Salvatore: An In Too Far Novel

by Cecy Robson

  The door swings open. “What the fuck?”

  My eyes widen at the bulk of muscle standing at the door. This man is at least six-two, shaved head, wearing black boxers that fall slightly below the “V” at his waist, exposing a set of abs hard enough to grind diamonds, and arms and legs that belong on a seasoned wrestler.

  Now would be a good time for that confident young woman to make an appearance―the one who came here―the one whose jaw isn’t dangling to her toes―the one who no longer has glasses strong enough to see into orbit, or teeth so bucked they end in another zip code.

  The man’s tight face and stance relax as he leans his shoulder against the door frame. His brown eyes rake the length of my body, the intensity in his stare forceful enough to tug off my clothes. It’s not until his attention returns to my face that I catch his approving nod and subtle smile. “Nice,” he murmurs.

  My face heats, which I absolutely hate. My skin is so fair, there’s no masking the blush that follows. I lift my chin. “Shouldn’t you put on some clothes?” I ask, well aware my voice is shrill and quivering.

  “I would, but then it will block the view of the goods you can’t seem to get enough of,” he says, adding a wink.

  It’s the wink that’s my undoing. Okay, that and those broad shoulders, and strong jaw, and Channing Tatum-esque face. Who am I kidding? It’s the whole package. This man is what some might call more than a little attractive.

  “I . . .” It’s the only thing I manage to say. By now, it’s obvious I’m gawking at him.

  “Look, gorgeous,” he says. “I’ve had a long night. Either leave your brochures and get going, or give me a reason to let you inside.”

  My jaw pops open when I realize he’s mistaken me for a Jehovah’s Witness—and a slutty one at that! Maybe Tamira had a point about me wearing “church” clothes. “I don’t have brochures,” I stammer.

  “Good, don’t read that shit anyway―”

  “My name is Adrianna Daniels. I’m the guidance counselor at Apollo and Gianno’s school . . .”

  Chapter Three

  Salvatore

  “Fuck me.”

  “I beg your pardon?” she asks, her voice trembling.

  I hold out a hand and shake my head. “Not like that.” Well, at least not now that I know who you are.

  She clears her throat and straightens, gathering courage she doesn’t quite seem to have. “Are you Salvatore Romero?”

  “That’s right.”

  She clears her throat. Again. “Okay. Well, I’d like to talk to you about Apollo―”

  I throw open the door. “Come in.”

  I stomp inside, turning around when I realize she’s not following and catch her eyes glued to my ass. Ordinarily, I’d flash her an easy grin and invite her inside my bedroom for a little fun. I wasn’t lying when I called her gorgeous. Those eyes are the bluest I’ve ever seen, and that red lipstick she’s wearing makes her sexy lips that much fuller. And don’t get me going on that face. Those supposed girls next door don’t stand a chance next to her, especially given the body she’s hiding beneath that long dress.

  Yeah. Another day, another time, and under other circumstances, I wouldn’t be slipping back into bed alone. But considering who she is, and following the night I had with Vin and Donnie—and Donnie’s freak out when Vin left her and the girls she snagged to go home to his wife—it’s not a good idea, no matter how tempting she looks.

  “Have a seat, ah . . .”

  “Adrianna Daniels,” she repeats. “Or Miss Aedry, if you prefer, sir.”

  Sir? How old does she think I am? “Make yourself comfortable, Aedry,” I say, ignoring the “Miss” part. She’s already heard me swear and she knows I answer the door in my underwear. It’s too late to make like I’m polite. “I’ll throw on some clothes and be right out.”

  I stalk into my room, pulling on a white tank and a pair of black sweats. Damn. Looking at the time, I only slept an hour. I swear when I heard the pounding at the door, I was ready to rip the fist off the arm it belonged to. Now that I’ve seen that arm, and everything else, I wouldn’t mind sliding my tongue along her neck as my hips slam between her spread legs.

  I rub my face, reminding myself what she’s here for.

