26. Salvatore
26
SALVATORE
If I don’t stop, I’m going to rub a damn hole through her wrist.
I release Marisol’s arm, but after a few seconds, my hand inevitably drifts to her waist. I’m not a superstitious man, but I can’t stop from touching her like she’s my personal rabbit’s foot. She raises her dark eyes to me and smiles, sweet and sincere, though I’ve seen how quickly it can darken into something wicked. Her garnet off-the-shoulder gown hints at her true nature.
Below us, politicians and donors trickle into the industrial loft in singles and pairs before gravitating to the cloth-covered cocktail tables and buffet. I had a few cameras installed months ago when this event was booked, nearly out of force of habit rather than practicality, and I wonder if I’ll fish anything useful from the footage. The old-school jazz singer crooning through the DJ’s speakers makes general audio recording pointless. Camillo, Eduardo, and Dom, dressed in black suits and ties, are largely lost to the crowd, although I know they’ll be hovering near the exits.
This is the type of easy, rewarding event to take a newer made man like Davide, but Dom’s already sent him out to a strip club this evening. Marisol hadn’t mentioned anything to me about her findings or her request to Dom, but I’m content to see it played out. Dom wouldn’t have obeyed her unless he thought the idea had merit.
Not that he’s been a great help lately. Serafina’s been like a little sister to him for years, and each day brings her closer to Aldo’s bedroom and Junior’s periphery. Dom’s over at the Barbaras’ every chance he gets, keeping an eye on the family and slowly poisoning Barbara against Aldo. It’s a long shot. Barbara’s been Aldo’s righthand man for decades. He’ll sooner cut Dom out like a tumor before he turns on his own don. But, Dom’s always been close to his family. If anyone stands a chance, it’s Dom.
Normally, I’m not afraid to take risks—it’s all part of the job. But I’m on fucking edge tonight, and it’s no mystery why.
The poison and the cure’s right here with me, lockpicks stuffed in her bra, peering intently over the handrails at the supposedly hidden location for my third downstairs camera.
She performed for me in the shower again before we got ready for the gala. I lasted half as long as the first time before tearing open the glass door and storming in after her. She’d just laughed.
She’s always laughing or teasing me, a bright northern star in the heavens of a black, storm-tossed sea.
I tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear, and her hair’s so thick it jumps back into place. She stops her slow cataloging of my hidden cameras and turns to me, the corner of her mouth tilting upward.
“It won’t taste as good if you let it go warm,” I say, nodding to the flute of champagne she’s been swirling for the past twenty minutes.
She holds it aloft with a sly grin. “Want it?”
“I don’t drink.”
“Because of your mom?”
“Yes. But you can still drink.”
“But you hate it when I do, don’t you?” Her grin widens. And she doesn’t say it, but I can hear her. Gotcha.
With anyone else, the lie would be easy enough. I couldn’t care less. But Marisol’s a pearler. Once she senses a payout, she’ll pry and dig and gouge until she harvests another gleaming pearl of information. We’re the same like that.
There’s no point in hiding something from her, so I don’t try.
“I do.”
She sets the champagne on the little table behind her. “I prefer soda anyway.”
That’s the other reason I don’t hide from her. She accepts it all. Every raw, twisted, blackened, stinking, defenseless part of me. It’s like she wants to catalog my every atom so she knows exactly where she needs to apply tender affection.
If she’s doing it to manipulate me, I don’t care.
She could point me like a gun in any direction, and I’d serve her without question.
If she doesn’t tell me soon that she loves me back, I’ll go insane.
I cup her face in my hand. Her face brightens. She loves this game. I think she loves it more, knowing how much it tortures me. “Have I told you tonight that I love you?”
“Not in the past five minutes.”
I lean down to kiss a path from her cheek to her neck. “In that case, I am furiously, desperately in love with you, Marisol.”
Her breath hitches, and she leans in close enough that her breasts and belly curve against me. All the stress and frustration melt out of me at her touch, although it’s a small relief when an aching hunger comes flooding into their place.
“And I love… this new dress.”
I wrench her against me to whisper in her ear, “I thought I taught you what happens when you tease me.”
