next to Nola who jumps with a shriek. Conchetta pats the back of her hand.
“Pull it together, cara mia. He’s a strong man. He’s doing just fine,” Conchetta says in Italian, managing to make it sound more supportive than condescending. “I need twelve pounds of shallots for dinner. Cut thin.”
When Marisol steps into the kitchen, everyone except Dom turns to look at her. She meets my gaze first, capturing it for a heartbeat, before turning away to ask Nola for coffee.
The red scratches and bandaids covering her arms and neck make my stomach churn with something like panic. I can’t let her leave like this. She’s even worse off than when I first found her. I have to keep her. Convince her to stay. I squeeze my fingers around my delicate espresso cup.
Nola helps Marisol find what she needs for her breakfast and retreats to a corner of the kitchen to cut her shallots. For a few moments, I’m able to observe Marisol without restraint.
Sunlight burnishes her hair to a rich sable and accents the stretch and drape of her t-shirt across her curves as she gently stirs eggs in a pan. Every part of her is meant to be devoured. How would it feel to dip my fingertips into her full thighs and crush her heavy breasts against my chest? To pull that ponytail of long, dark hair? To hear her moan my name?
Call this off. Make her stay.
Before I can follow that ruinous train of thought, Marisol brings her plate and coffee to the stool next to me. I’m already sporting a minor erection at watching her cook eggs. When her thigh brushes against mine, I’m wildly grateful that my lap’s protected by the kitchen bar.
You are perfect, Marisol.
What I would give to read her mind right now. Or better yet, last night, when she looked very much like a woman who might be willing to drown me in her cunt for pleasure and spite.
Marisol scans the kitchen and meets my eye without a shred of timidness or fear. “Where’s Camillo?”
From the corner, Nola chokes out a sob. I have to clench my teeth so that a wave of jealousy can pass through me like a storm passing over a wooden shack.
What a fucking mistake it was to give her a single guard. I thought Camillo would be too off-putting with all his scars, but I knew better, didn’t I? Marisol’s codependent, and in the absence of love, she’s going to attach herself to the first person who shows her kindness.
That should’ve been you. You should’ve been nicer like Camillo was, you fucking asshole. You deserve this.
“He’s in the woods,” Dom answers from my other side while I seethe. His coffee finished, he goes to rummage through the refrigerator for leftovers like he didn’t just drop a riddle into Marisol’s lap.
“Why is he in the woods?” Marisol asks me with the barest hint of threat, and it’d be sexy if it wasn’t because she was defending her crush. My wife shouldn’t have crushes on other men. Camillo’s about to find himself doing a lot of out-of-state assignments.
“He was supposed to protect you, but he let you get all the way into the woods by yourself.”
“That’s not his fault. He was watching Junior’s men. He came after me and tackled the other guy who came after me. If it wasn’t for Camillo, I’d probably be kidnapped. Again.”
What is it she sees in Camillo? He’s in love with Nola. There’s no way he’d flirted enough with Marisol enough to win her over. Is it because he saved her?
I saved her.
“He failed you,” I say steadily, so she knows what I think of him. “Dom drove him a few hours north past Milwaukee. His punishment is to walk back. No phone. No supplies.”
She glares at me. “That’s not fair.”
“Actions have consequences.” And because I want to give her another chance even if it is just to work with me, I add in a low voice, “Will you stay here if I bring him back? Dom will go pick him up right now.”
Marisol’s eyes widen, and in my periphery, I note everyone else’s reactions. Dom groans, Nola looks hopeful, and Giordana’s posture goes rigid. Only Conchetta continues puttering about, mixing a huge bowl of dough.
Marisol has to notice too, but she holds my gaze. “You said it’s just until tomorrow?” she ventures.
“Yes, but he’s likely very thirsty. And there are coyotes in the woods.” I don’t mention the fact that I know Nola slipped him a bottle of water before he was exiled, and I have a tracker in his shoe. Dom suggested chopping off a finger, but I don’t see the point in mutilating my own men if I can teach them a lesson instead. He should have been more vigilant. He’ll learn that in the woods.
Marisol chews her plump lower lip for several long seconds. “No. I’m leaving.”
That’s my girl . Relief rushes over me. She doesn’t love Camillo. Of course not.
Nola breaks into tears, and Conchetta waves her into the pantry, shouting, “Stop crying, silly girl! He’ll be back soon.”
