Finally, I spot a cluster of shopping carts filled with black plastic bags, and the group of homeless people who collect recyclables on my block. I scan them quickly. There he is, the man who assaulted me with a toy knife when Sal so gallantly saved me.
I walk up to the group with rabid determination, and force my way through their barrier of shopping carts. A few of them toss vulgarities at me when I grab the coat of my assailant and pull him towards me.
“What the hell are you doing, lady?” he says.
I look into his eyes, waiting for him to recognize me. What am I doing? How can he have the information I need in his drug addled brain?
“Get off of him,” one of the others say. I feel hands pulling me away. I drop my grip of his jacket. They begin to shove me down the street.
“Wait,” I wail. “I need to ask him something. There’s a twenty in it for each of you.” I dig into my purse to see what cash I have.
“Twenty?” a woman with a dirty face says. “How desperate do you think we are?”
I quickly count through the bills in my purse. “I have seventy-five bucks,” I say, then point to the man in question. “It’s all yours if you answer my questions.”
The man’s eyes light up at the wad of cash. He walks towards me, elbowing his companions out of the way. He reaches for the money, and I yank it away, fumbling with my phone. I pull up a picture of Sal, so achingly handsome my breath hitches, and show it to him.
“Do you know this man?” I ask.
He leans forward, squinting at the screen. After a few moments pass, I start to lose hope. This man doesn’t remember anything or anyone. Then suddenly, his eyes brighten with recognition.
“I know him,” he says, pointing at Sal. “I see him around the street a lot. Once he paid me a hundred bucks to harass a lady. He even gave met this knife.” He pulls the toy knife out of his pocket, grinning at it, before scrutinizing my face. “The lady looked like you. Was she your sister?”
I step back, numb, feeling only a hard ball in my stomach. It was all a setup, orchestrated by Sal. He was never attracted to me. He never cared for me. I was someone to take advantage of, and he did. Memories flash before my eyes; that first dinner with Franco, the BBQ where I was humiliated on stage, and the countless times I let Sal into my bed. I let him restrain me in his dungeon for fuck’s sake.
Before, when I thought I had success and a real relationship, it had felt too good to be true. Now, I know it is.
I shove the money into the man’s hand, along with my business card.
“You should really come see us,” I say, walking away. “But don’t wait. We’ll probably be shut down soon.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Molly
I spend the next few hours wandering aimlessly around the streets of LA. My cell phone rings constantly. It’s Greg. I turn the ringer off and ignore it. Around noon, my stomach begins to rumble. I stop at a diner for something to eat, but when they deliver my plate of pancakes and bacon, I feel nauseated. I pay the bill without taking a bite.
It’s a beautiful day, warm and sunny, and I can’t stand it. I want to be home in the dark, hiding under my covers. But my home is Sal’s home too. Maybe if I get home early enough, I’ll miss him.
I slip inside the apartment building, careful not to make a sound as I make my way down the hallway. With shaking hands and hitched breath, I slip my key into the lock, and push the door open. I’m as quiet as mouse, but not quiet enough.
Sal opens his door, and the blood drains to my feet. I take a sputtering breath, afraid I’m going to pass out. But maybe passing out would be better than confronting him.
“Molly, you’re home early.” His dark voice is laced with affection. “What a nice surprise.”
Even though I know the truth about him, he’s no less handsome. But those same eyes that make my stomach do flip-flops are the eyes of a ruthless murderer. I’m not angry right now. I’m frightened. He walks up to me, and leans in to kiss me. I pull my head back, avoiding his lips. He gives me a questioning look.
“I have a cold,” I say, giving a weak cough. “That’s why I’m home early.”
He strokes my hair, looking at me with concern. “Maybe we should get you into bed,” he says with a smirk.
I laugh, coyly. “I really am going to bed. But I’m going to sleep.”
Sal pouts with narrow eyes. “Go get some rest, sweet Molly. But first, I have good news.”
