Page 73 of Her Boss

“Is that so?” Salazzo was in shadow, the moonlight shining down upon him, illuminating the breadth of his shoulders, but casting his face in inky blackness. “Who from?”

“Chester.”

“What?” Several of the men said it at the same time. I’d surprised them, but I didn’t know if that was good or bad.

“Chester… who?”

I knew that he knew. It wasn’t a good sign that he was making me say it.

“Nantes.”

The men went silent.

“You never answered the question.” This time, Salazzo did step into the light. His nose was strong and straight, but a scar ran down the right side of it, from the bridge to just under his right nostril. Maybe a knife? Maybe an animal? Whatever it was, it must have been terrible. While it was long healed, it distorted his facial features just enough, especially in the low light, to render his visage into something feral.

In his eyes glittered not even the thought of anything approaching kindness. It was pure cruelty, avarice, and callousness. It was like looking into the abyss.

It’s just a small-time thug. It’s not Satan himself. Stay calm.

But that was much easier said than done.

I held out the envelope, hoping they didn’t see how it quavered in my grasp.

Salazzo nodded to one of his men, a huge, fat one in an ill-fitting suit, whose coat was much too tight at the belly. Smelling vaguely of something that had gone over as he stepped closer, he snatched up the envelope, the paper tearing loudly as he opened it. “Says?—”

“Give it to me, stupid,” Salazzo snapped. “I know how to read.”

“H-he asked me to deliver that only to you, Mr. Salazzo.”

Salazzo’s gimlet gaze peered at me from under dark, prominent brows. “You read this?”

“No.”

“You lyin’ to me?” He drew closer. “I don’t like liars.”

“I swear,” I croaked, almost swallowing my tongue.

But he didn’t reply immediately, scanning the paper, then balling it up in his fist, throwing it behind him. “You believe this shit? Nantes has the balls to threaten me? And he sends… you.”

“I-I don’t know anything. He just paid me to?—”

“Bullshit.” Salazzo stepped still closer. “I know who you are. You’re his family. Daughter? Or is it niece?”

Oh, fuck.

How did he know who I was? That was not how things were supposed to go.

Salazzo towered over me, grinning balefully. “You expect me to believe Nantes sent you, his own blood, to deliver this message?” His voice rose to a savage roar. “Do you!”

“I don’t know! He’s not my… a-anything. I’m just a girl.”

“Let me tell you something, Miss Just a Fucking Girl.” Salazzo surprised me then, dropping to one knee before me, a deceptively relaxed smile on his face. He reached out to me, running a callused thumb across the point of my chin.

He hooked a thumb toward his men. “You boys remember the bodega owner on Evangeline? That little fuckin’ hole in the wall? The one who wouldn’t play ball with us?” There was a murmur from the group.

His voice took on the hushed note of heated confidence, conveyed in a moment of intimate candor. “He had a daughter, too. Smart college girl. So, when Mr. Bodega man got a big dick about donating to the cause, I told him he wouldn’t be seeing her again until he opened that fucking wallet.”

Jesus Christ.

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