Afterwards, I spoon her from behind, my face buried in her hair, wondering what the fuck I’m doing.
“That was different,” Molly says with a laugh. “I enjoyed it.”
“Me too.”
She’s silent for a moment, but she’s thinking so hard I can almost hear it. She blinks up at the ceiling. “What I said back there-“ She covers her face in embarrassment. “I think you’d fucked me into delirium.”
My body seizes with urgency. I roll on top of her, pinning her down. She scans my face with nervous eyes. I don’t want to her hear her say it, that she didn’t really mean what she said. I want to believe that she does love me, even though she’s wrong. She can’t love what she doesn’t know. I clutch the side of her face, and stare deeply into her eyes.
“I love you,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Sal,” she says, her eyes filling with tears.
I rest my head against her chest, breathing in the scent of her. We stay there for a while, and she starts to doze off. The muddied emotions begin to clear from my head. I go back over what just happened, what I said to her.
What have I done?
I risked everything in a moment of recklessness. I may have risked Molly’s life.
My phone dings on the table beside the bed. It’s a text from Franco. He wants me to have coffee at his house tomorrow morning.
“Who’s that?” Molly mumbles in her sleep.
I throw my phone back on the table. “Nothing. Just work.” I lie back down and gather her in my arms. “Don’t worry about it. Just sleep.”
Chapter Twenty
Salvatore
The image of Molly sleeping, one arm raised over her head, her breasts exposed, and a smile on her lips lingers in my mind as I drive to Franco’s house. I’ve begun to contemplate the inevitable. I’m going to have to take Franco down, and soon. Though I hadn’t planned on moving to destroy the Mariano’s for at least a year, I don’t have a choice anymore. I can’t allow Franco to get his claws any deeper into Molly than he already has. It will be risky striking this soon, while some people are still suspicious of me.
As I enter Beverly Hills, I fantasize about barging into Franco’s house, guns blazing. I could take out him, and as many goons as possible before I’m gunned down in a shower of bullets. It’s a tempting thought, but I’ll have to be patient. For now, I’m playing along.
I toss my keys to the valet and let myself in the front door. Franco’s hispanic housekeeper scurries into the lobby, a panic stricken look on her face. I’m sure Franco has instructed her not to let in any unauthorized visitors.
“Relax, I’m family,” I tell her, then saunter out to the atrium where Franco’s drinking coffee at a small, wrought iron table table.
“Good morning, Sal,” Franco says. “I didn’t hear you knock.”
“I didn’t,” I say, taking a seat across the table from him.
He smirks, then calls the housekeeper to bring me some coffee and a plate of toast. I refuse her offers of milk and sugar, and drink mine black.
“An exciting opportunity has come up,” Franco says, folding his hands on the table in front of him. “I’ve managed to connect with a supplier of illegal firearms down south. It should be a very lucrative business.”
“Guns, drugs, and pussy,” I say. “Always recession proof.”
“Exactly,” Franco says, pointing at me. “I like the way you think, Sal. You cut right through the bullshit, just like me. You understand what’s really important. That’s why I’ve chosen you to lead this racket.”
Jesus. This should be a dream come true for a soldier like me, to have a lucrative racket just fall into my lap, so I act like it.
“Uncle Franco,” I say, holding my hand to my heart. “I don’t know what to say.”
He beams at me proudly. “I know you’ll do a terrific job. Don’t forget, there’s lots of room for growth in your position. Impress me, and you’ll be rewarded.”
I watch him butter a piece of toast. He’s a slick bastard. I know what he means, and he doesn’t even have to say it. By making me think of it, it seems like my fault.
Room to grow. There’s only one position above me, capo. Franco wants to pit me against Snake. He’s planting the seeds now. The only question is, does my uncle know how many steps ahead of him I am?
