I can’t make this decision. It’s too much. I don’t know what to do, and I feel like he’s railroading me into deciding before I’ve had enough time.
But he’s right, sort of. What he’s offering me isn’t that much different than what I already agreed to with Sal, except Nick’s more likely to treat me decently. He’s not the type to smack me around—I’m pretty sure of that. Just the way he responded when Nick hit me at the party tells me that.
The big thing is, though, that saying yes could buy me some time. Surely he won’t want to get married immediately, and if all he wants is me pregnant, there’s no guarantee that’ll happen right away, either. In fact, it’s more likely it’ll take a while. Months, even. I could work with that. I might even be able to get out of the deal before I’m actually carrying his kid.
Looking at it that way makes it almost seem palatable. Not ideal, of course, but a better way out than anything else I’ve seen.
“You’ll help me with the bakery? Get the equipment I need so I can actually make some money?”
Nick jumps on that like a dog on bacon. “Yes. I’ll be sure you’ve got everything you could possibly want. And not just for the bakery. For yourself. Anything and everything you need, I’ll be sure you’ve got it. Clothes, shoes, jewelry, books, movies—I don’t care. It’ll be yours.”
“I have clothes,” I protest.
“No, you don’t. You’ve got nothing right now, Sarah. You can’t go back to Sal. Not for anything. You know that.”
I just stare at him. Surely he’s kidding. But no, that doesn’t seem to be the way he functions. He doesn’t kid around, even when what he’s proposing sounds like he’s bat-shit off his rocker. “I can’t just…leave everything.”
“You have to. Trust me on that.”
I don’t want to trust him on anything. There’s a lot of me left at Sal’s place. If I just abandon everything, then what am I really?
He’s not done talking, because of course he’s not.
“You start over. Fresh. Leave everything behind. You’re not Sal’s anymore—you’re mine. You do exactly what I tell you, no questions. Especially when it comes to Sal, or Spada, or anybody else in the organization. That includes your friends—any wives or girlfriends you’ve been hanging out with while you’ve been with Sal.”
I don’t have much in the way of friends—Sal’s seen to that. I’m not going to tell Nick that, though. He’s pushed this deal to another level and I don’t like where it’s going. “How is that any different than being with Sal? You own me? What the fuck is this, the Middle Ages?”
“It might as well be.” His voice is flat, humorless. “I figured you would have worked that out by now.”
The sad part is, he’s right. When I stepped into Sal’s world, I stepped back a few centuries. Now I’ve got to live with it, at least until I can find a way out. Nick’s proposal isn’t a way out, but it’s at least away from Sal. I can work out the rest later.
Then I realize I’m actually considering this idea seriously. What the hell is wrong with me? Nick is still talking, though, and I’m still listening.
“I’ll take care of you, and I’ll keep you safe. I can handle Sal. Sal’s an asshole, and I’m not the only one who wants him gone. But when it comes down to it, I’m putting my life on the line here, too. He’ll come after me. You know that. He’ll kill me if he gets half a chance. He’ll kill you, too.” He’s gotten intensely earnest, leaning toward me so close I’m afraid he’s about to fall off the edge of the chair. “It’s not really that crazy a deal, if you think about it.”
I am thinking about it. More seriously than I ever thought I would. It stinks, but he’s right. I’ve put myself into a position where this is actually the best choice I have. At least I know he’ll be better than Sal. At least I know I’ll enjoy sleeping with him. Add that to his promise to help me build my bakery into a real business, and it starts to feel like something better than just the lesser of two evils.
I don’t realize I’m nodding until he says abruptly, “There! I knew you’d come around.”
That’s nice for him, because I didn’t know I was going to come around. He rises from his chair and moves to sit next to me on the couch. I draw back a little, not sure what he’s going to do.
“Are we going to make up a contract or something?” I ask him. That’s not the worst idea I’ve ever had. Get it in writing. Then I wonder what kind of lawyer or whatever would sign off on something like that. Easy answer. A mob lawyer. Duh.