27. Salvatore
27
SALVATORE
My hand shakes as I bring a cup of espresso to my mouth, droplets splattering onto my t-shirt collar. Sloppy.
Common sense would say to stop drinking the caffeine.
But I have forty days left and nothing to show for it.
Before the dinner with Rekhson, I had men driving past her house, getting coffee at her favorite cafe, and sitting in the waiting area of her husband’s pharmacy. All to remind her of the very real threat I hold behind my back while I offer her friendship. She didn’t show up at Donatella’s.
After, Dom knocked on her door at night and, with his sharp-toothed smile, asked if she’d be interested in going to see her favorite opera with Aldo.
She tried slamming the door in Dom’s face, but he pushed through to finish their chat. Again, she said no. Now she has a police chaperone with her, her husband, and her daughters’ families at all times.
Worm has a few leads on my dad, but nothing so damning that we could strongarm him into vouching for us with the Commission. It’ll need to be ironclad to make that good-for- nothing bastard help us. If I was on fire, I doubt he’d bother to spit.
I rake a hand through my hair and change the images in front of me to Aldo’s house and Junior’s strip club Lucky Stars.
It’s unlikely I’ll get an extension of time—Junior’s been in Aldo’s ear for two months, telling him how I broke omertà for taking his eye and asking him what kind of father he is to let this happen.
I shove my shaking hands in my pockets and turn toward Marisol’s desk.
A set of pink headphones on, she has her feet tucked under her ass as she leans forward to squint at one of her monitors. She finished the Golden Apple website yesterday and has already thrown herself into her next assignment, assembling a botnet to attack the casino again.
We’ve been arguing more. I haven’t blamed her or punished her for her part in sending Davide to lose his eye, but she’s paying penance for it all the same. She falls asleep at her desk more often than not. It’s a struggle to get her to do her rehab exercises or to eat anything other than candy.
On some level, I knew she’d be like this—like me. Loyal. Hard-working. Obsessive. So when I took her and placed her in this world, I thought I would know best how to protect her from those traits, but I can’t seem to purge the poison fast enough.
I don’t want her to suffer for any reason, least of all an honest mistake. Dom and I approved sending Davide too. It was a risk, and it didn’t pay off, but Marisol seems intent on resting the world on her shoulders.
That’s supposed to be my job.
The door beeps.
Marisol yanks off her headphones, snapping her head toward the newcomer like she’s bracing to be slapped.
Dom waltzs in, stretching out his shoulders and rubbing the back of his neck.
“How’d it go?” Marisol asks as she scrambles to her feet. The DNS attack she’d been working on for a month was finally put into play last night, but her website crashed too early. Dom left to do what he could with Caruso to spin the outage situation into gold. Another failure, in her eyes.
I woke up to an empty bed this afternoon and found my little hacker at her desk, destroying the end of a ballpoint pen with her teeth. Even exhaustion is alluring on her, the dark circles under her eyes making her look hypnotic and tragic. In lieu of breakfast, I took her belly-up on her desk while her breasts jiggled in my palms.
She made me like this.
I made her like this.
“He wasn’t happy at first,” Dom says somberly, and then his face splits into a wolfish grin. “But when I explained to him crashing the website meant all those customers lost trust in good ol’ Golden Apple, he came around. He wants you to go ahead with the bot attack.”
“Botnet,” Marisol and I correct at the same time. She glances toward me and hides a smirk.
Dom groans. “Fucking nerds . Yeah, I’ll just pat my own back later. Turi, you ready to go?”
“Grab some lunch. We’ll be down in a bit.”
“We?” Dom asks, eyebrow cocked.
“Boss’s orders. He just texted me.”
Dom gives me a meaningful look but leaves the room without a word.
Marisol tracks my movement with her dark eyes as I draw near. In another life, she would’ve compelled sailors to wreckage with those eyes. Fuck, in this life too.
“I told you, you have nothing to worry about.” I stroke the length of her ponytail, willing my hand to be steady.
“And I told you , letting the entire database crash was a brain-dead mistake. I should’ve known better.”
Marisol purses her lips together in that prim expression she makes when she’s upset. I force a smile down. She’s too cute like this.
I already talked to Worm. The fake website she built for Caruso crashed in the scant few hours she slept. She lost the data for thousands of customers, and in that time, the real Golden Casino got their act together and rerouted their customers back to the correct website. Worm said it was a rookie mistake, but that what she did in such a small amount of time, with barely any input from him, was still incredibly impressive. He showed her how she could correct her error next time and privately mentioned to me that she’d be teaching him new things within the year.
“Dom fixed it. Caruso’s happy. That’s a success, passerotta.”