Franco offers me a piece of toast, which I wave away. “So, we should discuss the nuts and bolts of this new operation,” Franco says. “I’ll need to put up a significant amount of capital to get things running, approximately two hundred thousand dollars. Of course, I’ll need to move large sums around without detection, so I’ll need the lovely Molly’s help.”
I feel my gun on my hip when he says her name. “How much will you donate?”
Franco shrugs. “Three hundred thousand.”
“Make if five hundred.”
Franco stops buttering his toast to glare at me.
“The more money that’s in the charity’s account, the easier it will be to move big chunks around,” I explain. “And since Molly’s taking a considerable risk for us, she should be more fairly compensated.”
Franco nods. “You make some good points. I’ll consider them. Kiss Molly for me, will you? And tell her I’ll be in touch very, very soon.”
I bid my uncle goodbye, then wait on his front steps while the valet gets my car. There’s a plan materializing in the back of my mind, and it’s giving me energy. If I can get rid of Franco after he donates the funds, then Molly will get to keep all the money. Maybe that will be enough to redeem myself for the lies I’ve told her. But if this is going to work, I need to start putting the pieces into place. And there are still details to be worked out, like, how I’ll exact my revenge on Snake. But I’m sure that will fall into place. Right now, I need an ally. I take out my cell phone and call Bruno.
“Yo, Beast. What are you doing right now? Let’s meet up.”
*
Bruno’s in the park on a bench where he’d said he’d be. I can see his huge shoulders and tall form from yards way. After walking casually down the trail like any other person, I act surprised when I see him.
“Yo, Sal,” Bruno says, standing up to shake my hand.
“I didn’t know you were here.”
This is all a ruse. In case one of Franco’s goons spots us, it’ll look like we just ran into each other. We didn’t plan this. We’re not discussing a mutiny.
“So, what’s up?” Bruno says when I sit down.
I shrug. “You tell me.”
“You’re the one that called me.”
“And you know why, don’t you?”
Bruno nods. “I think I do.”
I glance around the park, taking stock of who’s here. There’s a few joggers, a few dog walkers, and not much else. “You think we’re alone here?”
“Yeah. We’re good.”
“So, we know why we’re here,” I say. “What are we going to do about our little problem?”
Bruno tilts his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “I said we’re safe here, so let’s come right out and say it. I don’t want any confusion. How do we get rid of Franco?” He turns to me with an earnest expression on his testosterone sculpted face.
I plant my hand on his shoulder. “I like it, Beast.” I lean in a little closer to him. “We could hit him outside of Firenze, make it look like a drive by. Or sneak into his house one night. We’d have to disable the security system. It’s an extra step, but it can be done.”
He rounds his shoulders forward, his elbows on his knees, and shakes his head. “We can’t just take him out. This isn’t about one man. It’s about moving an entire group.”
“Sounds like that will take a lot of time.”
He sits up straight and stares into the distance. “We’ve got time.”
Shit. He might have time, but I don’t. And my purposes are revenge and saving Molly, not a regime change.
“Snake’s nowhere near close to turning away from Franco,”
I ask. “What if he’s against us? He’ll have to go.”
“That’s why I want a few more on my side. Snake included.”
I scoff. “Good luck with that. You think Snake wants to risk his cushy position?”
“If I know you’re with me, I can start working on Snake,” Bruno says. “We all have to come together, you, me, Snake, Anthony. It’s the only way.”
I understand that Bruno wants to have to some happy family reunion, but he’s operating on the premise that he can trust Snake. He hasn’t learned the truth about our old friend like I have. Snake’s loyalty is to Franco. Not us.
“Listen, that sounds great,” I say. “I’d love to do this with the old crew. But Snake’s not ready, not yet. He’s still brainwashed into doing whatever Franco says. You go to him, and he’ll give us up.”
He shrugs his massive shoulders. “That’s hard for me to believe. Snake would never go against us-“
I shoot him a dark look, and he stops talking. I don’t even have to say it, that my dear friend Snake killed my father, and I can’t quite find it in my heart to trust him again.
