Beware the Devil

by Samantha Cade

  “I don’t give a fuck if you’re using that girl or not. But if you think for one moment that you can fuck the Mariano’s over, well-“ His voice trails off as he pats my back heartily. “You’re smarter than that.”

  *

  Molly

  Is that it? Is it over?

  I stare out of Sal’s car window, watching the glittering LA skyline as it materializes before us on the highway. I’m a little champagne drunk. My head is spinning after meeting Chef Vega, and Sal’s Uncle Franco, who has an otherworldly presence like his nephew. From the way the waiters and other patrons fawned over Franco, I gather that he’s a very important and powerful man. But did I expect Sal to have any other kind of lineage?

  “You were great in there,” Sal says. “Very believable.”

  “Thank you.” I scrunch down in my seat, uncomfortable with Sal complimenting me. I can feel the lace of the silk panties bunching around my hips. What was I thinking wearing the panties Sal bought for me? I wasn’t going to, but my cotton panties showed visible lines through the fine fabric of this dress. I didn’t have much of a choice.

  Is it over?

  Our agreement had stipulated one night, one month’s rent. That should be it. Sal should drop me off, and I’ll never have to deal with him again. But at dinner, Sal had showed signs that he wasn’t done with me. There was the way he squeezed my knee beneath the table. Franco couldn’t see that, so Sal wasn’t faking. And that kiss when I returned from the bathroom. I keep telling myself it was all for show, but it didn’t feel like it at the time. Sal had called me ‘baby,’ the sentiment delivered right next to my ear, where Franco might not have heard, in his gravelly voice.

  “I enjoyed the restaurant,” I say, clamoring to keep the conversation on superficial topics. “The food was delicious. And I got to meet Chef Vega. His pasta lived up to its reputation.”

  Sal scoffs. “You can thank a twenty-year old Guatemalan for that. Not Chef Vega.”

  “Yes, well.” I cross my arms over my chest, feeling a bit silly. “You can’t expect him to make all the food in the restaurant.”

  Sal glances at me, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You didn’t notice, did you?”

  I sigh, not in the mood for his games. “Notice what?”

  “The celebrity chef wanted to fuck you,” Sal says, casually. “He was practically undressing you with his eyes.”

  “Stop it,” I scold him. “That’s not true.”

  “Of course, I wasn't going to let that happen,” Sal says. The darkness in his eyes deepens. I think I detect a hint of protectiveness over me, but that can’t be right.

  I roll my eyes with exaggeration. “I don’t believe you.”

  “You don’t see it, do you?”

  I roll my eyes. “See what?”

  Sal turns from the windshield, looking right into my eyes. “How beautiful you are.”

  Something shifts inside of me. I want to say something snarky, but Sal seems sincere. Instead, I turn towards the window, hiding the fierce blush in my face. I really need to look into that propolis Greg was talking about.

  When we get to the apartment building, Sal walks me inside, all the way to my door. He stays close to me at all times, so close, I can feel the heat radiating off of him. At one point, his hand finds it’s way to my lower back. While I unlock the door, he doesn’t hide the fact that he’s checking out my body. When I go inside, he follows me.

  “Thanks again, Molly,” Sal says. “You really helped me out.”

  “We had an agreement,” I say coldly, hanging my purse on the hook. I stand back from him, waiting for him to say goodbye and leave. But Sal doesn’t look like he wants to leave anytime soon.

  He’s staring at me like he owns me, like I’m his. He takes a step towards me. I take a step back. We repeat these actions until I’m backed up against the kitchen door. I’m trapped. Sal steps towards me, closing the space between us. There’s a dark intensity radiating off of him. It makes my pulse quicken. I don’t know if I want to run away, or jump into his arms. Am I just going to let him claim ownership over me?

  “You really look amazing in that dress,” he says, his eyes glancing down my body.

  “It’s very nice. Thank you.”

  Sal leans down. His face is inches from mine. I hold my breath, ready to bust out of my skin. He strokes the side of my cheek.

  “You never mentioned if you liked the other present I got you.” Sal’s eyes drift down my body.

  “What are you talking about?” I know exactly what he’s talking about.