“Oh?” I gulp.
“Franco wants to make another donation.” He straightens his suit jacket, looking pleased.
I have to contract my abs to keep from throwing up. I blink as the room spins around me. Sal puts his hand on my shoulder.
“Are you okay? You look pale.”
I lean against the door frame. “Maybe I’m sicker than I thought.”
Sal studies my face, then presses his hand to my forehead to test my temperature. “Did you hear what I said about the donation?”
“Yes,” I say, forcing myself to speak. “That’s- I’m so grateful. I’m sorry, I just need to lie down.”
He wraps his arms around my waist. “It will be substantially more this time around. Franco has some conditions with this one, but we can talk about that later.”
My lips shake as I force them into a smile. “Thank you so much, Sal. I really need to lie down.”
“Let me help you.”
“No, don’t,” I say, slipping inside my apartment. “I might be contagious. I don’t want to get you sick.”
He stares at me silently for a moment, then nods. “I’ll come by to check on you later.”
“Thank you,” I say, quickly, then shut the door.
My heart’s pounding so rapidly, that I actually feel as sick as I claim to be. I stumble to the kitchen and sit down, my head resting in my hands, wondering when I’m going to wake up from this nightmare. This is more danger than I’ve ever been in in my life. I’ve foolishly gotten involved with the mafia, cold-blooded killers who are after nothing but profit. If Sal finds out that I know who he is, he probably won’t hesitate to put me down.
The thought fills me with despair. I was convinced that Sal cared about me, loved me, even. But I’m nothing to him. The center, my life’s work, is just a vessel to house his dirty money. How long is this supposed to go on? How long does Sal need me for? Has he planned on killing me all along?
I can’t sit here wallowing, waiting to be arrested or assassinated. I have to get out of this mess, and that means doing the right thing. My cell phone screen is cluttered with text messages and missed calls from Greg. I bite back the tears and call him.
“Let’s go to the police,” I say as soon as he answers.
Greg sighs with relief. “I knew you’d come to your senses. Don’t worry, Molly. We’ll make this right. I’m here for you.”
We make a plan to meet at the police station in a half hour. I shuffle around the apartment like a zombie, getting myself together. When I open the door to leave, Sal’s standing there.
“Oh, hey,” I say, flustered. “I was just running out to the drugstore for some medicine.”
From the way Sal is looking at me, it’s clear that he knows I’m lying. How long has he been standing there? Did he hear my conversation with Greg?
He grabs my arm, pushing me inside, then closes my door and locks it. The way he looks at me sends panic rushing through my veins. Is this it? Am I going to die?
“Molly.” His voice cracks when he says my name. He presses his lips together, gathering himself. “Don’t go to the police.”
I’m shaking like a leaf. My survival instinct kicks in full force. “I won’t. I promise. Sal, I won’t tell anyone. Please.”
He cocks his head at me. “Please, what?”
I swallow hard. “Please… don’t kill me,” I croak.
Sal’s eyes soften. He looks sad, but I know better. Everything with him is an act. He steps towards me. I back away in fright.
“What do you know?”
he asks.
I shake my head fervently. “Nothing. I don’t know anything.”
He rushes towards me, grabbing my arm. “Don’t bullshit me.”
“Let go of me,” I wail. “Or I’ll scream.”
There it is again, that hurt look in his eye. Jesus, he’s good at that. Sal drops my arm. I stare at him, panting. The rage, the hurt, the agony inside of me all roil together, threatening to drag me under. I open my mouth and it comes rushing out.
“What have you done? What have you gotten me into?” I’m yelling beyond my control. “You lied to me, all this time. You used me.”
“I need you to calm down.”
Blood rushes loudly in my ears. Calm down? That’s not possible. I feel like I’m on fire. Sal steps towards me carefully. I look around the kitchen for something I can use as a weapon.
“Not everything was a lie,” Sal says. “You have to believe me.”
“Get out of my way,” I hiss through my teeth.