Marisol scowls. “No passerotta . What would you say to me if I were a regular person on your team, and I did this?”
I kiss her temple. God, she smells good. Feminine, soothing, and almost saccharine from the candy she hides in her desk. Even an innocent kiss makes my cock swell. If we survive this, I’m seriously considering splitting my desk with her so that she can work from my lap all day long. I’d never get a thing done, but it’d be bliss.
“I’d tell them they’re new and that I expect them to make mistakes.”
Marisol shoves me off. “Oh, really? Mr. Send-Camillo-to-the-Woods-for-Days? I’m serious, Salvatore. What would you tell me?”
Salvatore. She is serious.
I think for a moment. “I’d tell them that there’s no room for mistakes in my organization. And the next time they make a rookie mistake like that, I’ll have Dom the Butcher cut off one of their toes.”
Marisol’s eyes go wide, almost comically so, as she processes this.
“Don’t be scared. I wouldn’t ever let someone touch you. Especially your toes.”
She doesn’t smile. “No, it’s okay… I needed to hear that. I’ll do better next time.”
“I’ll do better next time…?”
Now a small smirk tugs at her lips, and her face loses a bit of its gauntness. “I’ll do better next time, sir .”
My cock jerks at that. “Good girl,” I purr, lowering myself to rub my face into her neck. She gasps underneath me. I wish I could live buried in her hair like this forever.
“Are you ready to go?” I murmur against her earlobe before straightening. Her eyes flick to my erection. “We have to leave soon,” I add reluctantly.
With a sigh, she casts around the piles of sticky notes, snacks, and little TV show figurines on her desk. She spots her phone and shoves it into a small purse before standing. I can’t help but stare. Her heels, long skirt, and sweater are a complete one-eighty from her usual soft shorts and oversized tee. I almost forgot how distracting her tits are when they’re not hidden in the equivalent of a cotton sack—not that her outfit today is much of an improvement to her regular clothes. Anything she wears is just an obstacle to her being naked.
“Ready,” she says, holding out her hand. “Who do you think is gonna win?”
I take her hand in mine as we walk out. In my grey wool suit, we’re a matching pair today. “The Cardinals. Aldo’s got a lot of money riding on the Cubs losing. And I didn’t think you liked sports.”
“God, no,” Marisol laughs, and fuck, it’s good to hear that sound. “The only reason I even know who the Cubs are is because Calvin was a huge fan… did Aldo rig it?”
“He tends to win his bets.”
“Oh.” A beat. “How does he do that?”
I chuckle. “I’ll tell you. But you need to eat your whole lunch first.”
She gives me a calculated look. “What if I scrounge up a bag of chips and figure it out on my own instead?”
I place my hand flat against her lower back and guide her toward the kitchen, ignoring her slight resistance. “Then you also won’t get to hear about the time I fed a man to a lion.”
“It’s a good one,” Dom chimes in as I tow her to the kitchen bar where a few other people are eating.
Marisol considers me for a long moment like she’s contemplating cracking my head open and picking through my thoughts without permission anyway. When that fails, she sits gracefully on the bar stool and swipes a piece of cold cut off her plate. “Alright, let’s hear it.”
A little while later, Dom’s driving while I hold Marisol’s back to my front. Her breathing is even and slow as she watches out the window with a sleepy expression. After she ordered me to install car dividers, this is the only place she’ll fall asleep without being fucked to exhaustion first. And touching her like this is the closest thing I get to relaxation. A couple of days ago, I scheduled a car ride just so she could get some sleep, and I could have a moment of internal peace. When she woke up, she just laughed at my trick and plunged back into her work in the watchtower.
I lean back to rest my head, letting my eyes fall closed.
I’m not surprised Aldo invited Marisol to the game today. He wants to show me that I’m still his tool, his man. That when he asks, I’ll bring my most precious possession to him and thank him for sparing her. But the fact that he’s testing his hold over me like this means he’s starting to sweat too.
Rekhson’s redoubled her efforts to nail down Aldo. For as many men as I have spying on her and whittling down that fragile sense of safety she’s still clutching onto, she’s got just as many snooping around Aldo’s businesses, probing for weak points.
With Barabara’s financial genius of a son, none of those idiots Rekhson employs will be able to pin a thing on us. And the Family’s good at keeping their mouths shut—most of them anyway. But we can slip up in other ways. In an organization as big as ours, no defense is airtight.
Aldo’s right to worry. And if he’s finally sniffed out that I’ve been working to curry favor with the other capos, he might do something reckless today.
Crushed between my back and the leather car seat, my gun’s heavy with dark intent. Aldo’s not the type of man to carry out his own hits, but I don’t like surprises.
