Page 83 of Salvatore

He steps forward and into Rita’s outstretched arms to thank her for dinner. But when Vincent reaches for me, I can’t help recoiling from the reek of too much scotch on his breath and the way his kiss to my cheek lingers more than it should. The move is subtle, yet I don’t miss the intent or the offer behind it.

And neither does Salvatore.

Salvatore hauls me to him before I can completely break away from Vincent’s embrace, tucking me behind him. The two men lock eyes, their expressions tight, their stances rigid.

For a moment there’s only silence and the promise of pain.

Sal’s glare is as lethal as it was that night in the club when those men cornered me . . . seconds before he made them bleed and drew his gun.

I don’t realize I’m not breathing until the air trapped in my lungs releases in a brutal rush at Vincent’s laugh. He takes us in, the way Salvatore shields my body with his, and the way Sal’s unyielding stare grinds a hole into Vincent’s face.

“Never thought I’d see the day this would happen,” Vincent says, continuing to watch us.

Sal’s only response is to ease his hand away from his hip. Unlike Vincent, Salvatore isn’t smiling.

Rita steps forward, her hands clasped in front of her as her attention skips between us. She realizes a great deal went unsaid in Sal and Vincent’s tense exchange.

“It’s late,” I say, my nails skimming along Sal’s back as I look up at him. “And we’ve troubled our hosts long enough.” My words are only partially true. I want to get out of here before something happens that we’ll regret. “I’m tired,” I add, when he doesn’t move, my voice pleading with him to walk away.

Salvatore stays fixed on Vincent when he answers. “All right,” he says. “Goodnight.”

As simple as that, it’s as if nothing had occurred. Vincent laughs again and Rita starts yapping about this bistro she’s dying to try in the city. They walk us out as I hold tight to Salvatore. It’s taking everything not to sprint to the SUV and drag him with me.

Rita waves as we pull out of their long driveway. “I’ll call you about lunch,” she yells.

It’s not until Sal turns onto the main road that he acknowledges anything close to what happened. “I’ll leave you some bills for your time with Rita. If it’s not enough, keep the receipt and I’ll reimburse you—”

“I’m not going out with Rita.”

“Vin won’t be there,” he responds in a way of an answer. “And that shit he pulled? It won’t happen again now that he knows who you are to me.” He keeps his attention ahead, but I notice his hands tighten on the wheel as if he’s remembering how Vincent touched me. “Rita’s different. She’s not like him. She’s just trying to be nice.”

I don’t agree. She plays this game as much as Vin. I’m ready to take my toys and go home. “Rita is lonely. She wants a friend who’ll quietly support her lifestyle.” My voice drops. “But I’m not her.”

“If you shun his wife, Vin will see it as a sign of disrespect.”

“Really?” I swivel in my seat. “So, it’s okay for him to disrespect his wife by sleeping with Donnie and God only knows how many other women? But if I say no to lies and the lunches, and disapprove of all this, I’m the one being disrespectful?”

Sal cuts his stare my way. But it’s not just my words or my tone that alerts him of my anger. “It’s cultural,” he says. “A man of Vin’s status and position is expected to take other women and to have the means to maintain a mistress.”

My face heats. “And as his friend, as someone in your position, is that expected of you, too?”

Sal stops the car at the light and turns to me, his gravelly voice as inflexible as his features. “Yes.”

His admission is like physical blow. My first instinct is to scream at him. But the hurt overtaking me is so crippling, it’s like a dam bursting. It’s all I can do to beat back my tears.

“Adrianna,” he says, curling his hands tighter around the steering wheel. “I would never do that to you.”

“Is that what Vin told Rita?” I ask, my voice quivering as my tears release.

He doesn’t answer me, kindling my sorrow, but also my anger. “In working for Vincent, you’re around him a lot. Are you also there when those women he cheats with arrive?” Again, he doesn’t respond, which tells me more than his words can then. “Salvatore . . . have you been with them, too?”

For the longest few seconds of my life, he remains quiet. When he answers, it’s as if he brings down an ax on my heart. “Not since you,” he tells me.

I turn to stare blindly ahead, breathing so hard, I swear I’m going to lose it. Damn it. God damn it.

I open my mouth, ready to demand that he tell me what exactly he means, only to shut it. As much as I feel I should know, the thought of some woman fondling him and expecting everything he does to me in our bed destroys what’s left of me.

I should never have been with him. But now I know I’m in too far.

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