Naive. That’s the word of the day, isn’t it? I thought I could move to LA, and solve the mental health problems of everyone here. I thought I could save my brother. I thought I could complete my arrangement with Sal and keep my sanity intact.
Sal. My thoughts turn to him as the bus stops and starts repeatedly. I wish I thought he was an asshole. I wish I hated him. But I can’t stop thinking about him, his body pressed against me, his lips on mine. The memory alone makes my heart pound.
When I finally get off at my stop, I walk to my building, consciously hoping that I don’t run into him, and subconsciously hoping that I do. Sal is my only source of excitement these days, albeit a masochist one. The emotional pleasure he brings is equaled only by the emotional pain. It’s a thrilling, dangerous, and irresistible cocktail.
Sliding my key into the front door, I get a feeling. It sends goosebumps up my arms. Every sense is on alert. He’s here. I know it. I open the door slowly, peering into the dark hallway. After coming from the sunny street, my eyes have to adjust to the light. As they do, I make out the tall figure in a dark suit in the distance. I squint, making sure the apparition is real. Sal’s handsome face comes into view. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He steps towards me.
“Good afternoon, Molly,” he says.
The door swings shut behind me. We’re alone. “Afternoon, Mr. Mariano.” I put my head down and start towards my apartment. Sal appears in my path.
“Don’t do that, Molly.” His smile deepens. “It’s Sal.”
“Sal,” I repeat, entirely due to reflex.
Sal doesn’t move out of my way. I look up at him, half expecting him to apologize for his behavior the other night. But his expression wears an armor of confidence. What was I thinking? This man doesn’t apologize for anything.
“Uncle Franco is having a barbecue at this house this weekend,” Sal says. “He asked me to invite you.”
I pull back, look him square in the eye, and laugh in his face. “No. No way. I’m not doing this charade with you anymore.”
“This isn’t a charade. I’m delivering a invitation from Franco. He was quite taken with you.” He inches closer to me. “And I can’t blame him.”
My entire body blushes. What is Sal doing to me? He’s so confusing. What’s real, and what’s fake? What’s attraction, and what’s intimidation?
I straighten my posture. “I won’t be able to make it.” I shoulder past Sal. He lets me go, for a moment.
“How about I sweeten the pot for you,” Sal says. “Should we say, one month’s rent?”
I stop in my tracks, swinging my head around. “One month at the discounted rate?”
He shakes his head. “One month’s rent. Period.”
I’m stuck in a honey pot of temptation. I’d be able to pay off some of my personal bills that have been piling up. After that soul crushing interview, it’s clear that this is my only option. But if I’m going to whore myself out, I need to make sure it’s worth it.
“Two months,” I say. My voice is so cold and cutting, I surprise myself.
A growl rises from Sal’s throat. I’ve involuntarily pleased him.
“Two months,” he agrees.
The power gives me a rush, and I decide to go with it.
“Are you going to kiss me in front of Franco again?” I ask. “You didn’t ask if that was okay before.”
“I didn’t think I had to ask.”
“You did. And you do.” My voice falters a little. I clear my throat, standing my ground.
Sal seems to be feeding off my energy. His eyes sparkle as they bore into me. “We have to make it believable, Molly. You don’t want to break Franco’s heart, do you?”
The slick bastard, using his uncle to appeal to my emotions. But the truth is, no I don’t want to hurt Franco.
“One kiss.” My throat is tight. “You can hold my hand.”
“Five kisses.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
I don’t think I’ll do much better than that, so agree to these terms.
“And I pick my outfit,” I say. It seems silly having to say this. I feel like a child.
“Fair enough,” Sal says. “I’ll pick you up Saturday at one.” He flashes me a brilliant, heart shattering smile, then turns around and leaves the building.
When he’s gone, I grasp the wall, reeling from the buildup of adrenaline. I go into my apartment, and lock every lock. These actions are futile, however. Sal has a key.