“Snake will follow any order from Franco,” I say, calmly. I clench my teeth, tempted to suggest we take out Franco and Snake at the same time. But I’m not sure Bruno’s ready for that. In fact, I’m not sure Bruno can help me at all.
I stand up, patting him on the back. “Be patient, Beast. These things take time. And keep this to yourself for now. We’ll talk later.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Molly
I can’t stop smiling on my walk to work. All I can think about is Sal. And the words, I love him, keep repeating in my head. I love him when he’s vulnerable, I love him when he’s demanding, whip in hand. He’s not perfect. He has a long way to go emotionally, but then again, so do I. Hopefully, we can get there together.
When I think back on our recent history, my physical response alternates between a fluttering heart, and lustful excitement tightening my belly. I’ve never tried BDSM before. It was a foreign, exotic kink to me until the other night. And I’m not surprised that Sal is into it. The demanding role he took when I was tied up and helpless fit him perfectly.
And it was undeniably hot. It brought to life my dangerous attraction to Sal, both my fear and desire to be dominated by him. And I like the fact that it wasn’t all whips and chains. Our session had ended on a quiet, loving note. And he said he loved me. Emotionally evolved or not, just by saying that, he’s making progress.
I’m making progress as well. My days are no longer dominated by anxiety and insecurity. I finally feel like I’m right where I need to be, with the right man by my side.
Since we started our online outreach campaign, we’ve signed up at least thirty new clients. The center is busy this morning. All of the counselor’s are here, and preparing to take on the increased work load. The room is abuzz with an exciting energy. Everyone here is passionate about the cause, and I can feel it in the air. I’m not used to being so happy, and it makes me a little lightheaded. I sit at my desk, catching my breath.
“Good morning, Greg,” I say cheerily to my partner. I reach over and lightly massage his shoulders. Greg looks at me with a weak smile. I pout, disappointed. In bad times, Greg’s always the one telling me to keep my chin up and look towards the future. Now that that sunny future is here, I just want him to celebrate with me.
He turns to me with a solemn face, then reaches for my hand. “Molly, we need to talk. Let’s go to the break room.”
I shake my head, internally screaming, no, no, no. This sounds like bad news. I’m flying high right now and I don’t want to hear it.
But I can’t run and hide from Greg. Like it or not, I run this center, and need to know everything going on, good or bad.
“Okay,” I say, putting on a brave face. “Let’s go.”
We both stand from our desks. Greg stops to gather a folder full of documents. I gulp, my stomach twisting. This can’t be good.
There are a few counselors waiting in line to use the espresso machine. With just one pointed look from Greg, they get the picture, and leave us alone. I try to keep breathing while Greg closes and locks the door.
“What is it, Greg?” I ask, my impatience getting the better of me. The sooner I know the problem, the sooner I can find a solution and go back to my easy breezy way of being.
“Sit down,” he says, gesturing to the table.
I huff, but I do as he says in hopes of getting this over with more quickly. Greg exhales deeply, thumbs through his documents, then hesitates.
“Can I get you a coffee-“
“Greg,” I say, in a tone I didn’t think was humanly possible.
It does the trick. With shaking hands, Greg opens his folder, pulls out a couple pieces of paper, and places them in my hands. It’s a photo copied article from the LA Times, dated a few years ago. I blink, struggling to concentrate on the words. My hands are shaking, making it even more difficult.
I close my eyes for a moment, taking a breath. Whatever it is, I will get through it. I have Sal on my side now. With him, anything seems possible. After internalizing these thoughts, I turn to the article, ready to get down to business.
City Contracts Rife with Mob Corruption, reads the headline.
At first, I feel relief. What does this have to do with me, or the center? I want to laugh in Greg’s face. But then, I keep reading.
