“What’s going on?”—indeterminate Italian—“You tell me who did this. Tell me, bella! So help me!”—more Italian.
All the eyes on us were making me feel uncomfortable, exposed. There was no shushing Sal, so I darted around the counter, took Sal’s arm, and pulled him toward the back office. Thankfully, Sal followed as Trish regained control of the hostess stand.
I sat as Sal poured me a brimming glass of Italian red.
“Tell me, bella, so I can fix it.” His earnest request pulled at my heartstrings, even though there was nothing he could do to fix any of my troubles.
I painted the general picture for him. He flexed his knuckles as I talked about the hit men. The naked woman tattooed on his arm wobbled around on his thin, aged skin, giving me an unnecessary eyeful.
When I was finished, Sal said, “That’s it, then. We have to take Leon out. He comes on my turf and threatens one of my girls? No.” He punched his fist into his palm for emphasis. The nude woman all but folded over on herself.
I wanted to inform him that the entire island of Manhattan didn’t really qualify as his “turf.” Any protestations would have gotten me nowhere. Sal wasn’t as high up in the ranks as DiSalvo, but he had enough connections and sheer backbone to put a hurting on anyone who crossed him.
I shook my head. The fight was already finished. DiSalvo had won. I couldn’t stay in this city. It was a death trap for me now. I wouldn’t have Sal going to bat for me—literally or figuratively—and starting a war among the deadlier denizens of New York.
“Don’t shake your head at me, bella! Look what they did to your pretty face. Look what you’re wearing.”
Lincoln’s baggy shirt, cinched in at the waist with a belt I’d found in his closet. I was trying to pass it off as a shirtdress. Failing, according to the look on Sal’s face.
I put a hand on his shoulder, stooped by time. “Sal, I’ve already made up my mind about what I have to do.”
His eyes, filmed slightly with cataracts, searched my face and lingered on the evidence of my violent night. “Run?”
“Yes, run.” It wouldn’t be the first time I’d run away from a bad situation, and I could only hope it would be the last. “It’s the only option now.”
“He’ll find you. Let me find him first. Please, bella.”
“He retired in Cuba. You know that. He’s untouchable right now.”
“No one is untouchable.”
I took a long swig from my glass. It was tasty, fuller than a Malbec. Sal’s taste was spot-on. Maybe I should have listened to him for all these years.
“You’re right. I do have a few things that could leave him vulnerable.”
Sal smiled, a gap appearing where one of his front teeth should have been. “What’s that?”
“I have some pieces of evidence. Weapons, ledgers, notes, other documents. A pile of information that, if given to the right people, would cause a world of trouble for DiSalvo.”
Sal nodded. “DiSalvo trying to fight a war on two fronts. Impossible.”
Though Sal was a bruiser, he wasn’t too bad at strategy, either. “Right. If I can keep him occupied elsewhere and make myself disappear, he won’t have the wherewithal or the inclination to come hunting me.”
He plopped down into a faded leather chair, stuffing poking out of the rips that weren’t covered over with electrical tape.
“I just need to use your phone. And, since you’ve already busted me, maybe let me stay with Trish for a night while I get my travel plans together?”
“You got it, bella. Anything you need.”
I looked at him, wanting him to leave before I made my phone call. He didn’t budge, just gestured toward the phone. It was a risk, letting him overhear the details of my plan, but there was no way around it at this point. I picked up the receiver and dialed.
Chapter Twelve
Lincoln
Wood was in a meeting with some higher-ups from the attorney general’s office. I’d waited outside his door, pacing the floor, for almost two hours. I couldn’t stop walking. The energy propelled my feet back and forth on the already-worn carpet in the waiting area.
Wood’s secretary glanced at me every so often. I made her nervous. I didn’t care.
My thoughts never strayed far from Evan. I hated to leave her after the night she’d had, the night we’d both had, but speaking to Wood was imperative if I wanted to keep her safe. He could arrange witness protection, get her out of the city, do any number of things the federal government had at its disposal.
Time moved slowly, and I continued my solitary march along the navy blue carpet. Evan would be awake by now, surely. Was she scared? I knocked the thought out of my mind. I never wanted her scared, never wanted to see the terror in her eyes or hear it in her voice the way I had last night. I should have regretted what I’d done to the men who’d taken her. I didn’t. I’d do it again if it meant she would be safe.