Page 6

Chapter 6

SALVATORE

Wisps of memories, or maybe dreams, flutter and dance in the periphery of my foggy awareness, more welcoming than the vague awareness I have of a sharp, throbbing pain behind my eyes, unpleasant knots tightening in my stomach, and the sense that the world is moving around me. It’s been probably fifteen years since I drank to the point of a blackout, but that has to be what this is. And since the dreams—I think that’s what they are considering how naked Dante is—are a hell of a lot more pleasant than facing the monstrous hangover that’s waiting for me, I try to use them to fight off the threat of consciousness. It creeps in little by little though, first with the feeling of heaviness in my limbs, then the twinge of a full bladder making me wonder how long I’ve been asleep, and finally with the knots in my stomach turning into something more urgent, forcing bile up into my throat.

The distant sound of a groan draws my attention to the hum of a car engine… my car engine. People swear they know their own baby’s cry or their own dog’s bark, well, I would know the purr of my Jag’s engine anywhere. And since I’m clearly not the person driving…

Another groan echoes in my ears, and this time I realize I’m the one making the sound. My mouth is dry, and my eyelids feel like they weigh one ton each, but there’s a niggling thought in the back of my mind that only gets stronger. Dante is in some kind of trouble. I force my eyes open and reach for my pistol in a single, groggy motion. My holster is empty though, and that realization sends a burst of adrenaline through me, burning away the lingering drowsiness, but unfortunately not doing a damn thing to cure my throbbing headache or the fresh wave of nausea.

“Pull over,” I bark.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

If I’m not mistaken, Dante sounds genuinely relieved. Did he expect I wouldn’t wake up? That’s only one of a hundred questions cluttering up my brain, adding to the building pressure trying to burst its way out of my skull.

“Pull over,” I demand again, grappling for the door handle and breathing steadily through my nose.

Dante hesitates for a second.

“Fine, but you should know I have your gun, so don’t bother trying to make a run for it.”

The jerk of the car as he guides it over to the side of the impossibly long, desolate desert road makes my guts lurch. The car is still rolling to a stop when I throw my door open and spill out into the sand and gravel lining the shoulder, barely able to keep myself upright as I stumble forward a few steps, brace my hands on my knees, and vomit up everything I’ve eaten in the last week. I think I deserve some kind of acknowledgment for managing to miss not only my clothes but my shoes as well. Who says you can’t learn anything useful in college?

Once I’m sure my stomach is empty, I straighten myself up, smoothing my hands uselessly over my wrinkled suit, and take in my surroundings properly for the first time. Sand, cacti, and a two-lane road that looks like it goes on endlessly in both directions. The only things that keep the desert from seeming infinite are the mountains that line the horizon.

I turn back towards my car to find Dante leaning against the hood, looking towards the road like he’s trying to give me some privacy during my best impression of Linda Blair in The Exorcist . There’s a bottle of water and a few crumpled napkins next to him, and my gun held casually in his right hand. I don’t know if it was the vomiting that cleared the fog of my memories or something else, but last night comes rushing back with crystal clarity.

“Sorry I don’t have anything better for you to clean up with, just some napkins that came with the drive-thru coffee I picked up around four a.m. The water bottle is still sealed though, and you should definitely drink something.” He doesn’t look at me while he rambles, casually using the pistol to gesture over his shoulder at the napkins and water.

“You drugged me.” Between the vomiting and the dry mouth, my words are a hoarse whisper, but without another sound for miles, aside from my idling Jag, I know Dante hears me just fine.

“Yeah, I was kind of hoping we wouldn’t dwell on that.” He pushes himself off the car and turns to face me. He looks nearly as rough as I feel with dark circles under his eyes and rumpled clothes.

I close the space between us in a few long strides, ignoring the gun hanging limply at his side to put myself right in front of him, towering over him, with the front bumper pressed against the backs of his knees leaving nowhere for him to go.

“You fucking drugged me,” I growl again. “Where the hell even are we? What’s the plan here? Did someone put you up to it? Was it the Fitzpatricks?”

“No one put me up to anything.” He swallows, his head tilted so he can meet my eyes and stare me right back down like he’s not the least bit intimidated by me. I suppose he is the one holding the gun right now, but some stupid part of me doesn’t think he’ll use it.

“It’s money then? Are you planning to ransom me back to Lorenzo? Because I guarantee that plan will end with you dead.” Anxiety builds in my chest, and I press my body into Dante’s, needing to feel the solid reassurance that he’s safe. Whatever he’s mixed up in, it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to let Lorenzo or anyone else lay a finger on him.

He squirms against me, his glare undermined by the feel of his hardening cock against my thigh.

“It’s not about money,” he grits out through gritted teeth.

“Help me out then, Angioletto, because I can’t think of another sane reason for you to drug and kidnap one of Lorenzo’s inner circle.” I run my fingers down his forearm towards his hand. “And, while we’re at it, why don’t you give me my gun back?”

