“Wh…what?”
With his wet hand, he pushed my panties down to midthigh. “Piss.”
“Salvatore…”
“Fucking. Piss. You want me to leave you alone? I will. But first, you piss.”
We stood staring at each other, his eyes dark with anger, mine, maybe the look of a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming Mack truck? I didn’t know what to do, whether or not to try to reason with him. I didn’t know him. That fact well and truly hit me for the first time, right here, right now. He was the son of a mafia boss next in line to succeed him. I’d seen he was armed at my father’s funeral. This man knew violence, it was his world. What horrors had his eyes seen? What atrocities had his hands committed?
In this moment, he was truly and utterly terrifying.
I let my arms fall to my sides, no longer fighting against tears, and I did what he said. I pissed. He glanced down for a second, then returned his gaze to mine. As warmth trailed down my legs, he released his hold around my throat and stepped back, blinking as if coming out of a stupor, shaking his head. I slid down and sat on the shower floor, watching him as he looked at me, the rage all but dissipated now, as if evaporated into thin air, replaced by…remorse?
Salvatore walked out of the bathroom, and I heard the bedroom door close. I rose and started the shower, stripped off the rest of my clothes, and stood under the warm flow, weeping, a sense of loss so all encompassing, so whole, it physically hurt.
6
Salvatore
I left.
I walked out of the house and to the six-car garage, a building separate from the main house. Taking the keys from the locked box by the door, I chose the Bugatti and climbed inside. I turned the key, the engine crisp and sharp in the early morning quiet. The gates opened, and the tires squealed as I left the property and drove onto the lonely single-lane road. I opened it up then, enjoying the rush as my body pressed back into the seat, the car’s powerful engine roaring, taking the turns tightly, my foot pressing harder and harder on the accelerator.
Who the fuck was I? What in hell had I just done, humiliating Lucia like that? Hurting her. Christ. Fuck.
I was a monster.
I inhaled and exhaled short, audible breaths, my stomach tight, the muscles of my arms clenched as I fisted the steering wheel hard.
She got under my skin. This barely twenty-one-year-old woman whom I fucking owned got under my fucking skin every single fucking time. I needed to control her for so many reasons. But I couldn’t do it this way. Fuck. I’d scared the piss out of her, literally. Her eyes—they hadn’t accused me. No. They’d been terrified of me.
“Fuck!” I punched the side of my fist against the steering wheel.
A car turned a blind corner, surprising me, his horn honking, waking me from wherever the fuck I was. I jerked the steering wheel, and the Bugatti swerved onto the side of the road, missing the car by inches.
“Shit!”
The man in the other vehicle flipped me off.
“Fuck you!” Not that he heard me. My windows were up. My cell phone vibrated in my pocket as I slowed to a full stop. The display on the Bluetooth said it was Roman. I got out, rubbed my face with both hands, and pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. The phone stopped, then started again. I dug into my pocket and fished it out.
“Roman,” I said after sliding the Talk button. I walked a few steps away to look over the deserted road, the dewy grass sparkling in the sun, the morning quiet apart from the birds chirping in the trees.
“Morning, Salvatore.”
“You’re calling early.”
“I wanted to talk to you. I tried to call last night but couldn’t catch you.”
“What is it, Roman?” Was this about the meeting? Luke DeMarco?
“Your father wants to be sure you’ll be attending his birthday dinner.”
“You’re calling me about that?” It was at the end of the following week, and of course I’d be there. There was no way for me not to be. Unless I wanted to give Dominic ammunition.
“He wanted to invite you and Lucia to spend the night.”
“That won’t be necessary. We’ll drive home.”
“He insists.”
I took a deep breath. The party was going to be held at the house in the Adirondacks, but I’d have driven four hours each way rather than spend more time in that house with him.
“Of course,” I said, understanding.
“Listen, there’s one more thing.”
I waited.
“Your brother.”
He paused, and I could hear him measuring his words.
“I just thought you should know he met with your father late last night.”
My father had gone back to the house in Calabria after I’d left for New Jersey. “So?” I asked, not surprised. He’d been pissed to have been left out of our meeting.