  Christ. What the hell did Apollo and Gianno do? The last thing I want is some counselor showing up and starting shit I don’t need. I march back into the living room, where she’s sitting on the white leather couch, clear on the opposite end with her purse placed beside her. She doesn’t want me to get too close. Hmmph. Interesting.

  “Want some water or something?”

  “No, thank you.” She pushes a strand of her dark brown hair behind her ear as she rummages through her large purse. The waves fall around her face in layers, passing her shoulders, but not by much. The women I know would have added extensions or teased it. Then again, the women I know hang out on poles and wear shoes you can see through. She pulls out a file and, even though she doesn’t glance up, I can tell by her nervousness she knows I’ve been watching her.

  “I’d like to talk to you about my concerns about Apollo,” she says. “But while I’m here, perhaps we should discuss Gianno, too.”

  I head to the kitchen, talking as I search through the fridge. “Why did you come here by yourself?”

  “I told you. I’m concerned about your brothers.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” I snag two bottles of water and walk back, handing her one before I lower myself beside her. I’m close, but not too close, giving her the space I think she needs. “You’re a woman, but you show up to some stranger’s apartment with nothing but a purse and a smile.”

  “I don’t recall smiling,” she says, adding a grin that makes her more beautiful than she already is.

  Holy shit. This woman is . . . something.

  I twist open the cap of my water bottle and take a swig. “That doesn’t answer my question,” I say, keeping my face and voice hard.

  She angles her chin, analyzing my question and maybe me, too. “I can take care of myself, I assure you,” she says.

  “You packing?” I ask, motioning to her purse.

  Her attention falls to the file. Either she is and doesn’t want to tell me, or she isn’t and I’m making her uncomfortable. Whatever it is makes her smile fade. Not that I like it.

  “According to what I’ve read, Apollo is really bright and has tremendous potential,” she continues. “But his lack of attendance is severely affecting his grades and―”

  “Hold up,” I say, lifting my hand. “What do you mean his lack of attendance?”

  She frowns. “Mr. Romero―”

  “Salvatore or Sal. No mister.”

  “Okay, Salvatore then. Apollo has missed nine days of school. If he misses another without a medical excuse, he’ll be suspended.”

  Now I’m pissed. “I take it the school’s called? Sent letters home? Shit like that?”

  Her eyes widen slightly. “Yes.”

  I lean back. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask, lowering my rough voice.

  She lets out a small breath. “If you must know, your language is rather startling.”

  “You call it startling,” I say carefully, realizing that I’m probably scaring her. “I call it Jersey and honest. It’s who I am. I don’t mean any disrespect.”

  “All right,” she answers quietly and in a way that tells me she believes me. “As I was saying, Apollo has been frequently absent. Both the administration and staff have made several attempts to contact you.” She opens the file and points to a spot on the left. “See for yourself.”

  I edge close enough to read the communication log. Twenty-two fucking documented calls plus five letters. I hope Apollo’s been having fun. I’m going to kill that kid when he gets home. My eyes trail to a copy of the police report, the one filed the night Ma died. “What else does it say about him?”

  Her eyes soften and she moves her purse aside to sit closer to me. “Why don’t we look
through it together, so you can see for yourself?”

  “Is that legal? You showing me this?”

  “It’s not illegal,” she responds. “But it’s not something I typically do.”

  Her eyes meet mine with something I’m not used to and can’t quite place. “It’s too easy to lose sight of Apollo, when all you focus on is what’s allegedly wrong with him,” she says by way of an answer. “I want you to see the good things others say about him, so you can recognize his potential and we can work out a plan to help him.”

  “We?” I ask, cocking a brow.

  She smiles in a way that holds me in place. “I want to find a way to reach him if I can. Will you help me?”

  Given that smile, I, more than anything, want to help her out of that dress. Yet, despite what she’s doing to me as a man, I’m not too stupid to see she actually gives a damn about my baby brother. “Fine. Show me what you’ve got.”