  He laughs darkly against my face. “Save it, Molly.”

  I feel the world closing in around this tiny space where Sal is holding me captive. The silk panties are the nicest underwear I’ve ever worn on my skin, and they’re currently flooding with moisture. Sal presses himself against me. Electricity surges up my spine when I feel the budge in his pants. There are two bulges, actually. I quickly work out that one is his cock, the other is a gun. Why does he have a gun?

  I can’t speak. I think I’m going to melt into a puddle at his feet. My brain is so lit up with stimulation, that I can’t decide whether I want this or not. My body is crying out for me to surrender to him. My mind is petrified. But if I shove him off of me, will he pull that gun out?

  “That kiss,” Sal says, breathing against my face. “It felt right, didn’t it?”

  “I thought we were faking.”

  “You thought that was fake, huh? Maybe I should try again.”

  His arms slither around my waist. His body is flush against mine. The bulge is his pants is like a rock in contrast to the soft fabrics that separate us, and it’s growing. I feel like I’m in a dream when Sal lowers his face to mine. I give in to the dark, swirling sensations in my belly, and let him kiss me.

  The heat of his mouth invades me, barreling through my veins and warming every cell. He gently parts my lips with the tip of his tongue, and then, we are tasting each other. My muscles go limp and weak, but he’s holding me up with his arms tight around my waist. Sal’s groans are deep and full of desire. His hand slips lower down my backside, and he cups my ass.

  I’m locked in this moment, both physically and mentally. His every touch sets my nerves on fire. He grinds his pelvis into mine, and I feel the two bulges, both deadly in their own way. He pulls away from my lips, then kisses down the side of my neck, gathering my skirt in his hand.

  You swore you wouldn’t do this, I tell myself.

  But it feels too good to stop. He caresses the back of my bare thigh. His fingers flit over the lace lining the panties.

  Think about how you’ll feel in the morning when he’s gone.

  I consider this thought, letting it wash over me like a cold shower. The dress. The panties. The rent. The sick uncle. This was clearly all a complicated scheme to get me into bed. And once Sal gets what he wants, then what? Will he lose interest in me? I know myself. If I have sex with Sal, I won’t lose interest in him. I simply can’t afford the heartbreak.

  “Sal,” I say softly, while his face is buried against my neck.

  “That’s right, say my name,” he growls.

  “Sal,” I repeat. He grips my ass harder, moving his kisses to my neckline. I press my palms against his chest, definitively pushing him away. Sal gets the picture. He looks down at me, confused, vulnerable for a moment, but he quickly disguises it with a sinister smile. I scoot away from the wall, my eyes on the weapon at his hip the entire time. “It’s been a long day,” I say, lamely. “I’m really tired.”

  He nods, stroking back his hair. My body screams at me for pushing him away. Blood pumps more fiercely between my legs. But I can’t give in to my primal urges. Sal cocks his head, considering me for a moment, then gently takes my hand.

  “You should go to bed,” he says, like it was his idea all along. “Sleep well, sweet, Molly.”

  I hold my breath until Sal is out of my apartment. I exhale deeply, gripping the wall to keep from toppling over. Sendin
g him away was the right thing, I tell myself. A relationship with him would never make sense, and a one night stand is out of the question. I’ve fulfilled the terms of our agreement, and our business together is over.

  To prove this point, I pack the dress back into the box from where it came. I don’t pack the underwear, because Sal would probably like that too much. Around two in the morning, I creep down the hallway, place the box in front of Sal’s door, and run for my life back to my apartment.

  Chapter Ten

  Salvatore

  I’ll admit, my usually unshakable pride was dented with Molly’s rejection. It’s not something I have much experience with. Even when I’m not paying for it, I’m never turned down for sex. But then again, I’ve never had a woman like Molly, brimming with small town innocence. Okay, so she won’t fuck after the first date. What does she want, a promise ring?

  Not that she didn’t want to go to bed with me. I know why she didn’t return the panties along with the dress. They were probably soaked through. I felt the way her body had yielded against me when we were in her apartment, the way her thighs unconsciously parted for my hand. I had her body, just not her mind.

