“It’s more than that.”
“More than what?”
“More than just fucking.”
“You stole her from Sal to make Sal look bad. Well, that wasn’t the brightest move, either, Angelino. You’d be better off just giving her back.”
My teeth clench. There’s no way anybody’s touching Sarah. Especially not Sal, and especially not Spada. “Sal is an asshole. He was hitting her.”
“So fucking what? She’s a woman. He was keeping her in line.”
“Bullshit. He likes hurting people. You know that.”
He gives me a dismissive wave.
“What he did at the bakery—that was just him being a prick. He has no reason to destroy that building other than to get back at me.”
“You brought this on yourself, Nick. Now, you’re going to make restitution to Sal, like you promised, and this is going to end. You got me?”
Shit. I don’t have the money to pay for the goddamn bakery, and Spada knows it. But I give him a nod. There’s really not much else I can do.
Correction. There’s one thing I can do. Sentiment is moving against Spada. I’ve seen it in my own men, and I’ve seen it in some of the other crews. His power is eroding. People are doing business without his permission. That’s not going to get any better, unless Spada grows a pair and starts taking down everybody who pulls an unsanctioned heist or arranges a protection contract outside his normal jurisdiction. And that’s not going to happen. Add that to the erosions in Sal’s organization, and I’m in the best position I’ve been in for a long time.
So the best thing I can do right now is sit tight and do what I can to shore up my own reputation. Paying Sal isn’t the worst way to get that started. I just need to come up with the money.
If I’m going to pay him, though, I also need to hurt him. I need to follow Spada’s orders, but I also need to flex my own muscles so Sal doesn’t come out on top.
It’s a tricky question, but as I mull it over, an idea floats up. Spada will hate it. I don’t hate it at all.
In fact, it’s perfect.
#
Back at home, I find Sarah sitting in the kitchen with the laptop we both damn near died for. She’s got a couple of notebooks open next to it, and she’s scribbling in them, then inputting numbers into the computer, then going back to the notebooks.
“What are you up to, sweetheart?”
She jumps as if I’ve startled her and gives me an embarrassed grin.
“Sorry,” I tell her, and walk up behind her to set my hands on her shoulders. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay. I was just really…focused.”
“On what?” I peer at the computer. She’s got a spreadsheet open as well as some kind of design software. There’s another window floating around as well, but it’s covered up and I can’t see much of it. It looks like it might be recipes, though.
“Plans for the bakery. I need to revamp a lot of stuff to get the books back into the black.”
“Sarah…” But I stop. I can’t tell her I’ve been ordered to pay Sal for the bakery. I can’t tell her I don’t have the money, and that the smartest thing to do would be to follow Sal’s plan and burn the place for the insurance money. Or, barring that drastic an option, to shut it down and cut my losses until I can suggest something that’s more likely to stay solvent. I can’t tell her any of that. When it comes down to it, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be able to do it.
I told her she was worth so much more than her business, and I meant it, but I’ve also become painfully aware of exactly how much that damn bakery means to her. Shutting it down would break her heart, even if it was only temporary. Burning it down would do more than that—it would shatter whatever’s started to grow between us. I have no intention of getting attached, of attaching words like “love” to what I feel for Sarah. But I can’t hurt her, and I can’t do anything that would make it impossible for her to stay with me. She’s been hurt too much already. If I destroy the thing that means the most to her after promising her I’ll protect her, I’m no better than Sal.
The silence has gone on too long, and she says, “What?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
Turning away from the computer, she gives me a direct look. “How are your ribs?”
“Still working.”
“The hand?”
I open and close my fist. It hurts, and my fingers are stiff, but I don’t think there’s going to be any permanent damage.
“Well…I think it’s in good enough shape to spank you.”