I’ve confirmed again and again that Junior’s still at Lucky Stars—he’s taunting us by returning there after that business with Davide—and Worm’s on high alert to report back if the bastard so much as sneezes.
My hold on Marisol tightens. She sighs and burrows deeper into my arms.
Aldo and Junior might see her as a new vulnerability to exploit, and maybe that’s true. But she’s also a whetstone, honing my focus and my ambition into a keen blade. If they think I’m a soft mark and try to move against me, they’ll find I’m more dangerous than ever.
Dom’s already in a mood as he drops us off at the private entrance to the stadium before leaving to find parking. Aldo ordered him to join too. I think he gets off on courting Serafina in front of her dad and her more-or-less adopted brother.
If we get through this, I’ll have to do something about their wedding.
As we walk into the stadium, the weight of all the people on the other side of the brick wall squeezes my lungs. I’m like a spider with its silk tweaked in every direction at once. When the crowd bursts into a cheer, I snap Marisol to my side out of reflex.
She glances up at me with a soft expression. “You want to hear about the first time I tinkered with a system?”
“Yes.” She wants to distract me. It’s sweet.
We pause in front of the elevators. A bright red light counts down from six.
Marisol leans in so the cluster of half-drunk young men next to us can’t hear. I position myself between her and them.
“I got my growth spurt in eighth grade and with it”—she motions to her generous breasts—“so freshman year of high school, someone made a MySpace account called ‘Marisol is a Slut’ with a bunch of pictures of me. I found out who it was—Erin Wilder—and reported her to the principal.”
“That’s all you did?”
Her smile’s a sharp little thing. “I also sent out emails to her entire list of friends and family about what she’d been doing and reported her for CP. Her parents divorced, and she moved schools before the year ended.”
I pull her in close and kiss the top of her head. “That’s my girl.”
The weight on my chest lightens somewhat.
She puts on her most doe-eyed, innocent expression as we pass through the door to the executive suite. My brave little liar.
The luxury suite at Wrigley Field is a small room with a bar and a huge window along one wall that opens up to the field. Aldo, in a perfectly fitted royal blue suit, mixes himself an old-fashioned as we enter. Next to him, poised like a mannequin in a skin-tight black dress and tall heels, is Serafina. She watches him with a far-away expression and a fixed smile. Barbara, seated in front of the window, doesn’t bother to stand, simply waving his hand in greeting.
“Turi!” Drink forgotten, Aldo opens his arms wide and brings me into a hug as soon as we enter. “And the lovely Mrs. Luporini!”
Aldo kisses the air next to Marisol’s cheek, and I have to crush the surge of anger that follows.
“You making my boy happy?” he asks her, his hands on her shoulders.
She offers Aldo a sweet smile that I imagine got her out of lots of speeding tickets. “I certainly hope so.”
Aldo grins, oblivious to me shoving my shaking hands in my pockets. He tugs Serafina to his side. “This is my beautiful fiancée, Serafina Luporini.”
Aldo’s always favored petite women, and Serafina’s no exception, but this is the first time I’ve seen a woman at his side who dares to wear heels that put her a few inches above him. I’ve met her at plenty of Family events in the past—only in flip-flops. Is this a little rebellion of hers? Maybe she’s not as meek as she seems.
“Lovely to meet you, Marisol,” Serafina says in an elegant voice. “Hi, Turi. Could I get you two a drink?”
Marisol nods with a bright smile, and they walk off to the bar. Aldo stares after his fiancée with a hungry expression.
“So I talked with her,” I start, but Aldo waves me off, his attention lingering on Serafina’s ass before turning to me.
“Turi, always so serious. It’s bad for your heart. Let it wait until we watch the game a little.” Aldo swipes his drink off the bar and returns to the seats in front of the stadium windows. After a moment, Serafina joins him with a nearly full-to-the-brim glass of wine. She takes a long draw. She’s so young to be drinking. It tugs at some underdeveloped part of my heart.
Marisol fills her cup with orange juice and leads me to our seats. She offers some to me with a tiny smirk. I take a sip. Huh . No alcohol. I take another sip and intertwine her fingers in mine.
In the fourth inning, Dom joins us, says his hellos, and leans against the bar. I watch the game for a bit before taking my phone out to send off emails and texts. Worm set us up with new security measures that delete our messages every twenty-four hours instead of every week, so I have to make sure I’m on top of everything. He asked me for permission to buy a new data center in Canada last month so we could make our own cell phone network. I need to check with him on its progress, because losing messages every day’s a real pain in the ass.