  Luckily, I don’t back down from a challenge. I fully intend to conquer Molly, and with what Franco has planned, I’m confident that I’ll win her over. My interest in her keeps growing, and sometimes, I have to remind myself what the real endgame is; destroying the Mariano’s.

  Today will be a first step in that direction. If I want to take down the most powerful crime family in LA, I have to be careful, methodical, calculating. Once I work myself back into their ranks, I have to make sure they become comfortable with me, complacent. In that state, they’ll be easier to manipulate. Sure, it’s a long game, but I have all the time in the world.

  I’m headed to the meeting Franco scheduled, straight into the snake den. Everyone else is already there at the concrete shop when I arrive. I imagine Franco called them all earlier to tell them exactly how he wants this to go down. I take that as a good sign. Franco’s interested in using Molly’s charity, and for that to happen, we all need to get along. I’m more than happy to put our differences aside, for now.

  It’s deathly quiet inside the concrete shop when I enter. My footsteps echo through the cavernous space. There they are, all of my enemies at one table. The hulking Bruno, my slimy uncle, that bitch, Jess, and of course, the snake in the grass himself. I make eye contact with Snake first thing, giving him a cocky smile. He glares at me.

  I do have one ally in attendance, Anthony, though he’s a reluctant one. Anthony avoids looking at me altogether. He looks like he’s sweating bullets. He doesn’t want the others to know that he’s been helping me, and for good reason.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” I say, striding up to their table. I fix my eyes on Jess. “And lady.”

  Jess meets my gaze unflinchingly. Her husband beside her straightens up protectively. I can almost see why Snake would betray me for her. She’s got a nice figure, and a pretty face behind her long dark hair. And, I’d argue, she has bigger balls than Snake. She singlehandedly launched an attack on a powerful mob family by trying to poison my father, a capo, at his own birthday party. I respect her for that, but it doesn’t change the fact that I want to slowly torture her while Snake looks on.

  The only one of them who greets me is Bruno, which takes me by surprise. He extends his huge hand and shakes mine.

  “Good to see you, Sal,” Bruno says with a solemn look.

  “Yo, Beast. Good to see you too.” Despite myself, my tone is sincere.

  Franco claps his hand. “That’s what I like to see. Letting bygones be bygones.”

  “Family,” I start. “Is all we have. That’s what I learned while I was away.”

  “Is it?” Snake says, sarcastically.

  “Now, Snake,” Franco says, like Snake’s a petulant child. “Salvatore has expressed a desire to rejoin the family. And I think we should give him a chance. The purpose of this meeting is to smooth things over between all of you. Bruno seems to be aboard. Anthony, I believe you’re grateful for everything Sal did to help when you were kidnapped.”

  Anthony stays silent, neither confirming nor denying this, just studying the nubs of his chopped off fingers like they have fingernails.

  “That leaves you, Snake,” Franco says, purposely avoiding Jess. In his eyes, she’s not supposed to be here. Since she insists on being involved, Franco just pretends that she’s not here.

  “How can you trust him?” Snake says to Franco, completely ignoring me.

  “I, too, had that concern,” Franco says. “But when I had dinner with Sal and his wonderful girlfriend, I saw how much my nephew has changed. Molly, you should meet her, she’s a lovely young woman. See.” Franco takes out his phone and shows Snake a picture. “There she is. That’s the three of us at Firenze the other night.”

  Snake looks at the picture, then at me with a raised eyebrow. “That’s your girlfriend?”

  “She is,” I say.

  Snake appeals to Franco with an incredulous expression. “You really believe him?”

  Franco ignores the question. It pleases me to no end to see Snake seething with anger at this.

  “Molly is more than a pretty face,” Franco says. “As the owner of a nonprofit, she presents a valuable opportunity for the Mariano family.”

  Jess snorts. “You mean like volunteer work?”

  Franco swats his ear like her question is a buzzing fly. “Why don’t you explain, Sal?”

  “Gladly,” I say, folding my hands together. “Donor advised funds.” I pause for a moment, watching the confusion spread on their faces. “These kinds of funds allow donors to make large, tax exempt contributions to charities, but the charities don’t have to get the money all at once. It can trickle down to them monthly or yearly. Meanwhile, the funds are still available to the donor to collect interest, all while remaining tax free.”