“I thought you knew I’m a terrible student.” Her free hand skates along my forearm and squeezes. I brush a thumb along her nipple, and she melts further. “Someone’s going to see us.”
It’s not a complaint. My little daredevil wife’s instigating me. I can feel her smile against my chest.
Downstairs, Dom catches my eye as a laughing, dark-haired socialite in a green dress hangs off his arm. He dips his head to his right and then turns back to his date.
District Attorney Rekhson’s at the foot of the stairs, nodding attentively to a fat old donor. We still have a little time.
I crane over Marisol and splay my hand along her lower back. She shivers when my lips touch her ear. “If the student hasn’t learned, the teacher hasn’t taught. I think what you need is a more advanced demonstration. Maybe I’ll have to lean you over these handrails and thrust into your sweet cunt until you say what I want to hear. You could use some hints from the crowd.”
Marisol tucks her burning-hot face into my shoulder and clutches my suit jacket.
“Tell me to stop, passerotta.” I pause and then grin. “Would you prefer I stalk you into a dark corner of this room and make my men stand guard while I finger you to completion? Maybe you can get on your hands and knees and make all the dirty old men here green with envy that my wife is the most beautiful, most talented woman here.”
Rekhson’s close-by, practiced laugh cuts through my fantasy.
“Lucky break. We were about to play Truth or Dare,” I say. I grab Marisol’s hand to pull her along, but she jerks me to a stop like a dog on a leash.
“I just need a moment.” She takes a few deep breaths with a dreamy smile. I avert my eyes to give myself the chance to will my erection back down. “Okay. Ready.”
Once Rekhson stations herself along the rails with her husband, watching the crowd below just like Marisol and I were moments ago, we approach.
“Marjorie Rekhson,” I call out. Rekhson looks up with a photo-perfect smile, trying to place my face. “What a pleasure it is to finally meet you in person.”
She relaxes a little and smiles back at me. “Lovely to meet you…?”
“Salvatore Luporini,” I say, and her smile turns poisonous. “And this is my wife, Marisol Luporini.”
Judging by the angry fire in Rekhson’s eyes, she recognizes my name. Good. That’ll make the next part go much more smoothly.
Marisol steps toward Mr. Rekhson. “What a beautiful event. Who picked out the location?”
Mr. Rekhson, looking like an overgrown cherub with his chubby face, curly blonde hair, and baby blue bowtie, launches into a practiced speech about how difficult it was to secure this local, but well worth it given the number in attendance and for such an important cause, didn’t she think?
“Let’s grab a drink,” I say to Rekhson. She glances back at her husband with a hint of concern and then turns back to me and nods, determined.
We walk a little ways away to a small table where a waiter’s serving champagne and both grab a glass. Rekhson holds hers at waist height but doesn’t take a sip. Neither do I.
“How’s the fundraiser going?” I ask. “I know how difficult it can be to get support for some of these events. Especially when they’re pet projects like this one.”
“Yes… well, thank you for such a generous donation,” Rekhson says. She looks a little at war with herself and finally sips from the champagne. “I have to admit, I was surprised to see the Luporini Foundation making such a large donation to the charity for victims of gang violence.”
I smile. My gaze wanders back to Marisol who’s nodding as Mr. Rekhson speaks animatedly. In my side vision, Mrs. Rekhson eyes me like she’d love to lunge forward and rip out my jugular with her teeth.
“Mr. Luporini was very invested in the success of your predecessor, Harrison. He helped Harrison do a lot of good for the city. He’d be very interested in helping you do the same.”
Rekhson narrows her eyes, smile still pasted on. “Good for the city? Like passing the bill to lighten sentencing for gangsters?”
“Prisons can encourage recidivism. Mr. Luporini believes in the use of community hours, which give back to the city instead of punishing a single individual.”
“Those individuals rarely got to contribute to their communities when Harrison miscategorized so many essential files.”
“Digitalization is very important in today’s day and age. Something funding can help promote.”
