Wrong (A Bad Boy Romance)(34)

Nick, though, sweeps his gaze across the room and offers a smile and a nod to someone. He picks up his napkin, unfolds it, and lays it across his lap. I’ve never seen anybody so cool and collected. I take a long, slow breath, telling myself, if he can be calm then I can, too.

The waiter brings the wine, pours it, takes our food order, and departs. Nick lifts his glass, offering me a toast.

“To our new family,” he says.

And that’s when Sal shows up.

I see the ruckus starting out of the corner of my eye as I move my glass toward Nick’s. Automatically I glance that way. There are about four men near the front of the restaurant, holding on to Sal, who’s struggling with them. His jacket’s about half off, his tie askew as he tries to tear himself free. All eyes go toward him, even those that were overly focused on Nick and me just minutes earlier.

Sal finally starts calming down, gathering himself, as if he’s realized he’ll never get all the way into the restaurant if he doesn’t stop acting like a psycho. He exchanges words with the maître d’, who finally nods and waves to the men to let Sal go. Straightening his tie and shrugging his jacket back into place, Sal heads for our table.

I freeze. I don’t know what to do; I’m like a deer caught in the headlights. Sal’s calmer on the outside, but I can see the anger and the hatred in his eyes. His jaw is clenched. Automatically I shrink back, but Nick leans over the table and kisses me. “It’ll be okay,” he says and then stands, shooting his cuffs as he faces the oncoming Sal. He looks deadly calm. It’s sexy, and I can’t believe I’m thinking that way right now.

“Can I help you?” Nick asks, but Sal’s not looking at him. All the hatred in his eyes is focused right on me.

“Sarah, you need to come with me. Right now.”

Automatically my eyes go to Nick. Nick’s not looking at me—he’s looking at Sal—but the fact I turned to him seems to have lit another fuse on Sal’s temper. He clenches and unclenches his jaw, his gaze flicking from me to Nick and back again. One hand balls into a fist.

“She’s not going with you,” Nick tells him.

“I’m not talking to you, asshole,” Sal shoots back. He faces me again. “Come with me. Now. Or it’s over. All of it. And you know exactly what I mean.”

Yes, I do know exactly what he means. Still, I shake my head. “No.”

“No?” Sal actually laughs at me. “You’re telling me no?”

Nick moves very slightly, positioning himself almost between me and Sal’s line of sight. Protective. Regardless, I don’t feel safe.

“That’s what I heard her say. Now, maybe you should leave.”

“I’m not leaving without my fiancée.” Sal practically spits the word. It’s nothing but a term of ownership to him; it has nothing to do with any feelings he might have for me.

“She’s not your fiancée anymore, De Luca.” Nick crosses his arms over his shoulders and stands there, legs slightly apart, looking like a big, handsome brick wall. “She’s mine now. So you can turn around and get the fuck out.”

“Yours?” Sal’s almost screaming now. “Yours? Who the fuck do you think you are, Angelino? You saw me put a ring on her finger. You know better than to touch what’s not yours.”

“You see a ring on her finger now?” Nick is icy calm. Sal’s mouth hardens when he catches a glimpse of my bare finger. Self-consciously I fold my hands together, covering my ring finger. I haven’t thought much about what happened to the ring, but now I feel naked under Sal’s scrutiny.

Nick notices the exchange but keeps his focus on Sal. “Now, we’re trying to have a date here, and you’ve rudely interrupted.”

I see a movement out of the corner of my eye. It’s the restaurant manager, easing toward us, looking like he’d rather be trying to fish a dead rabbit out of a cage full of tigers. “Excuse me. Is something wrong? May I help either of you gentlemen?”

Sal wheels on him and shoves him, hard, with his forearm. The manager staggers back. “Yeah. You can get the fuck out of here and go mind your own fucking business, is what you can do.”

The manager loses his balance and falls backward into a table, where the patrons catch him and get him back onto his feet. He stares at Sal and Nick, obviously trying to figure out what to do. Behind him, the woman at the table pulls out her cell phone. I see her poking the screen; she’s calling 9-1-1.

Sal wheels back toward me, but Nick’s between me and him, and I’m happy to keep it that way. Fists clenched and half raised, Sal takes a stalking step toward Nick.