Page 42 of Married with Mayhem

At least I could have had the foresight to warn her not to mention her last name. Big Pete knew who she was but no one else needed to know. The wounds of last year’s war are still healing and the quickest way to rip the stitches open is to utter the name Barone.

When violence is necessary, it’s best to face the chore with a cool temper and a calculated plan. I like to think I’ve matured enough to conquer my hothead impulses. But I never counted on being forced to watch some lowlife scumbag put his filthy hands on Sabrina.

He touched her.

HE FUCKING TOUCHED HER!

The sight of her face going ashen with shock and terror was all it took to short circuit my brain with blinding white hot rage.

I barely remember diving across the room, tackling Lombardo and squeezing an arm around his windpipe. Even when the sound of Sabrina’s voice brought me back to reality and I realized I’d just committed a major fuckup that was going to require some action, I wasn’t sorry.

What I am sorry for is the grief I’m causing my father and brother.

And I’m sorry that Sabrina is under the mistaken impression that she’s to blame.

But I’m not sorry for teaching that bastard a lesson. He pissed and puked on himself in a crowded room and that’s not a humiliation he’ll ever live down.

Which brings me to my present predicament.

Lenny Lombardo is the butt of a lot of jokes but he’s also a made guy, knighted by big boss Richie Amato some twenty years back. With the Amato empire in shambles and no clear leader emerging, it’s tough to say where Lombardo stands. I’ll need to speak to both Silvio and Gianni.

But I can worry about my own fate later. My first priority is to get Sabrina to Colorado where she’ll be safe. There’s not much of a chance Lombardo will lash out and go after her but I’d rather be sure that she’s far out of his reach for now. Luca’s no longer active in the mafia world but he’s still Luca. Nothing will happen to Sabrina under the roof of her sister and brother-in-law.

Sabrina stretches and yawns. It’s the middle of the night and the sky will still be dark for quite a while.

“Why don’t you try to take a nap?” I suggest. “I threw a blanket and pillow in the backseat if you want to grab them.”

“A pillow?” she says with an odd squeak. She clears her throat. “You meanyourpillow?”

“Yeah. You’ve been sleeping on it the last couple of nights. What’s the problem?”

“No problem.” She rubs her palms on her thighs, which is something she does when she’s nervous. “Why would there be a problem with your pillow?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“Nothing to tell. Your pillow is awesome. I get tremendous enjoyment out of your pillow.”

She’s facing away, studying the passenger window as we pass a big rig on the highway. There’s a curtain of hair blocking her face from view and it’s too dark for me to see if she’s blushing, but I get the impression she’s all worked up about this pillow topic and somehow I’m not in on the joke.

“Okay,” I say because I don’t have much else to add. My shoulders are stiff and general fatigue is beginning to set in but I’m determined to drive through the night.

Sabrina quits pretending to look out the window. “I can drive for a while if you’re tired.”

“When was the last time you drove a car?”

“I didn’t mark the date on a calendar but it can’t be too hard to steer straight on the highway for a few hours.”

“Wait, didn’t you lose your license?”

“No, I didn’t lose my license, Mr. Road Police.”

“Huh. I seem to remember a traffic court situation.”

She waves a hand around with irritation. “Because there are three million rules about where you can park and drive and breathe in Manhattan. No one can keep them all straight and the cops hand out tickets like confetti.”

“Just how many pieces of this confetti did you collect?”

“Enough to send my father into a lengthy sexist tirade about female drivers before he took my keys away permanently.”

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