  “Interesting, huh?” Franco says, before anyone has a chance to respond. “I’ve already decided to set up a fund myself.”

  I can tell Snake and Jess aren’t exactly on board with the idea, but Franco is, so they don’t have a choice.

  Franco stands, straightening his cuffs. “I’m throwing an event at my home this weekend. I’ll announce the fund then. I expect to see all of you there. And you can meet Molly.”

  Snake looks at me with narrowed eyes. “Can’t wait.”

  *

  Molly

  The woman sitting across from me at the white linen covered table looks like a model. She’s tall, elegant, and of course, thin. Her deep brown hair is unbelievably smooth and shiny. Her skin is clear like glass. There are no wrinkles on her face, except for between her brows, but that’s because she’s scrutinizing my resume.

  She straightens the pages, then lays them on the table in front of her. “Your last waitressing job was five years ago.” She squints at my resume, reading. “At the Chicken Fry Hut?”

  I’m suddenly embarrassed. Those words sound ridiculous coming from her carefully painted lips.

  “That’s right.” I take a long sip of the water she provided me.

  “Mmm-hmm.” She scrunches her brow again, returning to my resume.

  This dining room is so elegant, I feel out of place. It has a clean, minimalistic look, just like the food. The chef here presents ingredients in their most pure form, most of them plucked from the rooftop garden. His dishes are works of modern art; clean, white plates, simple vegetables like splashes of paint, accentuated with streaks of flavored oil. They’re beautiful, but do they make for a good meal? I wouldn’t know. I can’t afford the astronomic prices he charges.

  Today, I set aside my lunch break to look for a part time job. After the emotional rollercoaster ride with Sal the other night, I can’t rely on him to do me any more favors. Back in my hometown, whenever I needed extra money, all I had to do was walk into a few restaurants with a resume. Usually, one of the first few places I visited would
have my name on the schedule by the weekend, or sometimes, before dinner service that night.

  “You’re only seeking part-time work?” my interviewer asks. I can tell from her expression that this isn’t ideal.

  “Yes, nights and weekends. I have a full time job. I’m just looking to make some extra cash.”

  She laughs, so hard, a snort flies out of her pretty nose.

  “Excuse me,” she says, waving off her response. “Miss-“ she consults my resume for my name. “Miss Wright, I get a lot of people like you looking for work, people who aren’t from around here.”

  I shift in my seat, acutely aware of my otherness.

  “Waiting tables in LA isn’t like the rest of the country,” she explains. “It isn’t a part-time gig for beer money. It’s a career, a passion. Our wait staff doesn’t just take the orders, no. They’re salespeople, the face of the restaurant. They deliver Chef Moralis’ message and vision to each and every table.” She looks to the sky when she says the chef’s name, like he’s a deity.

  I clear my throat. “I didn’t realize- So, you don’t want part-time staff?”

  She glances over my resume with a sigh. “I can offer you a dishwashing position. That’s minimum wage. No tips.”

  I do the math. Minimum wage in LA is fifteen dollars an hour. With a part time position, that’s only a couple hundred dollars a week, which is not nearly enough. I wonder if Chef Moralis’ vision includes his kitchen staff living in poverty while his wealthy patrons overpay for skimpy salads. As much as I’d like to say that to the goddess in front of me, I know it won’t make me feel any better.

  I shake hands with the model, and walk out with my resume, and my tail between my legs. Waiting tables has always been a reliable backup plan, something I could turn to when I needed a leg up, but in LA, it turns out, that’s not an option.

  I can’t bring myself to go back to the center. I can’t put on a happy face, not today. After texting Greg to tell him I’ll work from home for the rest of the day, I board a bus that’s headed for my part of town. The journey is long on this nearly empty bus, with several stops. It makes me aware of how naive I was about LA. I imagined in a big city like this, public transport would be the norm. That’s how it was in San Francisco when I’d visit with my family as a kid. I’d marvel at the trolleys, pedestrians, and bus system, thinking, no one needs a car here!