Chapter Eleven
Molly
For the barbecue, I choose a simple, pale blue sundress and beige sandals. I attempt a complicated bun that I found on the internet, but my hair refuses to cooperate. I end up wearing it loose. While I stare at myself in the mirror, I think I look good, which makes me frown. I should’ve dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt just to irritate Sal. I consider changing but dismiss the idea, and smear on another layer of lip gloss.
Sal shows up right on time. He’s in his usual dark suit, despite the fact that it’s hot outside. But I swear, the man never sweats. He takes a visual inventory of my appearance, and nods his approval. In response, my shoulders scrunch to my ears. Having him compliment my physical appearance gives me a satisfaction I don’t think I deserve. This is all fake, after all.
“Shall we?” Sal says, offering me his arm.
I grab my purse and walk past him into the hallway. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”
Sal concedes to my silence as he drives to Franco’s house. I sit in the passenger seat, stoically crossing my arms in front of me. The drive takes longer than I expected. We’re far from the city center of LA. Houses are getting bigger. Lawns are getting more elaborate and brilliant green, despite the city’s current drought. Before I know, we’re in the fabled Bel Air.
He drives up to a gated property, rolls down the window, and flashes a smile to the guard that’s stationed there. Seconds later, there’s a buzzing sound, and the gate opens for us. My mouth drops when I see the sprawling mansion, the immaculate grounds, and the gurgling fountain that serves as a centerpiece. There are catering trucks parked around back. Huge tents have been set up over long tables. Tall vases decorate the tables, all filled with huge sunflowers. There’s an outdoor stage, where a string quartet provides the entertainment. Strains of classical music float through the air, a tune I recognize, but can’t name. This doesn’t look like a weekend barbecue. This looks like a high end wedding.
“This is Franco’s house?” I say, forgetting my vow of silence.
“The old man’s done well for himself,” Sal explains.
He pulls up to the front of the mansion, and tosses his keys to the valet. He lays his hand on the small of my back as we walk to the backyard where the party is in full swing. I don’t point out to Sal that this affection wasn’t agreed upon beforehand, because I’m too busy studying the guests. There’s at least a hundred people here. The women are elegantly dressed and dripping in diamonds. The men are dressed in dark suits like Sal. And also like Sal, they each carry an aura of intimidating power. I remember the gun I felt on him the other night, and I’m certain that each man here is packing heat. Late one night, when I could be sure Sal wasn’t spying on me, I researched conceal and carry laws in Los Angeles County. It’s extremely difficult to get a permit like that here. Did Sal obtain his gun legally? And why does he carry one in the first place? Who are these people?
A waiter wearing a crisp white shirt and black bow tie offers us glasses of champagne. There’s a table of appetizers that features chilled oysters, mountains of shrimp, and other fruits of the sea. It looks delicious. If I had an appetite, I would devour a plateful.
I’m staring at the ice sculpture of a beautiful, voluptuous mermaid at the center of the appetizer table, when I feel Sal’s cold hand grasping mine. I look up at him with surprise. He leans down and whispers into my ear.
“There’s the man of the hour.”
Franco materializes among the crowd, look
ing as dashing as he did the night before in his fine pinstriped suit. He smiles kindly as he approaches us. He takes my hand and kisses it.
“Welcome to my humble abode, sweet Molly,” Franco says.
“Thank you for having me,” I gush. “This is a beautiful party. And your home is amazing.”
“I’m glad you think so,” he says, as if my opinion means anything. He turns to Sal, and shakes his hand. “Have you introduced Molly to everyone?”
My stomach twists in knots at the thought of having to talk to these people.
“I was just about to,” Sal says.
Franco looks past us, spotting someone in the crowd. “Look, there’s Snake and his lovely wife.” He waves them over.
I feel Sal’s energy shift by my side. There’s something about this situation that he’s not telling me. A tall man, who I take to be Snake, with hair as dark as his suit, and a woman with long brown hair approach us. Snake surveys me with an intense stare.