He shakes his head. “Don’t go anywhere near the police station.”
“Wow,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m supposed to believe a word you say? You’re just trying to save your own ass.”
“I’m trying to save you.” Sal’s upper lip curls in anger, reminding me that I should be afraid of him, not challenging him. “Franco owns that police station. You go to them, they won’t bring Franco to justice. They’ll tell Franco that you’re a rat.”
It doesn’t take much imagination to guess what would happen next. Fuck, I’m in way over my head. I stumble backwards, rubbing my temples. Sal picks up my cell phone from the counter and hands it to me.
“Was that Greg you were talking to? Call him back. Tell him not to go to the station.”
I clutch the phone tightly between my fingers. As much as I don’t want to admit defeat to this devil, I know it’s too risky to go to the police. I dial Greg while glaring at Sal.
“We can’t go to the cops,” I say.
“What?” Greg says. “I’m already here. Look, if you’re scared, I can handle it on my own.”
“Don’t go in,” I say, desperately. My throat tightens as I begin to cry. “Go home. Don’t talk to anyone.”
The line is silent for a moment, except for the noise of the street. “What are you doing, Molly?” Greg says, coldly. “Are you trying to protect your boyfriend? Have you known about this all along?”
It’s like a punch in the gut. Greg’s always been my supportive rock. For him to talk to me like this is unbearably painful.
“The police are corrupt,” I say in a tense whisper. “If you talk, you’ll have a target on your back.”
Greg’s silent again. He sighs, a long, desperate sigh, then the line goes dead.
“Do you think he’ll listen to you?” Sal asks.
I nod. “He’s not stupid.”
I’m looking down at my feet, wishing I could fall through the floor. I gasp when Sal takes my hand and looks at me sincerely.
“Please, listen to me.” He blinks, stroking my hair away from my face. “Yes, I was using you. At first. But every kiss was real. Everything we had-“ He looks away, his voice trailing off. “I’ve felt things with you that I’ve never felt before.”
I want to believe him. After this shitty day, I just want to feel good, even if it’s based on false pretenses. But I’m too fucking pissed off. I yank my hand away.
“Is your father really dead?” I say in a tone thick with bile. “That sob story about your mother, is that just bullshit?”
Sal hardens his face. “Everything I told you about my parents is true.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, sarcastically. “It’s just a little difficult to separate the truth from all of the lies you told me.” I stare him down, my chest rising and falling with forceful breaths. “You ruined my life. You ruined the center. I won’t get another chance. And now Greg, my only friend, thinks I’m in bed with the mob.”
Our eyes meet. For a moment, it feels like we’re sharing this intense pain. I look away, quickly.
“Get the fuck out, Sal.”
“Molly-“ Sal starts.
I turn to him fiercely. “Now.”
Sal looks down, nodding, then turns and walks out of the door, slamming it behind him. I rush to it and lock all of the locks, like that will do any good.
*
After a night of no sleep, I barely pay attention when I get ready in the morning. I rush around, constantly out of breath, while I shower and dress. Though I’d rather hide under the covers all day, I need to get to the center to talk to Greg. He’s not answering any of my calls or texts. I can’t stand him thinking that I was a willing ally in Sal’s plan. And we need to figure out our next moves, which will hopefully take us far, far away from LA.
It’s not until I walk into the center that I realize I’m wearing two different shoes. A smile crosses my face. On a normal day, Greg would probably have something hilarious to say about my fashion faux pas. But today’s not a normal day.
The general area of the center is alive and buzzing. We’ve been incredibly busy since all of the changes, and this morning is no exception. In the midst of the chatter, computer clacking, and counselors milling around, I find Greg at his desk. His computer screen is dark, and he’s silently packing a box with his things. When he looks up at me, his face twists in indignant pain.
“I’ll email you my resignation,” Greg grumbles.
I look around warily. A few of the counselors are staring at us suspiciously. I try my best to appear normal.
