Page 13 of Unhinged Little Angel

“Overpriced? Most of the suits I wear are one of a kind, hand sewn, and expertly tailored. If anything, they’re underpriced for the quality.”

I let my eyes wander over him for just a second. I’m not about to admit it out loud, but even wrinkled from hours in the car and a night’s sleep, it’s a damn nice suit and he is wearing the hell out of it. I huff and drum my fingers on the steering wheel, trying to come up with another good excuse for a few days of absence.

Salvatore slips his sunglasses back over his eyes and settles back again, folding his hands over his belly like he’s preparing to take a nap.

“Tell him I’m with you,” he says.

“Doing what?” If a vacation is unrealistic, I can’t imagine why he thinks it would be less suspicious to tell Alessio he’s fucking off of work for days to get some ass.

“Make something up.”

I chew on my bottom lip and think about that suggestion. He might be setting me up to immediately implicate myself, but I don’t think he is. Actually, I think he’s onto something. If I pullthis off, they’re going to know anyway, so I might as well skip the outright lie and lay the groundwork now.

I click on the texting app and find a chat with Alessio right near the top. I quickly tap out a message then read it over to make sure it sounds realistic before I hit send.

“Done,” I announce, shoving the phone back into my pocket.

With that taken care of, I put the car in drive and pull away from the shoulder, back onto the quiet, dusty road.

“What did you end up telling him?”

“That it’s a long story and you’d have to give him the details later, but you and I are on our way to Los Vespar to get married.”

“I’m sorry…what?”

Chapter 7

SALVATORE

I hold up a t-shirt with absolute horror, the cheap fabric rough as sandpaper between my fingers. The front of it is printed with an image of a flying saucer hovering over a desert and the words “I got probed in Rosewood, New Vada.”

Dante sidles up beside me and cackles loudly. The sound startles me. I’ve never heard him laugh before. Not areallaugh anyway. I’ve heard him snort with derision and bark out mocking laughter, but never this.

“You have to get that,” he says.

I give him a flat look. He has to be kidding.

When we spotted this little tourist trap and attached restaurant after what felt like endless hours driving through nothing but vacant desert, with Dante refusing to elaborate on the marriage bombshell he dropped, he pulled over so we could stretch our legs and eat as promised. I thought he was joking when he led me into the shop, saying we both could use a change of clothes at this point. But this bit has gone on a little too long if he thinks I would honestly change out of my five-thousand-dollar suit in favor of a kitschy t-shirt that’s probably made of asbestos.

“I have a gun, Sal, that means you have to do what I say,” he reminds me with an air of taunting and the ghost of a smile on his lips.

If the teenage employee behind the counter finds it alarming to hear a gun threat, he doesn’t show it. Out here I’m guessing it’s just a regular Tuesday afternoon to hear someone casually threaten to shoot another person. Not that I have a lot of room to talk considering the routine violence in my own day-to-day life.

“You’re saying that my options are to either wear this shirt or be shot?” I clarify blandly, and Dante nods. I glance at the shirt one more time and then back at him. “Okay, you can shoot me.”

“Fine, but don’t complain to me later when we check into a hotel and I’m comfy in my new shorts and t-shirt while you have to sleep in your suit.” He looks smug as he holds up the shorts he picked out, small enough that they’re unlikely to leave much to the imagination with the words “beam me up, Space Daddy” printed across the ass.

“I promise you, I won’t be sleeping in my suit, Angioletto.” I pin him with a heated look so he can’t misunderstand the implication.

I was set on being patient with him, taking my time to slowly build his trust in me so I could do things right. But he drugged me and kidnapped me, and I’m still unclear about that marriage comment. If he’s past decorum and civility, then so am I.

Dante huffs, snatches the t-shirt out of my grasp, and stomps up to the register where he already set a pair of alien-themed boxers and a keychain shaped like a UFO. The teenage employee rings it all up and I reach into my suit jacket for my wallet, half-surprised to find it exactly where I expect it to be. Unlike my pistol and phone, which are both still in his possession.

I set my credit card down on the counter before Dante can pull his out. While the cashier finishes the transaction, I press myself just a little too close to my angel, my fingers twitching with the urge to slip my hand underneath his shirt to feel the smoothness of his skin. He doesn’t shift away or stiffen, but he does glare at me, pressing his weight right back at me like a challenge.Push me, Angioletto, make me work for it. His jaw ticks but a flicker of heat dances in his eyes at the same time. He’s not just fighting me, he’s fighting himself. He needs permission to let go… or maybe he needs to be forced to let go.

“Here’s your receipt. Thanks for stopping in and be safe out there in the desert.” The last line is delivered with a practiced air of drama that lets me know he says it to every customer.

Dante blows out a breath and grabs the bag off the counter, rushing out while I put my card away, give the cashier a nod in thanks, then hurry after him. By the time I step outside, he’s already headed inside the small restaurant just a few feet away.

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