“So you’re Molly,” he says. His tone has an edge of hostility. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“That’s right,” I say, choking out the words. I take a long swig of champagne to calm my nerves. “Nice to meet you…Snake.”
He smiles, narrowing his eyes, and looks me up and down. “How did you do it? How did you trap Sal? He’s not exactly a one woman kind of man.”
I clear my throat, feeling very uncomfortable. “I don’t know that I trapped him-“
“So it was the other way around?” Snake asks.
I blink into my champagne glass. What the hell is happening here? Sal steps up to my rescue.
“You’re being rude, Snake. Aren’t you going to introduce Molly to your wife?”
The woman by Snake’s side steps up. She stares at me with the same scrutiny. “I’m Jess. It’s nice to meet you.” She gives me a glittering smile, then gently grabs my arm. “Would you like to go with me to get a drink?”
Yes, please let me talk to another woman, I think. But before I can accept her invitation, Sal slides his arm around my shoulder.
“We’re good on drinks, Jess,” he says, bitterly. “Come on, Molly. Let’s go mingle.”
Sal leads me away from my new acquaintances. I can’t say I’m sad to say goodbye. I don’t want to talk to anymore people, so I’m relieved when Sal leads me to the bar, were we can watch the crowd from the outside.
“You’re doing great,” he says, encouragingly. He gets the bartenders attention. “Can we get another round over here?”
I gratefully pick up the fresh glass of champagne. “Who are these people?”
Sal shrugs. “Mostly extended family, a few friends.”
“Does Franco have these kinds of parties regularly?”
“When the mood strikes him.”
There’s a tension in his voice. It gives me the sense that Sal is hiding something. Who throws a party like this out of the blue? Who are these ridiculously wealthy people?
I’m a bit emboldened by the champagne. It’s delicious, probably very expensive, and goes down smooth.
“That man, what’s his name? Snake? What’s his deal?”
Sal presses his lips in a flat line. “Don’t worry about him. He likes to be an asshole sometimes. He thinks it’s funny.”
I find Snake and Jess in the crowd with my eyes. They’re both staring at Sal and me. Without warning, Sal grabs my chin, turns my face to him, and kisses me softly on the lips. He pulls back, looking into my eyes. My knees nearly buckle beneath me.
“That’s one,” I remind him.
“You’re keeping count?”
“I’m honoring the terms of our agreement.”
Sal slides his hand to the back of my neck. “You’re by the book, Molly. You don’t understand how much I like that.” A vein in his forehead throbs, like he’s restraining himself. “How about we forget about the fucking agreement, and I take you to that gazebo over there to finish what we started the other night.”
I open my mouth in shock. His arrogance is unfathomable. He slides his fingertip down the side of my face.
“You like that idea, don’t you?” he asks. “Don’t try to lie. It’s written all over your face.”
I shake my head. “This isn’t part of our-“
“Agreement?” he finishes for me. “It’s fun to break the rules, Molly. Trust me. You should try it some time.”
I pretend that I’m righteously offended, but in truth, I’m tempted. What would it hurt to sneak away with Sal? What’s the harm in chasing a little pleasure? Maybe that’s the champagne talking. He leans in and kisses me again. Two.
The string quartet stops playing, and the silence snaps me back into reality. Using all of my willpower, I step back from him. Sal lets me go, but his eyes linger on me. Franco takes the microphone and invites everyone to sit. It’s time to eat.
The crowd moves to the long tables under the tent. Sal and I find our seats, marked by placards that spell out our names in delicate calligraphy. Under the shade of the tent, and with a light afternoon breeze drifting in, the heat of the day subsides. The champagne has calmed my nerves. I haven’t eaten anything today. Now that I’m more comfortable, my appetite finds me. I try to forget about the dark handsome man sitting beside me, and how I was tempted to sneak away with him for some quick and easy pleasure. I’ll have to be stronger than that in the future, because I don’t doubt that Sal will continue to try to get me into bed.
