Page 18

Chapter 18

SALVATORE

“See, something isn’t adding up.” Alessio points to the lines where somehow we ended up with more money than there’s supposed to be in one of our business accounts.

“Well, too much money has to be a better discrepancy than missing money.” I drag my hand absently along my jaw as I try to puzzle out how we could end up with an extra ten thousand dollars in this account without any of the others coming up short.

“Sure, but it’s weird, right?” he insists.

I sit forward and reach for the papers so I can take a closer look at everything. The money didn’t come from nowhere, so the answer has to be in there, we’re just not seeing it at first glance. My phone starts to buzz in my pocket, drawing my attention away from the accounts before I even dig into them.

I’m still scanning the papers in front of me as I reach for my phone.

“Hoping it’s your husband sending you dick pics while you’re at work?” Alessio smirks.

He’s trying to goad me, but all he manages to do is make me grin like the lovesick fool I am. There’s no way it’s a dick pic from Dante, but that doesn’t mean I’m not hoping it’s a snarky, bratty text from my mouthy little angel.

I finally tear my eyes off the accounts and look at my phone. It’s a call, not a text. Dante’s name lights up the screen as my phone continues to vibrate in my hand. My pulse stutters.

“Everything alright, Angioletto?” I answer instead of wasting time with hellos. If he’s calling me in the middle of the day, it’s not a social call.

The harsh sound of panting breath sends a confused reaction of lust and terror coursing through me. I push away from the table, throwing Alessio an apologetic look, and press the phone closer to my ear as I move into the other room and drop my voice so Les won’t listen in.

“Angel, if this is meant to be an obscene phone call, please tell me now before I get the wrong idea and tear out of here to get to you.” I try to keep my tone light, but it’s nothing but the cold, hard steel of controlled panic.

Another gust of white noise as the phone crackles with more heavy breaths, and then a quiet, almost inaudible whimper.

“Sal,” Dante whispers, and it’s anything but sexy.

“Where are you, Angel?” Telling Alessio I have to go is the last thing on my mind. I’m not sure I even close his door behind me on my way out. I have one hand in my pocket fishing out my keys and the other clutching the phone so tight to my ear I think I hear the damn thing crack under my grip. “Angel?” I say again, trying to keep my voice gentle in the face of the panicked rage already rising in my chest.

If anyone so much as laid a finger on him, they’re already fucking dead.

“Um, the, uh, corner of Fourth and Washington,” he finally says, a quiver in his voice.

“Where’s Antonio? Is he with you?” The call switches to Bluetooth as soon as I’m in my car, but I can’t make myself let go of the phone.

Dante scoffs. It’s barely more than a huff of breath, but he manages to lace it with his signature scathing snark. It sets me at ease just a little. Whatever happened, he’s still my brave, strong Angioletto, full of rage and venom to defend himself.

“Are you coming?” he asks instead of answering the question.

I ignore the red light ahead and the blaring of horns that follows. “Of course I am, Angel.”

His breathing slows and evens out. Maybe he’s just catching his breath, but I want to believe that knowing I’m on my way gives him the peace and comfort he needs. No one will hurt you again, Angioletto. No one.

I blow through another light, rounding the corner onto Washington, and spot Dante standing on the corner of the bustling street. At first glance, nothing looks out of place. He just looks like a man out for a day of shopping, waiting for a rideshare or a friend. Having my eyes on him, seeing him standing and breathing and in one piece calms my racing pulse down to normal again. Whatever scared him enough to call me like that can be dealt with.

I pull to a stop. He darts looks over his shoulder like he’s expecting someone to materialize and pounce on him. When his gaze finally lands on me, I notice a glassy, faraway look in his eyes. It takes another second before he jolts forward, reaching to open the car door. He winces and shuffles his whole body back to pull the door open instead of just tugging it with his arm.

He slides into the passenger seat, and all the things that weren’t noticeable while he was standing on the street corner are like neon signs now. There’s a raw abrasion on his cheek, the collar of his shirt is torn, and he moves stiffly as he buckles himself in and then gingerly pulls his hands into his lap.

“What the fuck happened?” I ask through clenched teeth, brushing my thumb gently over his cheek, feeling the swell of the bruise and smearing the droplets of blood that haven’t quite scabbed over yet.

“Can you just drive?” He doesn’t look over his shoulder at the sidewalk, but the way he stiffens for a second makes me think he wants to. I narrow my eyes and scan the street. Is there anyone lingering? Anyone watching? Not that I can see. “I’ll tell you what happened, just go first.”