“His lack of enforcement of antitrust laws?—”
“Mr. Luporini is a firm supporter of healthy business practices and competition. I’m sure if you and your husband accepted his invitation to dinner, he’d be able to discuss those topics with you at length.” I pause. “We could meet Friday night. Donatella’s? Your two lovely daughters and their families would be more than welcome to join.”
Friday nights are Rekhson’s special date nights with her husband. Usually at Donatella’s.
Rekhson’s smile finally falls, but instead of fear, it exposes a look of steely composure, which is a bad fucking sign for me. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”
“Of course not,” I say evenly. “There’s nothing Mr. Luporini believes in more than the sanctity and importance of family. That’s part of why this event is so near and dear to his heart. You should accept the dinner invitation, Ms. Rekhson. Mr. Luporini can do a lot of good for you and your city.”
Rekhson sets her champagne down on a nearby table and turns to me, eyes glinting. “Please thank your boss for his generous donation. He can let his accountant know it can be written off as a charity donation. And also to let his accountant know he should be recording all of his income streams.”
“My boss won’t be too happy to hear this, District Attorney Rekhson,” I say quietly. In my peripherals, Marisol glances over at me. “I highly suggest you reconsider. We’ll be at Donatella’s this Friday at six. I hope to see you there.”
“I don’t dine with criminals, Mr. Luporini.” Rekhson gives me one last look and joins her husband, whispering in his ear as she pulls him toward the stairs.
Well, that went about as well as I’d expected.
A dull roar sounds at the edges of my hearing.
I could just shoot her now. There’s a big crowd—maybe it’d cover the crime.
I track the Rekhsons until Marisol’s close enough to touch my elbow. Although her look is questioning, she doesn’t ask how it went. My little hacker knows better than to voice her thoughts out loud in a public place.
I drink in her bright, curious face, in contrast with the deep, mature red of her dress, and something in me calms—no, not calms. The tension just flows in a different direction.
“Have I told you how much I love you?” I ask. I’m going to get my wife home and have her ride my face until I can’t think.
She breaks into an unsure smile, but she plays along. “Not recently.”
“Come along. I think it’s best if I show you.”
Marisol tracks some invisible point on the ceiling as her chest heaves up and down.
“Sal,” she says languidly. Her eyes are glazed over with bliss as she turns to look at me. “That was amazing.”
What’s amazing is that in two months’ timeframe, I’ve made almost no progress in keeping my wife’s eyes in her head and the both of us in one piece. I haven’t talked to Marisol about it yet, but I’ve been marking out a few locations for safe houses in case this all goes to shit. If we can’t handle this in a few weeks, I’ll either have to stage a coup or take Marisol and run, leaving all of my staff and men here to suffer Aldo’s—and Junior’s—rage.
I roll over Marisol, caging her on the bed in my arms.
She gives me a lazy smile that has my dick swelling, though I’ll need more time to go again. That’s fine. I’ll get her ready with my fingers.
She jerks when I scrap the pad of my thumb against her clit.
“So sensitive,” I tease.
“That’s what happens when you come three times in a row,” she says, but her hips rock into my hand, and her hands brush over my chest. “What happens next?”
“I’m going to rub you until you’re right on the edge of another orgasm, and if you come too quickly, I’m going to spank you and make you start over. Then I want you to keep holding off until I’ve filled you up.”
She exhales, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright. “I-I meant with Rekhson.”
My hand jerks over her clit. For a moment, I pause, staring into her face. Then I drop my hand lower to push two fingers against her entrance, sliding into her wet heat up to the second knuckle. She squirms underneath me.
“New plan,” I say. “I’m going to see how many fingers I can fit into you until you come.”
Knock, knock.
“Turi, get dressed. You’ll wanna see this,” Dom calls through the door. I jerk my fingers out from inside her.
“What’s going on?” she whispers, eyes wide.
“I don’t know,” I say, tasting bitterness. I should know exactly what’s going on, but I’ve been avoiding my work for the past two hours by feasting on my wife. I kiss her and push myself off the bed. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t move.”
Dom’s halfway down the hall when I slip out of the bedroom a few minutes later. He spins, and the look on his face drops a lead weight in my stomach.