I look around, searching for the buffet. I’ve never been to a party this nice, and can’t wait to see what’s on the menu. But all of the guests stay in their seats. A brigade of waiters appear around the perimeter of the tent, their arms loaded with dinner plates. They advance on the party guests, and deliver the food to the table.
Boy, are you out of place, I think. At the barbecues I’m used to, guests serve themselves, sometimes grabbing burgers and hot dogs right off the grill.
While waiting for the food, I notice the people sitting in front of us. There’s a man, or should I say, a beast. He’s the largest human specimen I’ve ever seen. His broad shoulders take up the space of two people. Beside him is a normal looking woman. Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun. She wears glasses and a pensive expression. She seems as out of place here as I do.
Sal raises his champagne glass towards are companions. “Bruno. Olivia.”
The woman he called Olivia briefly meets his gaze, then turns away. It appears I’m not the only one who has a complicated relationship with Sal. Bruno, however, nods in Sal’s direction. He leans forward, lowering his voice.
“I’m really glad to have you back, Sal,” Bruno says, glancing around furtively. “We need some new blood around here. Things are getting stale.”
Sal looks so pleased at this, it scares me.
“And what do you mean by that, Beastie boy?” Sal asks.
Bruno opens his mouth to speak, but Olivia nudges him in the side, giving him a warning look. I have no idea what’s going on here, and I’m not sure I want to know. Maybe Sal, Snake, and Bruno are competing to get into Franco’s will.
We’re served plates of smoked ribeye, dry-rubbed ribs, tender brisket, and a luscious potato gratin. This may not be the kind of barbecue I’m used to, but honestly, it’s the best food I’ve ever had. I ignore the strange people around me, and withdraw into a cave of my own, savoring every bite. After our plates are cleared, the waiters brings around slices of lemon cake with creamy icing.
It’s almost over, I tell myself, diving into the dessert.
The string quartet goes quiet again. My stomach twists into a ball of dread. What now? Franco ascends the stage and takes the microphone. A reverent silence falls over the crowd.
“I want to thank you all for coming,” Franco says. “It’s a pleasure to see each and every one of you, and to share in this special moment.”
Special moment? I knew this wasn’t a random get together.
Franco continues. “It is my great honor to announce the MTB Giving Fund.”
>
The crowd applauds. One of the waiters appear on stage behind Franco. He’s holding a large, white rectangular piece of cardboard. At least, that’s what it looks like from where I sit. Franco raises his hand, and the crowd goes silent again.
“And that’s not all. Today, I’m making my first donation.” He pauses with dramatic effect, surveying the crowd. “We have a very special guest among us.”
My stomach tightens. I put down my dessert fork. No.
“Someone who has dedicated their life to the well-being of others, a tireless public servant.”
No. No. No.
“Miss Molly Wright,” he says with dramatic flourish. “Will you please join me on the stage?”
Every dark, intimidating eye turns on me. I feel myself turning bright red. I’m frozen in shock. Is this really happening? Sal gently nudges my arm.
“Go on,” he says.
I gulp, then stand, unsteadily. The crowd applauds when they see me, adding to my anxiety. I squeeze my way between the tables, and climb the stairs to the stage.
“Here she is,” Franco says, sliding his arm across my shoulders. “Molly, please accept this donation to your wonderful charity on behalf of the entire Mariano family.” He signals to the waiter, who brings forth the giant rectangle of white cardboard. Franco turns it around, and I see it’s a check. The name of the center is printed on the recipient line. I nearly faint when I see the dollar amount. One hundred thousand dollars.
Franco hands the check to me, and kisses my cheek. The novelty check is heavy, and awkwardly shaped. I grip the top of it with my fingers. The sound of applause rises up all around me. I meekly look into the crowd. I see Sal, with that satisfied smile on his face. He looks into my eyes with a look that says, “Gotcha.”
I should be grateful. The center desperately needs this money. But all I can think is-
Beware the Devil (Mafia Soldiers Book 3) Page 7