I lean back into my seat. As much as I want to jump out of the car and hunt down whoever hurt him, my first priority is making sure he’s okay. Revenge will wait, and it will only get sweeter. I pull away from the curb, stealing glances at Dante as I follow the traffic laws this time.

“Injuries first, Angioletto. Do I need to take you straight to the hospital?” It’s never been hard finding the right level of detachment. It’s necessary in this line of work when anyone you know could end up dead without warning. But right now, the only thing that keeps the quiver out of my voice is the years of practice I’ve had staying steady and even in fucked up situations.

“I’m fine.” He wraps his hand around his forearm but manages to match my feigned cool detachment.

“Bullshit,” I bark. Dante winces again and I grit my teeth, taking a deep breath. “Angel, I’m trying to help you, but I can’t do that if you won’t be honest with me. Now, tell me where you’re hurt before I pull the car over and spank it out of you.”

His breath hitches. “I really don’t need the hospital. I have a couple of scrapes and bruises. My shoulder was dislocated, but I already set it. And I have a… um… burn.” He squeezes his hand around his forearm again. “All I need is some ice and painkillers, and I’ll be fine.”

I grind my teeth again, causing a headache to bloom behind my eyes. Gripping the steering wheel tighter, I count a couple of slow breaths to calm myself down and then I press the dashboard smart screen to bring up my contacts and press to call the first one on my favorites list.

The sound of a phone ringing fills the car and Dante shifts in his seat. I’m going to get the rest of the story out of him, but I need to prioritize.

“Salvatore,” a familiar, smooth voice answers after only two rings. He’s lucky I’m not Lorenzo; he’d ream him out for not picking up on the first one. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve got a situation. I need you to come to my apartment.”

He’s quiet for a fraction of a second. I’m sure he wants to ask what to expect, but he knows better than to do that over the phone. “I’ll be there.”

We hang up without bothering with any goodbyes.

“Who was that?” Dante asks as I turn down my street and our apartment comes into view.

“Biaggio,” I answer. “He’s the family doctor.”

I hit the button to raise the gate to the underground parking garage and head for my assigned space. There’s a second one marked with my apartment number that sits empty. I wonder what kind of fit Dante would throw if I bought him a car. He would probably get up in my face, hissing about not needing to be taken care of or not wanting to be bought, then pretend to fight me as I bend him over the hood and make him scream my name. I enjoy the fantasy for half a second before turning off the engine and shifting in my seat to get a better look at him.

My eyes land on his swollen cheek and the fantasy evaporates. My attention for the last few minutes has been on getting Dante home where he’s safe, but now that we’re here, the bigger picture comes back into focus.

“Where’s Antonio?” My voice is low, but there’s no mistaking the venom dripping from the question. Dante was supposed to have protection, so where the fuck is Antonio?

DANTE

Fucking Antonio. Was it a coincidence that I was attacked right after he left? Maybe the ginger asshole who jumped me was watching all day, just waiting for me to be alone so he could have his chance. Or maybe there was more to it than that. I can’t be sure, but I want the chance to find out.

“Promise me you won’t kill him.” Not that he wouldn’t deserve it. And fuck, okay, it would be stupidly hot to see Salvatore shoot someone in the head for disrespecting me. In spite of the throbbing pain in my shoulder and in my forearm where that guy burned me, my cock twitches in agreement.

Salvatore’s nostrils flare and the controlled mask he had in place when he picked me up slips, letting all his thunderous rage shine through.

“Why would I need to kill him?” he growls, baiting me to tell him what happened, why I was out on the street alone and who attacked me.

Antonio’s threat to make him think I’m a traitor rings in my ears again. I’ve been honest with Sal about what this is, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t left room for doubt. As far as he knows, I could have made up the whole thing about needing protection as a way to lower his defenses and slip easily into the Morettis’ world. I could be feeding information to the feds or any other enemies they have. The only reason he has to trust me is my word versus Antonio’s.

It shouldn’t matter. This marriage is only temporary, and from what that dickhead in the alley said, the Moretti name isn’t doing much to protect me right now anyway. But it does matter. I need to know that he trusts me.

Instead of answering that question, I answer the original one. “As far as I know, he’s upstairs in the apartment.”

I lick my dry lips, feeling the slight twinge in my cheek. It’s nothing compared to the throbbing in my arm. Part of me wants to blurt out my side of the story first, but I swallow any more words and reach for the door handle. Let Antonio spin lies and bullshit. At least if Salvatore believes them, I’ll have the bone deep satisfaction of my righteous rage to keep me warm at night again. I’ve spent most of my life believing the worst in everyone. It has the benefit of being familiar, even if it’s lonely as hell.