By the seventh inning, Aldo leans toward me while Serafina and Marisol refill their drinks.
“How’d she take it?” he asks. Finally, we’re getting to Rekhson.
“Not well. She said to check your income streams with your accountant.”
Aldo whistles low and frowns. “And your dad?”
“I’ll call him this week.”
Aldo raises an eyebrow. “I’m starting to think you might need more motivation, Turi. Why’s this taking so long?”
I don’t have an answer for him. I don’t like to move until I have everything in order, but Aldo’s forcing me to rush. “I’m very motivated,” I answer stiffly, staring straight ahead.
“That’s the thing, Turi, I ain’t seeing it. Rekhson’s gonna try RICOing me this month. You know that?”
Of course, I do. I’m the one who gave the report to Barbara to pass to Aldo, but I don’t say shit.
“If I gotta leave the States for a while, I’m not gonna be able to keep Junior on a leash, capisce?”
If Junior gets anywhere near Marisol, I’ll kill him. Aldo and the Commission will put me at the top of their hit lists. We’ll go into exile.
But Aldo doesn’t really want me gone. I might be the only one who can get Rekhson off his ass and get him out of this scot-free. If he leaves the country, he won’t come back, not for a long while. For now, we need each other.
“Understood, boss.”
“You got till the end of the month. I need results.” He faces forward, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth.
I squeeze my phone with one hand and shove the other in my pocket before the tremors give me away.
Twenty days to the end of the month.
My time just got cut in half.
“Maybe have that new wife of yours help you out?” he says, without taking his eyes off the game. “Since she’s so talented.”
I have to work to unclench my jaw. “That’s not her area of expertise.”
“She better learn, or she’s not going to be long for this family.”
Aldo’s expression is hard. I’ve only ever seen that look directed at men who fuck up, usually right before they’re whacked.
“He’s like a woman, bitching at me every day about her,” he continues, mouth twisting in distaste. “I don’t like my boys fighting over pussy. It’s not good for the business. You should just pass her on to Junior. I’ll find you the sweetest virgin to warm your bed after.”
Rage bubbles in my gut. “I’ll speak with my dad. Your problem will be handled. Maybe get Junior one of those virgins you’re talking about.”
He exhales and settles back in his seat, giving me a weak smile.
“You know how he is. Dog with a bone.” He pats my hand, and for the first time in my life, it doesn’t give me a sense of fondness or security. I want to take his old, weak fingers and break them one by one. “I’ll do what I can, Turi, but Junior’s a big boy. He’s gonna make his own decisions.”
This was fine when Junior decided to poison Kasey Boyle a few years ago or kill that cop. Aldo always cleaned up after his son, so I wasn’t about to lose sleep over it.
But now Junior’s slavering after my wife.
The next time he looks at her, I’ll carve out his other eye.
Aldo’s older and more tired than I’ve ever seen him. He’s only in his sixties, but he looks eighty. He’s losing his edge. Does he know I’ve been talking to the other capos? I haven’t overheard any talk about it on my mics.
I glance past Aldo to Barbara. Barbara might be slipping too. He hasn’t warned Aldo about what I’m doing—or he might not be such a loyal consigliere after all.
Serafina comes over and sits next to Aldo, breaking my line of sight to her dad. She stares forward but her mouth is pinched shut. I look back. Marisol approaches with an oh shit look. Dom’s fuming. His arms are crossed, and he’s glowering at the back of Serafina’s head. Guess he pissed her off. Just because I didn’t bug this room, doesn’t mean someone else didn’t. I don’t care what he said to her, but he better keep it together, because I can’t manage any more fuckups right now.
When the game ends and the Cubs lose—against their sworn enemy the Cardinals no less—Aldo shoots up with a bright expression and claps his hands together.
“Nothing like a good game to get the blood pumping,” he says. “Some of the players are coming up here to sign my jersey. You guys want stuff signed?”
I grimace. Players mean publicity. “No thanks, boss. We’ve got stuff to handle at home.”
When Dom kills the engine in front of the house that night, Marisol’s already asleep on my lap. I gather her into my arms and take her to our bedroom. She stirs a little as I undress her, but not enough to fully wake. When she settles back into my arms in bed, I stare at the ceiling and listen to her breathing, wishing I could build a fortress around her and never let her leave.
I knew this was coming.
There are no good options. Not when I have my wife to think about. I can’t risk her life even more than I already have.
Even though it feels wrong down to my bones, I should have left her alone. I should’ve threatened her when she first started blocking our systems and been done with it.
I turn toward her, and she worms deeper into my chest.
I have to fix this.