The article describes how nearly every construction contract in LA has profited the mob over the last couple of decades, in particular, the Mariano family. My lips move as I speed read. Through the corruption of city officials, bid fixing, and price gouging, the Mariano’s made millions, funneling taxpayer money to their own accounts. They protected their empire through violent, and often deadly, means.
I flip over to the next page. There’s a black and white picture of Franco Mariano, many years younger, in a nice suit. He’s flanked by men on both sides. I squint at the faces. My blood pressure drops as I recognize one. Then I read the caption and find his name. Salvatore Mariano.
In a shuddering instant, my vision goes black. Nausea overcomes me. I toss the papers away from me, then double over, placing my head between my knees. My stomach roils, making me wretch dryly.
“Molly,” Greg says. His voice sounds like it’s miles away. I feel his hand on my back, and I swat it away. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”
With my eyes closed, that black and white image of Sal burns in my mind. My thoughts race at a hundred miles an hour, putting all of the pieces together. Sal’s not an emotionally damaged soul. He’s a mobster. A criminal.
How could I have been so stupid?
“We need to discuss this,” Greg says in a firm, but gentle, voice.
I sit up slowly. The blood rushes from my head, making me dizzy. I press my fingertips to my throbbing temples. Through my distress, my voice of doubt returns, louder, and more persuasive than ever.
Of course Sal doesn’t love you. He’s using you.
I almost want to laugh. What a fool I’ve been. To think, I deserve for the center to be a success, and to have a man like Sal. Or, a man that I thought Sal was.
“The money Sal’s uncle donated, it could be dirty,” Greg explains. “Nonprofits are vulnerable to gangs and terrorists. We’re tax exempt, and we’re not required to report our source of funds. It can happen to anyone in this industry.”
“Could you just-“ I raise my hand to his face. My eyes burn with tears. I feel on the brink of losing it, whatever ‘it’ is. “Stop talking.”
He rubs my back gently, scrunching his eyes in compassion. “No, Molly, I can’t stop talking. We have to deal with this. I know this is hard for you. You had a personal connection with-“
“Stop,” I say, turning to him with a look of warning.
Greg sighs. “We have to go to the police.”
“We don’t know anything yet,” I snap.
“We know enough.” He speaks slowly and carefully like I’m a child. “W
ho knows what kind of illegal activity we’re aiding and abetting. If we don’t report this, and the cops find out, the center could be shut down.” He grabs my shoulders, making me look at him. “Molly, we could go to jail.”
His eyes glaze over with tears. He’s scared, and he’s on the hook, just like me. But I can’t go to the police just yet. Maybe it’s denial, but I can’t fully believe that Sal’s using me. Everything between us has felt so real.
“We’re not going to the police,” I tell Greg. “Not yet. I need time to think.”
I stand up so quickly my chair clatters to the ground behind me. While I rush out of the break room, I hear Greg saying, “You have to confront this, Molly. We have to do something.”
I walk quickly through the center, my head down, so the other counselors can’t see my red, tear stained face. Bursting out of the front doors, I turn in the direction of my apartment building, where Sal is, and begin to walk quickly. I have no plan. I have no idea what to do, or what I need to do. Should I find him and confront him? And what if it’s true? Will he kill me for finding out?
I’m walking so fast, that before I know it, I pass by our apartment building. I stop, frozen in my tracks. My feet won’t let me walk inside. My instinct is telling me that now isn’t the time to confront Sal. He’s probably not even home anyway.
I lean against the railing, my hand on my chest, forcing myself to breathe slowly, to get a grip. My emotions have overridden my rationality. I have to calm down and think this through.
I need more information. But how will I get it?
I stare up into the sky. The bright sun briefly burns my eyes. And in an instant, I know.
I keep walking, crossing the street to the next block over, and the next block after that. There’s something in my history with Sal that never felt quite right, but I never paid it too much attention. I walk quickly, eyes focused ahead, until I find who I’m looking for.
Beware the Devil (Mafia Soldiers Book 3) Page 13