Salvatore catches up with me as we reach the elevator and rests his hand gently on the back of my neck. I lean into his touch, letting it settle the trembling in my muscles and the queasy feeling in my gut from the adrenaline and the pain.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he asks, waving his magnetic key card in front of the scanner and then pressing the button for the right floor.

“If you still want to hear it after you talk to Antonio.”

I lean into him with my good side and let my head fall on his shoulder for the short ride. A terrifying part of me clings to the gut-deep certainty I have that Salvatore will believe me, that he’ll trust me no matter what. The doors slide open with a ding and my heart leaps into my throat. It really shouldn’t matter. I can just leave. We can file the divorce papers tomorrow if he wants to. I still have my apartment, my job, my life , as small and violent as it is. So why does it feel like my whole world is teetering on the edge of destruction?

I dart my good hand out to grab his lapel, catching him mid-step, and drag him around to face me.

“Kiss me,” I whisper, hoping he can’t hear the desperation bleeding into my voice.

His eyebrows pull together in worried confusion, but he doesn’t hesitate, cupping my face delicately, like I’m made of something precious and fragile. It should piss me off to be treated like I’m breakable, but it makes me ache inside instead.

Don’t break me.

Don’t break me.

Don’t break me.

Salvatore’s lips brush mine, barely there at first, and then more firmly. Am I imagining the tremble in his hands? Our lips move together, and for once I don’t feel the need to challenge him. I just need comfort for a minute, even if I’ll feel silly and pathetic for it later.

“Thank you, Angioletto, I needed that,” he murmurs, sliding his hand back into place at the nape of my neck. “I had some pretty fucking dark thoughts when I heard you hurt and panting on the other end of the phone. Don’t expect me to be able to stop touching you until I manage to convince myself you’re actually okay.”

I let out a trembling laugh. “Well, I’m not in any condition to break your hand right now, so I guess I’ll have to live with it.”

He kisses my bruised cheek then leads me out of the elevator.

“One last chance to tell me what happened before I ask Antonio,” he says, hovering with his key near the lock.

I shake my head. “After.”

The TV is playing loudly again, but I can hardly hear it over the drumbeat of my pulse in my ears. Salvatore’s hand stays firmly on the back of my neck, and he reaches under his jacket with the other to pull out his pistol.

Bodyguard of the fucking year, he doesn’t even react to the sound of our footsteps. Salvatore marches us right up to the back of the couch and uses the muzzle of his gun to tap Antonio on the shoulder. He starts to turn his head, then startles, jumping out of his seat and holding his hands up in surrender. I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised I don’t sprain something. I can’t believe I let this fucking idiot make me feel small, even for a second.

“Hey, Tonio, how’s it going, champ?” The overly friendly tone has me swallowing down a laugh as Antonio’s eyes go wide. Is he surprised to see that I’m hurt or surprised that I’m still alive? I can’t tell.

“Salvatore, hey.” He darts a glance at me and then back at the gun. “You found Dante, that’s great.”

“I did.” His friendly tone slips into a slight growl. “Funny thing though, I could have sworn I left him with protection. Any idea why he was all alone on a street corner, covered in bruises?”

“I wish I could tell you, boss. He spent the morning bitching and moaning about wanting to go out and get some air. At first, I thought he was just giving me a hard time, but the more insistent he got, the more I started to wonder if he had an ulterior motive, like maybe he was supposed to be meeting with someone. So, I agreed to take him out. I figured I could see for myself what was so important that he had to get out of the apartment. But as soon as we were downtown, he took the hell off. He lost me in a crowd on Washington street and just kept running. That was a couple of hours ago, so god only knows where he went after that.”

I hold my breath. Will Salvatore believe him?

His gun doesn’t waver, but he takes his eyes off of Antonio to look at me.

“What really happened, Angioletto?”

“I wanted to go out shopping, Antonio got tired of it, but I wasn’t ready to come home yet. He insisted and I dug in my heels and called his bluff. He left and I kept walking. That’s when I realized someone was following me. I thought I could catch them off guard and fight them off myself, but they already knew my playbook and they were expecting it.” I manage to relay it with detachment, all the feelings of shame and fear locked up tight for now.

I tighten my grip around the burn on my forearm and bite the inside of my cheek against the flare of pain that rushes through me. When the doctor comes and they both see the burn, I’m going to have to explain it. I can’t think about that right now though.

Salvatore’s eyes fill with the exact kind of danger I was hoping for when I decided marrying him was the only way to protect myself from Don. He swings his attention back towards Antonio.

“What part of ‘guard him’ don’t you understand?” He cocks his gun. “And then you have the fucking balls to lie about my husband just to top off your fucking incompetence. Give me one good reason I should let you take one more fucking breath.”