  She nods and starts on the right side, where the police report is. She hesitates and says, “I’m really sorry about what happened to your mother and father.”

  She waits for me to say something. But I don’t. I earned my G.E.D. at sixteen and left home as soon as I could, using every dime I made bussing tables to train with Lionel Edgar’s camp, the UFC’s Middleweight Champion at the time. There were days I went hungry and times I slept at the gym ’cause I didn’t have enough cash to pay for a motel room. I didn’t mind. I was training with the best to be the best, to give my mother and brothers a better life by becoming the next champ. At least that was my intention. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

  When I left, my pathetic excuse for a father spiraled out of control. Ma downplayed the shit he was pulling. I should have trusted my instincts and figured out something was wrong. By the time Gianno reached out to me, it was too late. Instead of helping my family like I wanted, I abandoned my future and returned home to bury my mother and raise my brothers.

  That’s not the kind of shit you tell a total stranger. It’s not the kind of shit I tell anyone, ever. I bury it deep where it belongs.

  Her delicate features soften further, if that’s even possible, like she latched onto something deep beneath my hard expression. I’m ready for her to ask me to “share” and spill my guts. But instead she flips over the police report and thumbs through the school records.

  We go through the file. Every teacher starts with basically the same thing: “Apollo is an intelligent student,” but the comments always end with him not applying himself or caring, or mouthing off.

  “What about Gianno?” I ask when we’re through.

  Aedry finishes off her water. For someone who didn’t initially want it, she seems thirsty. “He needs help academically. But I think his commitment to wrestling keeps him in school.”

  “He wants to be in the MMA.”

  “Mixed Martial Arts?” she asks. At my nod she adds, “He can do a lot more than that.”

  “MMA is the future in sports, lady.”

  “It’s Aedry,” she says casually, even though I’m all but glaring at her. “And I’m not trying to put down a career in fighting. If he can get his grades up, he can probably go to college on a wrestling scholarship.”

  “College?” I repeat, not sure if she’s messing with me. It’s something I’ve wanted for them, and been setting money aside for, but also something I’m not sure either could manage.

  She smiles again, but this grin doesn’t quite show her teeth. “He has a lot of potential,” she says. “Just like Apollo.”

  Her smile fades when I lock my gaze on her. I’ve been keeping things easy and professional with her. But the way her eyes shimmer, it’s damn hard. The caveman in me wants to have a taste of those lips and a lot more. Except the man who has two brothers to pound into shape doesn’t allow me to get close.

  Before I can release her from my gaze, she turns away. Maybe she’s not interested. Or maybe she knows better than to get close to a man like me.

  “Gianno has been on track with regards to attendance and completion of projects,” she says, her voice regaining that quiver. “However, he’s been in a few fights outside of school grounds that we were made aware of, and there was that incident with him masturbating on the baseball field at Roosevelt Park.”

  She stops talking when I crack up, her expression stunned. “This isn’t a laughing matter, I assure you.”

  “He wasn’t jerking off,” I tell her. “He was fucking a girl in the dugout. When the cops showed, he didn’t want her to get in trouble. He stepped out to distract them so she could get away, but didn’t finish pulling up his pants in time.” I shrug. “He saved that girl a lot of embarrassment. You ask me, it was a pretty classy move.”

  “He was having sex with a girl?”

  For a moment I just look at her, unsure why that’s the one thing she fixated on. “That’s right,” I answer.

  “He was only fifteen at the time,” she says.

  I motion to the file with a jerk of my chin. “You know what they’ve been through and what they saw. They grew up faster than I wanted them to, but it wasn’t by choice. Do I like that he was fucking a girl at fifteen? No. He could have waited another two years.”

  “Seventeen is hardly old enough to start a sexual relationship.”

  “Men start a lot younger,” I remind her. “And I never said anything about a relationship.”

  Her full lips open slightly. I picked up on a light Southern accent when she introduced herself. But even if I hadn’t, it’s clear she didn’t grow up in the Tri-state area and all its in-your-face brutal honesty. I also pick up on the fact that she thinks seventeen is too young to have sex.