I kiss the top of her head before easing myself out from under her. My heart pounds as I step into the bathroom and shut the steel door behind me.
I pull out my phone.
This is a stupid fucking idea. I should wait. I don’t even know what I’m going to say.
I glance at myself in the mirror. Christ, I look like shit. My eyes are hollow from lack of sleep, my hair is disheveled, and even though I’ve been hounding after Marisol to eat, I can’t force myself to swallow more than a few bites.
I should crawl back into bed and fold myself into her.
Instead, I press the call button, and the phone rings.
Ring, ring.
Blood rushes in my ears. Fix this. Fix this.
Ring, ring.
He’s not even going to pick up. We haven’t spoken in almost twenty years.
Ring—
“Who’s calling me?”
My hands shake so badly that I have to set the phone down on the bathroom counter with the speaker on.
Ottavio Matassa. Unofficial head of the five New York families and all of Cosa Nostra. My deadbeat, piece of shit father.
Fear and rage shoot through me. I suck in a silent breath before answering, “Salvatore.”
Ottavio pauses, the silence stretching on for so long that I have to check that the call hasn’t ended.
“I didn’t expect you to call.” He’s got gravel in his voice that wasn’t there twenty-some years ago.
“I have a favor to ask. Sir.” The second to last time I forgot to call my father sir , he backhanded me so hard my teeth felt loose after. I did it once more, and he hit Mom instead. I never made that mistake again.
“I haven’t seen or spoken to my son in twenty-six years, and the first thing he does is ask for a fucking favor?” His tone stays calm and steady. I’ve seen him saw off a man’s hand without raising his voice.
My heart beats against my chest like a wild animal trapped in a cage.
I bite back a hundred other responses.
“Aldo’s being hunted?—”
“I don’t want to fucking hear it, Turi. Thirty years and you haven’t figured out how to fix your fuckups like a man. You still have to ask papà to fix it for you. What’ve they been teaching you down in Chicago?”
Marisol’s lotion is on the counter. I grab it and squeeze so hard that all the lotion shoots out in a single fire hydrant stream. Cherry blossom perfumes the air.
I take a breath. “I’ll make it worth your while. Still trying to get that luxury brand deal with the Chinese?”
Ottavio pauses. “We’re not doing this over the phone. Come see me. Father to son, the last of the Matassas. Just like old times. Tomorrow.”
“My na—” I snap my mouth closed. I can’t lash out right now. Marisol needs me to be calm and cool.
Ottavio knows my name is Luporini, after Mom’s maiden name. I haven’t been a Matassa in a long time.
He’s trying to fuck with me, to test how badly I need this favor.
I swallow my useless pride and anger. “Where are we meeting?”
“Villa Fresco at seven. You heard of it?”
One of the elite social clubs in New York. Yeah, I’ve heard of it. I wonder if he knows I’ve been inside before.
“Yes. Sir.”
“See you then, son.”
I hang up.
I take several minutes, breathing deeply in and out and gripping the counter so hard that the marble groans underneath me.
I meet my own gaze in the mirror.
Keep it together.
This is a good thing, I remind myself. The first crumb of progress in two months.
But it feels like my tongue is coated with poison.
I send out a text to my pilot to have him prepare the plane. The flight should take two hours. I have some time before I need to leave.
After a moment’s hesitation, I send out another text.
Can you make a flight to Germany in the next few days?
I need a plan B for when everything goes to shit. A quick and easy way to send Marisol off to a safe house to lay low while she waits for me… or to start her new life without me.
I stride back to the room where my wife lies sleeping under the covers. She stirs a little.
“Sal?” Her voice is thick with sleep.
I kick off my clothes and reach into the side table for lube. I squirt it onto my slowly hardening cock before reaching between her legs to push her underwear to the side.
Marisol smiles up at me, her eyes barely opening. “You needed me?—”
I sink halfway into her with one brutal stroke. Her eyes fly open, arms wrapping around my neck.
I squeeze her jaw and kiss her.
“You’re safe,” I tell her in between each thrust. “Do you understand me? No one will ever take you from me.”
Marisol moans and lifts her hips, seeking friction. I push the rest of the way in. “I’m all yours, Sal. I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers.
“You beautiful, perfect, wicked creature,” I growl into her ear.
Marisol bucks up, and her pussy grips me in a vice. “Sal!”
“That’s right, bella, come for me.” Her pussy grips me to the point of pain, and I groan as I thrust once more into her and flood her insides with what feels like a fucking river of cum.
I hug her tightly against me, refusing to pull out for a long time.
She’ll ask me about this tomorrow, but for now, she strokes my back without a word and kisses me gently until we fall asleep in each other’s arms.