He believes me. No hesitation, no need to think about it, he believes my version, no questions asked. My heart pounds so hard I can barely catch my breath, and for a few seconds all of the pain in my body is replaced with the overwhelming urge to kiss him again.

“Don’t kill him,” I gasp. I’m still not sure if he had anything to do with my attack, but I don’t want his blood on my hands just because he’s a condescending prick.

Sal’s jaw ticks and he lowers the gun, but only a few inches. A resounding pop rings in my ears. Antonio’s face contorts and he stumbles back. The smell of hot metal and blood mixed with the churning adrenaline in my stomach makes bile rise in my throat.

“You fucking shot me,” Antonio shouts, pressing his hand to his thigh.

“Thank Dante that you’re still breathing,” Salvatore says coolly.

Antonio’s face turns bright red for a second before flushing to an unnaturally pale color.

“You heard the man.” I let a savage, toothy smile spread over my face. “Thank me.”

He makes an indignant sound in his throat, but then his eyes land on Salvatore’s pistol again, his finger still hovering over the trigger. He swallows hard.

“Thank you, Dante,” he says through clenched teeth.

Salvatore wrinkles his nose. “You’re bleeding all over the floor.”

The buzzer sounds from the hallway, muffled by the ringing still reverberating in my ears.

“That must be Biaggio. Wait here.” He tucks his gun away and strides out of the room, leaving Antonio and me alone.

“If you’re working with Don, you should know that he has a way of fucking everyone else over to save himself. If you had anything to do with what happened today, Salvatore will find out, and nothing will stop him from putting the next bullet right between your eyes.” I keep my voice low enough that Salvatore won’t overhear me.

“You think you’re smart?” he scoffs, still surprisingly cocky for a man bent over with both hands covered in his own blood.

“Smarter than you,” I mutter. Not the best comeback I’ve ever managed, but at least I got the last word in before two pairs of footsteps announce Salvatore’s return, this time with Doctor Biaggio in tow.

Sal tosses a kitchen rag to Antonio. It flutters to the floor at his feet, and he staggers to grab it, wadding it up in his bloody hands and pressing it to his wounded thigh.

“I don’t need a whole damn puddle of blood to clean up in my living room. Go to the bathroom.” He jerks his chin towards the guest bathroom.

Antonio hobbles away, and the doctor makes a move to follow him. Salvatore catches his arm and shakes his head.

“I need you to check on Dante first. He had a dislocated shoulder that he set himself, a number of scrapes and bruises, and possibly a burn.”

“You realize there’s a major artery in the thigh and Tonio might bleed out in your bathroom?” Doctor Biaggio asks in a conversational tone. Does he work in the ER and he’s so used to life-or-death situations that they don’t even faze him, or has he just been working for the Morettis that long? He doesn’t look much older than Salvatore, and the same hazel eyes and jawline make me think he must be blood family, not just crime family.

“If all Dante had was a hangnail, I’d still insist you treat him first.” Sal squeezes the doctor’s shoulder and waves for me to sit down on the couch.

Biaggio sighs. “Fine, but I don’t do body removal.”

“Understood,” Salvatore assures him.

The doctor comes around the couch with a leather bag in his hand. He perches himself on the coffee table right in front of me and sets his bag down. He looks perfectly at ease, like he’s been here a hundred times patching Salvatore up.

“I told him I’m fine. All I need is a couple of ice packs and some painkillers,” I grumble.

Biaggio gives me a soft smile and reaches into his bag, pulling out one of those lights doctors love to blind you with.

“He’s your husband, it’s his job to fuss over you. Now, keep your head still and follow the light. I’m assessing for signs of a concussion.”

Salvatore hovers right behind me. It should be unnerving to feel his looming presence, but it’s strangely comforting.

“Who told? Was it Luca?” he asks.

Biaggio chuckles. “Alessio. I can’t believe my own brother didn’t tell me though.” He gives Salvatore a pointed look.

Brother? Well, that explains the resemblance.

“Fucking Alessio,” Salvatore mutters.

The doctor switches from blinding me to gently prodding my neck.

“Why is it a big secret?”

“It’s not, it just all happened fast.” The caution in Sal’s voice creates a pool of guilt in my stomach.

He doesn’t want to tell them because then he’ll have to lie when we get divorced. I never bothered to think about him having to lie to his family about this whole thing. I don’t think it would have stopped me even if it had crossed my mind, but I wish there was a way I could protect him from the shame of it.

“No concussion as far as I can tell,” Biaggio says.