  Even though I shouldn’t, I can’t help wondering how old she was her first time, and whether she enjoyed it. Probably not. The first-time sucks for women, and probably so does their second and third times, which is one of many reasons I only take experienced women to bed.

  “They’re not men yet,” she insists, pulling me back to the moment. “They’re boys . . . children really.”

  “If you think my brothers are the only kids out there having sex at fifteen, you’re wrong.”

  “I’m well aware that teens have sex,” she says quietly. “That doesn’t mean I approve, or that it should be so easily dismissed as the norm. Rules at this age are important, as are morals that first begin at home.”

  “Are you saying I don’t have morals, and that maybe they don’t, either?”

  My tone is sharp with each word, but she’s not backing down, keeping her voice soft yet absolute. “I’m saying they need guidance to keep them safe in all aspects of their lives.”

  I cock my head, knowing she means what she says. But, so do I. “My brothers have seen and done things they shouldn’t have. And I haven’t always been around to protect them.” My voice gathers that edge it always gets before I explode. “That doesn’t mean I’m not there for them, or that I wouldn’t die saving them. No matter who tries to hurt them.”

  Chapter Four

  Adrianna

  “Who’s trying to hurt them, Salvatore?”

  His steel hard expression tightens further. “No one. That’s not what I said,” he answers, keeping his voice even.

  He doesn’t blink, yet I don’t believe him. “Are you worried someone might?” I ask, trying to press enough to get some answers and maybe attain a better feel for him.

  “No,” he responds. His gravelly voice grows more of an edge. It’s subtle, but my training helps me pick up on it. “I’m only saying I’m there for them no matter what.”

  No . . . there’s more to it than that. I start to tell him when the front door opens and Apollo steps in, leading a young woman into the apartment by her hand. His smile vanishes and so does hers when Salvatore rises and pegs them with a glare that comes down like an axe.

  “Oh, shit,” Apollo says, his eyes rounding when he sees me standing beside his brother.

  Sal points to the girl. “You, out,” he growls, motion
ing to the hall. The girl takes off in a run. Seeing how Salvatore appears ready to tear someone’s spine out, I can’t really blame the poor thing. He addresses Apollo, hooking a thumb. “Get your ass in here.”

  Apollo leaves the foyer. I ease myself between them as he steps into the large open living room. “Hi, Apollo. How are you?”

  “Oh, just great, Miss Aedry, real great,” he mumbles, keeping his sights on his very immense brother.

  I glance at Salvatore. If glares were strong enough to mold and create steel, there would be a tank taking up space in the living room. “Um, your guardian and I have been discussing a plan to help you meet your goals and academic objectives.”

  Apollo’s stare cuts nervously Sal’s way. “I can see that,” he says, backing away when Sal takes a step forward.

  “Watch that smart mouth,” Sal snaps, edging closer. “Is this what you’ve been doing this whole time? Ditching school to bring back girls when you think I’m not around?”

  I lift my hand, pressing it against his chest. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t touch anyone like this, especially someone so, um, menacing. But I have to do something to ease his mounting fury.

  My touch is gentle, but it’s enough to halt his advancing steps. He looks at me, then my hand, before meeting me square in the eye again.

  I offer a gentle smile, or at least I try to. My face is burning and my pulse is racing out of control. I’m not used to being this close to a stranger. “Perhaps a calmer approach would work better?” I offer.

  “Calm?” he says, practically growling at me.

  “I like calm,” Apollo says. “Calm works.”

  “Don’t push me,” Sal barks.

  This is going to be fun. I turn around and smile at Apollo, who oddly enough seems ready to bolt. “Why don’t you sit so we can talk with you?”

  “We?” Apollo says, glancing back at his brother. I nod. “We’re going to talk?” For some reason, the suggestion makes him smile. “Yeah. Let’s talk. Wouldn’t want to leave Miss Aedry with the wrong impression about us, would we, Sal?”