“It’s Davide. In the kitchen,” he says. “Mad Dog got him.”
The weight turns into molten rock, bubbling and burning through my veins. Everything Mad Dog touches turns to shit. If he’s hurt one of my men, we’re going to war with the Irish—and I can’t fucking afford another conflict right now.
We turn the corner to the kitchen to find Davide waiting on a bar stool, looking fifteen years old in his dove grey sweater. Rust-colored splotches stain the fabric near his neck and a long strip of white gauze wraps around his head.
It covers his eye.
Dr. Macaluso pops up from behind the counter with a bottle of white wine. On the other side of the bar, Giordana’s in a fluffy pink robe and slippers. She must be exhausted this late at night, but she’s still got plenty of energy to glare daggers at Dr. Macaluso over her cup of tea.
“What happened?” I ask in a low voice, biting back the overwhelming urge to shout.
Davide meets my gaze with his one good eye—blue and a little glassy, likely from pain meds—before glancing at Dom.
“I sent him to Lucky Stars,” Dom says. “Found out there was a stripper there who dances for Junior, Mad Dog, Mattie, and Feisty. But Davide barely got a chance to talk to the girl before Mad Dog and Feisty came into the club. They took Davide to the back alley and cut his face up. Left him there to bleed out. He managed to call Macaluso, and they came here straight after. Doc says he won’t be able to see out of that eye again.”
“And the girl?”
“Gone. Worm’s looking for her.”
“Cams in the alley?”
“No.”
I exhale on a count of three. I want to throw myself at the kitchen bar and break every glass and plate there and strangle Macaluso for being so fucking drunk all the time, but that’s not what my men need from me right now. They need a cool head. A leader.
I clap a hand on Davide’s shoulder. “You did good. Go home and get some rest.”
Davide looks up at me. When the damage to his eye heals, he won’t have a baby face anymore. “I want to stay. I want to work.”
“You want revenge, and I promise you’ll get it, but it won’t come overnight. Now, you need to rest. You call me if there’s any other detail you remember, even if you think it’s not important. When Macaluso says you’re clear, you and I, we’ll make a plan to get back at those bastards.”
He’s disappointed but nods anyway. He knows I’m right, even if I’m being a fucking hypocrite by telling him to rest. He shouldn’t have made the mistake of coming back here. If he really wanted revenge, he would’ve stayed out until he got it.
“Dom, can you take Davide home?”
“Sure, boss.”
I glance at Macaluso with his half-empty bottle of wine. “And Macaluso too.”
Dom grunts.
“Give me that,” Giordana says, swiping the bottle from the doctor.
I turn and make my way back upstairs.
Marisol’s wide awake, dressed in one of my t-shirts and eating the rest of the gummy worms from my lockbox of her things.
“What’s going on?” she asks, setting the empty candy bag on her nightstand.
I sit on the edge of the bed and take my time to properly fold my shoes, socks, pants, and shirt as I fill her in. Only once I’ve finished, do I look up at her. Her dark eyes are wide, and her hands are a fidgety mess on her lap.
“I have something to tell you,” she says in a near-whisper.
She needs to be punished.
She needs to learn not to send my men out like pawns. Any other man in my employ would be out on the street right now, helping to hunt down Mad Dog and Fiesty.
But instead, I smooth my fingers over hers and pull her into me until she’s completely wrapped in my arms.
She starts to object, but I shush her gently. “You’re not ever going to keep me in the dark again, are you?”
She lays her head against my chest. “It wasn’t a secret. You were watching.”
I stroke her long, soft tresses, now mine to touch as I please and not pixels on a screen. “I can’t catch everything. So next time, you’ll tell me.”
“Okay.”
I sigh against her head, staring at the dark shadows in the corner of my room. “I’m doing everything I can to trap Junior and keep you safe.”
That’s what she’d been looking for, wasn’t it? An opportunity to catch Junior. I let him live, and now I’m letting him haunt her.
“It’s not enough,” she says in a small voice.
“I took his eye.”
“It’s not enough.” Her nails dig into my back as she forms two tight fists.
She’s right.
I kiss the top of her head and hold her in the darkness.