“See? I told you I’m fine. Thanks for coming, Doctor Biaggio, now if you wouldn’t mind leaving me with some kick-ass pain pills, that would be great.”

He chuckles again. “You can call me Gio. Here, something to take the edge off while I finish my exam.” He pulls a bottle of pills out of his bag and shakes two into his palm.

I snatch them out of his hand and swallow them dry.

The two of them continue to chat while he checks my shoulder, telling Salvatore I’ll need a sling. He orders one from the pharmacy down the street for express delivery while my head swims, knowing I’m going to have to uncover the burn soon.

“You’re not looking too bad, Dante. Rest that shoulder for a month, and nothing too strenuous for six months, and you should be fine.”

“Wait, does that mean I can’t dance?”

“Dance?” Gio repeats, glancing up at Sal.

“I think you can dance again in a few weeks. Just no fancy pole tricks until you’re a hundred percent,” Salvatore answers.

I bristle, waiting for Gio to have the same reaction Antonio did to learning I’m a stripper. But his placid, easy smile never slips, and I don’t notice any judgment in his eyes.

“Oh, and Salvatore mentioned a burn?” He sweeps his gaze over me and zeroes in on my hand, still clutched tightly over my forearm.

My heart races. I don’t have an explanation, not a good one anyway. And for some reason, I don’t feel like I can outright lie to Salvatore. But I can’t refuse to show them either without raising the same questions. I slowly unwrap my fingers one by one, wincing at the sting of the air against the fresh brand seared into my flesh. The word Liar is scalded into my forearm in raised pink burns that will eventually scar, leaving me marked for life with a complicated truth.

“What the fuck is that?” Salvatore growls, the rage in his voice raising goose bumps along the back of my neck.

I thought having him ask Antonio first was a test of his trust in me, but maybe this is the real test. I swallow hard, but Gio answers before I can.

“It looks like a brand. Your attacker clearly came prepared, this wasn’t a random mugging.”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Did you get a look at him?” Salvatore asks.

“No,” I say again. “It all happened too fast. He’s got red hair, but that’s all I know.”

“Red hair?” Gio repeats, casting a meaningful look at Salvatore.

“The Fitzpatricks?” Salvatore guesses darkly.

I shake my head again. “I don’t know who that is, but this has to do with Don.”

They both go quiet, and to my surprise, they don’t ask any follow-up questions. Gio digs back into his magic medicine bag until he pulls out a tube of ointment and a bandage. He treats and wraps the burn, and by the time he’s done, I’m starting to feel the effects of the pills he gave me. Maybe my arms still hurts, it probably does, but I can’t feel it. I can’t even feel the couch under my ass.

I giggle and sway in my seat.

“Well, he should be fine for the rest of the night.” Gio’s voice sounds like it’s coming from down a long tunnel.

“I’m fine,” I agree, the words frustratingly unwieldy on my tongue. “Thanks Doc BeeGee.” I blow him a kiss and giggle again.

He awkwardly pretends to catch the kiss and tuck it into his pocket, then stands back up and gathers his things back into his bag. I slump sideways onto the couch and the two of them talk for another minute or two before Gio’s footsteps fade away. A door opens and closes, and I vaguely remember that Antonio is bleeding to death in our bathroom.

“’M not exposing Tonio’s body either,” I mumble, hoping Salvatore can hear me.

“I hope you mean dis posing.” He laughs quietly as he comes around the couch and carefully lifts my feet, putting them in his lap as he sits down.

“That too.” I nod, but it makes the room spin. Everything is hazy and distorted, but I manage to focus on Salvatore. His stubbled jaw and full lips, those hazel eyes so fucking intense it feels like they can pin me in place no matter where I am. I let out a sigh. “You’re so fucking sexy, I can’t believe you’re my husband.”

He arches an eyebrow and his lips twitch with a smile. “Maybe I should be recording this to show you when you're sober again in the morning.”

“Shh, no, don’t tell Sal I said that.” I try to cover his mouth with my hand, but it’s really hard to do because he won’t stop spinning, and also there are two of him.

“It’ll be our little secret,” he promises, sliding his hand up and down my leg like he’s petting me.

Guilt boils in my gut again at the mention of a secret.

“I lied,” I whisper, my lips feeling numb with the words.

His eyes darken and his hand stills. “To Don?”

“Sometimes you have to lie to protect someone,” I murmur, my eyelids feeling heavy now the pain and adrenaline have faded. “It’s not like it’s the worst thing I’ve done.”

“It doesn’t matter, Angioletto. I’ll protect you no matter what you did. You’re mine, that’s all that matters.”

Maybe it’s the drugs, but the way he growls the word ‘mine’ makes me believe. It makes me want this to be real.