Marisol grips her seatbelt with two fists when I open the SUV door and slide in, but instead of ripping her out of the car and laughing maniacally like I’m sure she’s expecting, I sit next to her without a word. Davide pulls the car down the driveway.
Marisol looks between the two of us. “No blindfold this time?” she asks me in a poisonous voice.
“Would you prefer one?”
She pouts. Fuck me, she’s so adorable.
“Why do you want me to see this time?”
“I want you to know how to get back.”
Her eyes narrow. “I’m not coming back.”
I knew she’d say that, but it still stirs displeasure in my gut. “Have you decided where you’ll go instead?”
“Somewhere you won’t find me.” She crosses her arms and looks out the window, but the way her head drops against the headrest is loaded with exhaustion.
I’ve done this. Taken her from her home and pushed her into a state of fatigue. I know Junior would have done worse, but that was my fault too. I allowed him to learn about her because I wasn’t honest with myself and hid my interest in her like I needed to. My dad had work, my mom had wine, and my brother wouldn’t accept a job that wasn’t laced with risk, and I still didn’t recognize the claws of addiction until everyone else pointed it out to me first.
Marisol and I are trapped now. If I let go of her, Junior will go after her, and I can’t go after Junior without Aldo—and likely the entire Commission—coming down on my neck.
And because I couldn’t convince her of all this properly, now I have to throw this newborn foal into a den of wolves.
No, that’s not right. She’s not a foal. She’s a fox. Cunning, but still weak. Her best bet is to escape without the notice of other predators.
Despite what she said about not coming back, she watches out the window a little too closely, and I pray it’s to memorize the way back to my house. Her lips move subtly, as if she’s reciting the Rosary under her breath.
I clench my hands over my knees so I don’t reach out to drag her onto my lap.
Our time together ends too quickly when Davide rolls to a stop in front of her apartment complex.
She and I step out of the car in silence. I lift out her suitcases while she holds Buck’s carrier.
In her apartment, I’m itching to do a sweep, but I resist. I’ve already seen Grant pick up his things through the camera, so she shouldn’t be getting any visitors.
I set her suitcases down, nudging her front door shut behind me. Before she can object, I flick on my jammer and set it next to us on the kitchen counter. The sound of people talking fills the space.
“I would suggest leaving today,” I say, and I can almost pretend I’m speaking to an associate and not this woman who I’d willingly swear myself to. “Junior will know you’ve left my house. Your apartment will be the first place he checks. I’d estimate you have a headstart of a few hours.”
“How would he know?”
Good, she’s already asking the right questions. “Because Junior thinks Dom is loyal to Aldo and Barbara. So in a few hours, Dom will tell him you’ve left. He’ll throw Junior off the trail, but it won’t take long for him to figure it out. That’s if he doesn’t already have cameras or one of his men watching the apartment. I have several trackers on him, but he’s slippery. Trust me when I say I’ve been very invested in a reliable source of information on him.”
“You seem really beat up by it.”
Marisol, whose expression has been one of mild horror the entire time, gives me a crooked smile, and seeing that look on her face sets off fireworks of satisfaction in my brain. I want to make that happen often.
“I’m being calm so that you don’t panic. I want you to succeed.” And that… is true. I want a lot of things from her, but I also want her to succeed.
When her eyes flare with curiosity at that statement, I decide, no, that’s what I want to see more of.
“What would you do if you were me? Hypothetically speaking, of course,” she asks.
“Hypothetically, I’d leave within the hour and drive west away from all the major hubs of criminal activity. And then north. I’d take a train as far as I can, then a taxi, and then rent a car, returning it as far as I can from my final destination. Then I would start a new life in a small town I’d never heard of before. I’d use my computer skills to make money and figure out how to create a new identity. And I wouldn’t talk to anyone from my old life ever again.”
She blinks a few times. Maybe she didn’t expect me to give her sound advice. Then she narrows her eyes at me.
“And you’d stop watching me after I did all that?”
She peers into my face like she can guess before I answer.
I almost want to laugh.
“No. I’ll search for you. But this time, I’ll keep you to myself. No one will know I’ve found you.”
“That’s if you find me.”
I step toward her so that she has to look up into my face. “I’ll find you.” She swallows. I jerk my chin toward the couch. “Sit.”
Without a word, she turns and sits on the edge of the couch cushion, thighs pressing together, and watches me expectantly. As I approach her, she stiffens and her eyes darken. Her ponytail trails down one shoulder, thick as a rope.
I’d rather not ruin this, but she shouldn’t go in blind. I sit next to her on the couch and pull out my phone.