“Nick—” she starts, but I cut her off.
“Don’t worry about it, Sarah. I’ll take care of the business stuff. Sal’s lost some support today—I can guarantee that. Chances are getting better for me to get promoted, take over for Spada when he steps down.”
She absently folds the dough over, molding it into a big, round pile. “You really think he’s going to step down?”
“If he doesn’t, I’m pretty damn sure somebody will take him out. Things are way too uneasy right now.”
“God.” She punches the dough a few times, not looking at me anymore. “I hate this, Nick. I hate everything about this. Why can’t you live a normal life?”
“This is the life I was born to.” Her attitude is tensing me up a little, and I still need to address her own issues—namely the fact she’s here in the first place.
She doesn’t answer me, instead just working the dough. I wonder how much longer she can knead it before she ends up ruining it.
“Look, Sarah,” I continue. “That stuff’s nothing you need to worry about. But we do need to talk.”
“What about?”
“Let’s just say I was a little surprised to see you weren’t at home.”
She stops what she’s doing and looks up at me, bristling. “I’m not a prisoner, Nick. I can leave the house when I want.”
“No, you really can’t. Especially not right now.”
Her mouth tightens. “So you’re going to lock me up, keep me in a cage?”
It’s an interesting idea, but I know she doesn’t mean it literally. Pity. “Sal’s out and about, Sarah. He’s pissed off that you’re here with me instead of with him. I don’t trust him—he’s given me no reason to. Doesn’t matter what Spada told him, he’s still just as likely to try to take you.” I pause, giving her a chance to let those words soak in before I add the next ones. “Or kill you.”
“So I should never leave the house again?”
“I didn’t say that. But I do think you shouldn’t leave the house without my permission. I need to know where you are if I’m going to be sure you’re safe.”
“Oh, this is ridiculous. I can’t even live my life?” Her voice is rising, and she’s angry, but at the same time I can see tears lining her lids.
“It’s only for a little while, Sarah. Just for a few weeks until I know Sal’s under control. Then we can talk about it. Renegotiate.”
She snorts. “Renegotiate. What kind of relationship is this anyway, Nick?”
I’m starting to get angry now, too. “An arranged one. You knew that going in. And I’m holding up my end of the deal—I’m doing my best to be sure Sal never touches you again. But I can’t guarantee your safety if you don’t cooperate with me. Understand?”
“Fine.” Reaching under the cabinet, she pulls out a roll of plastic wrap. I can tell she’s just agreeing with me to get me to stop nagging her. But this is important.
“It’s not safe,” I tell her, trying to sound more sincere than irritated, even though I’m honestly angry with her. “You’re alone—you don’t even have security in this store. There’s nothing to stop Sal from doing whatever he wants. That’s not acceptable.”
Her mouth folds tight as she peels a length of plastic wrap from the roll and stretches it around the bread dough. I have no idea how she does that; every time I try to use plastic wrap it ends up everywhere except where it’s supposed to be. But she’s deft with it, and wraps the big lump of dough neatly.
“Fine.” It’s the same word, but the tone is different. I can tell she’s working things out in her head. Maybe she’s even a little afraid of what Sal might be able to do to her. Good. It’s better if she’s not quite so confident. She’ll be safer that way.
“So I’m going to take you back home. You can leave the place closed for a few days until we work everything out.”
“I’ll lose business,” she says, but it’s a weaker protest now.
“We’ll make up for it once we get Sal out of the way. I’ll help you get things back underway.”
This time she nods. “Okay. Let me just take care of this.”
Taking the big lump of dough, she heads for the back. I follow her—she’s not getting out of my sight. She sets the dough in the freezer next to some other anonymous paper- and tinfoil-wrapped packages then heads for the big sink in the kitchen area to sluice the flour off her hands and arms.
Watching her clean herself, all I can think about is what she looks like naked. What she feels like naked and under me, writhing in pleasure. I want her at home, where I can strip her bare and take her, hear her screams of pleasure, feel her cunt tight on my dick.