“Did you talk to the cops?” I say quietly through a superficial smile.
Greg straightens his back, taking a deep breath. “No. But I’m getting out of here before this situation implodes. So should you.”
I watch Cora lead a client to their session. Two other counselors walk down the hallway, happily clutching freshly made espresso. I put all of this into motion. If I stop it now, so many people would be left disoriented. My counselors would be unemployed, and our clients would be left with nowhere else to turn. I can’t just leave, can I? That can’t be the only choice.
“Come with me, Molly.” He grabs my arm. In his compassionate eyes, I see that he’s concerned for my safety. He knows I’m not the enemy.
I open my mouth, not sure what words are about to come out, when Greg’s eyes flit to the front door. His mouth tightens as the blood drains from his face. My muscles freeze, preventing me from falling over.
Franco Mariano enters the center with sophisticated flourish. He’s dressed in an impeccable pinstriped suit, with a fedora on top of his manicured gray hair. My eyes land on his black leather shoes. They look very expensive. I wonder how much blood had to be shed so Franco could buy those shoes.
“Good morning, Molly,” Franco says, taking my hand in both of his. The air around him is perfumed with power and money.
“Franco, what a surprise.” I tuck my hair behind my ear, giving a nervous smile.
Franco smiles like a kindly grandfather, then turns his attention to Greg. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Greg’s face turns bright red. “We haven’t,” he says, flustered. “And, unfortunately, this is my last day.” He grabs up his box of belongings. A sheen of sweat appears on his forehead. “Goodbye, Molly,” he says, before walking to the door.
“I hope I wasn't interrupting something,” Franco says, turning to me. “Did that fellow there leave on good terms?”
“Of course.” I relax my face, reminding myself to breathe. “Greg was brought on as a consultant, but only temporarily. As you can see, we’re exactly where we need to be.” I swing my arm out, gesturing to the busy center, and clumsily almost knock over a desk top computer.
“I see.” Franco’s gaze lingers on the door where Greg just exited. “Well, Miss Molly, this isn’t just a social call. We have some business to discuss. Where is your office?”
My mind trips over itself, trying to formulate a plan. I don’t want to be alone with this man.
What if Sal tipped him off to how much I know? I desperately try to think of a way to alert my colleagues that this man is dangerous, but nothing springs to mind. Just act normally, I tell myself.
“Right this way,” I say politely. I lead him down the hallway to my office. After we enter, I don’t close the door behind us.
Franco wears a kindly expression, but I can feel his eyes on me at all times, watching my every movement. I get behind my desk as quickly as I can before he notices my mismatched shoes. But he probably already has.
“You seem very busy,” he remarks.
“We are,” I gush. “And all thanks to your generosity.” I bite my tongue with my back teeth, not letting the smile fade from my face.
He crosses his legs, folding his hands in his elegant lap. I scan him quickly, wondering if he’s carrying a gun. The seamless lines of his suit betray no such thing. “There’s even more where that came from.” He raises an eyebrow expectantly.
I play the part. “Yes, Sal told me you plan to make another donation. You are…” My mind fumbles for the words. “So kind.”
He nods, accepting this compliment. “I plan to donate five hundred thousand dollars.”
He stares at me silently, until I remember to react. I widen my eyes with a gasp.
“Now,” he continues. “Two hundred thousand of that amount will be for your immediate use. As for the rest, I’d like you to keep it in a separate fund. And please, I’ll go the trouble of setting that up myself.”
The nerve endings prick up on my scalp. Two hundred thousand for the center, three hundred thousand for whatever illegal business he has set up. And under the cover of charitable donation, no one would ever know.
Except I do.
I have no choice but to shake the man’s cold hand, and thank him again for his generosity. After he leaves, I grab the small trash can under my desk and hold it under my mouth. My stomach cramps like I’m going to vomit. But after not eating for over twenty-four hours, I come up empty.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Beware the Devil (Mafia Soldiers Book 3) Page 14