Dante jerks like he just remembered he’s holding the pistol at all. His glare melts into a more calm, calculated indifference and he presses the muzzle under my chin. My heart rate doesn’t even spike. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve had a gun pointed at me, I’d be able to retire early. This is the first time my dick has been hard though. Even with the flicker of victory in his eyes, I swear I can feel his body quiver against mine. He might not think he’s a brat, but that’s exactly what this is. This is a temper tantrum, a bid for attention, and maybe a cry for help. But I can’t help him if he doesn’t tell me what the hell he’s gotten himself into.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he says steadily, his tongue darting out to wet his dry lips as he holds my gaze and keeps the gun notched against my jaw. “You’re going to stop badgering me with questions and we’re going to get back in the car. It’s still about eight hours to where we’re going, so as long as you show me I can trust you, we’ll stop in a few more hours to stretch our legs and get something to eat. If you don’t piss me off, I’ll think about explaining things then.”

I consider pushing back, testing my theory that he won’t pull the trigger, and my more overarching theory that all this snarling and baring of teeth is nothing more than a desperate plea for someone to make him feel safe. But I have to admit, it sounds like a lot more fun to play his hostage for a little while and see where things go.

“Alright, Angioletto, I’ll come quietly.” I fight the twitch of a smile.

Dante slowly lowers his gun, and I take a step back.

“Drink your water,” he commands before getting back into the driver’s seat.

I uncap the water bottle, using the first couple of sips to rinse and spit, then guzzle the rest of it down. It settles heavily into my empty stomach. When I’m finished, I crumple the plastic bottle in my fist and get back in the car.

DANTE

“If you don’t want bigger problems though, you should let me text Alessio to tell him I’ll be unreachable for a couple of days so he can pass that along to Lorenzo,” Salvatore says after buckling his seat belt and fiddling with the air conditioner settings.

I slip the pistol into the holster attached to the sun visor and flip it up so he won’t be able to easily reach over and grab it while I’m driving. The Morettis realizing Salvatore is missing and launching a manhunt for him is a problem that occurred to me around one o’clock this morning, and I’ve been thinking about what to do about it ever since. I shake my head and then shift in my seat to pull his phone out of my pocket.

He reaches to grab it, and I pull it back.

“Unlock it and I’ll text him. I don’t want you giving him a secret SOS code or something.”

“A secret SOS code?” He arches one of his thick but neatly shaped eyebrows at me.

“Yeah, you know, something you would never say to alert people who know you well to the fact that you’ve been kidnapped. Like, ‘I’m out of town for a comic book convention’ when they know you don’t like nerd shit.” I tap the phone so the lock screen appears and wave it in front of him.

He chuckles and eyes me for a second before typing in the code. He has a generic background set and no icons on his home screen aside from the dial button and a texting app. I guess that makes sense. I can’t exactly picture a mafioso sitting around playing Candy Crush. It’s even harder to imagine Salvatore lounging on the couch in one of his expensive suits, mindlessly matching colorful tiles for hours on end.

“Hmm, but you don’t know me well enough to know the things I would never, ever do. You might unintentionally alert Alessio yourself.” He opens his glove compartment and pulls out a pair of sunglasses. They’re probably just as overpriced as everything else he owns. He slips them on before adjusting his seat back to a comfortable reclined position like he doesn’t have a care in the world, like he’s not currently being held at gunpoint.

“I’ll tell him you’re too sick to work, contagious, he shouldn’t come to your apartment, but you’ll see him in a few days.”

Salvatore shakes his head. “He’ll never buy it. I had walking pneumonia and Lorenzo had to have someone sit outside my apartment with a gun to keep me from trying to come to work anyway.”

“Okay, not sick, but you need a vacation. You’ve been working too hard and decided to book yourself a few days at an all-inclusive resort. I can even take a picture of you at a pool with a drink tomorrow to really sell the story.”

He chuckles and shakes his head again. “I haven’t taken a vacation in fifteen years.”

I narrow my eyes at him. He’s being purposefully difficult right now.

“Overpriced suit convention?” I deadpan.

He makes a strangled noise and shoves his sunglasses up so he can look at me properly.

“Overpriced? Most of the suits I wear are one of a kind, hand sewn, and expertly tailored. If anything, they’re underpriced for the quality.”

I let my eyes wander over him for just a second. I’m not about to admit it out loud, but even wrinkled from hours in the car and a night’s sleep, it’s a damn nice suit and he is wearing the hell out of it. I huff and drum my fingers on the steering wheel, trying to come up with another good excuse for a few days of absence.

Salvatore slips his sunglasses back over his eyes and settles back again, folding his hands over his belly like he’s preparing to take a nap.

“Tell him I’m with you,” he says.

“Doing what?” If a vacation is unrealistic, I can’t imagine why he thinks it would be less suspicious to tell Alessio he’s fucking off of work for days to get some ass.

“Make something up.”

I chew on my bottom lip and think about that suggestion. He might be setting me up to immediately implicate myself, but I don’t think he is. Actually, I think he’s onto something. If I pull this off, they’re going to know anyway, so I might as well skip the outright lie and lay the groundwork now.

I click on the texting app and find a chat with Alessio right near the top. I quickly tap out a message then read it over to make sure it sounds realistic before I hit send.

“Done,” I announce, shoving the phone back into my pocket.

With that taken care of, I put the car in drive and pull away from the shoulder, back onto the quiet, dusty road.

“What did you end up telling him?”

“That it’s a long story and you’d have to give him the details later, but you and I are on our way to Los Vespar to get married.”

“I’m sorry… what ?”