Page 29 of Unhinged Little Angel

At some point during my shift, I managed to get past the point of exhaustion to a wired state that leaves me jittery and wound too tight. Since I only covered part of Damnation’s shift, I didn’t get any stage time, just a few hours slinging drinks and dodging groping hands. That’s probably half the reason I’m tense; I haven’t danced in days. That itchy, restless feeling under my skin begs me to slip on my baggy clothes and my bloodstained brass knuckles and go for a walk.

The gentle pressure of Salvatore’s hand on my lower back as we ride the elevator up to his apartment is an irritating reminder that I can’t go out. At least not without having to answer a lot of questions first and agreeing to let him go with me to protect me. I grind my teeth, a headache immediately blooming at the base of my skull.

I stare at myself in the reflective surface of the elevator doors, waiting for its painfully slow ascent to the top floor to end. I look like an absolute mess, still wearing Sal’s shirt, sloppily misbuttoned on my way out of the club, with my unwashedjeans that still have sand in them from the desert. My lipstick is smeared again, leaving my chin stained a shade of pink. I reapplied it twice, but every time I did, Salvatore ruined it all over again until I gave up and spent the last hour of my shift with my lips half-naked with uneven red splotches.

The doors finally slide open, and he pulls his keys out of his pocket to unlock the apartment door. He frowns as soon as he slides the key into the lock.

“Oh shit, sorry, I couldn’t lock up when I left. I don’t have a key.” I did pause to worry about that for half a second on my way out, but honestly, locking up felt less important than getting the hell out of this quiet apartment where I was all alone with my thoughts. He slides the key back into his pocket and then reaches inside his jacket to pull out his gun.

“Shooting me seems like a bit of an overreaction,” I deadpan, eyeing the pistol in his hand.

“Relax, Angioletto, I’ll have a key made for you tomorrow. Wait here while I check the apartment.”

“There’s no way whoever is following me had time to see us kissing at Wild, figure out where you live, and break in over the last three hours.” I reach for the doorknob, but he loops his non-gun-wielding arm around me to spin me away from the door.

“Unlikely, but not impossible,” he argues. “Besides, you aren’t the only one with enemies.”

His voice is low and dangerous, but disturbingly casual considering he’s talking about someone potentially breaking into his apartment to kill him. Obviously, it’s not news to me that he’s in the Mafia or that his lifestyle is risky, but I don’t think the reality of all of it sank in until right now. I left his apartment unlocked, there could be someone inside who wants to kill him, and Salvatore is more than willing to kill that person first.

I swallow hard, but he doesn’t pause. He kisses my cheek, nudges me off to the side so I’m not near the door, then cockshis gun before he enters the apartment. My stomach knots and I swallow down the manic sort-of laugh that bubbles in my throat. I think I’m a badass because I skulk around the streets at night and beat up assholes who never saw it coming, but I’ve never killed anyone. Could I do it if I had to? I’d like to think so. A familiar feeling of rage and hatred churns in my gut, solidifying my resolve. If it’s between me and Don, yeah, I’ll fucking kill him.

Salvatore returns a minute later without his gun.

“All clear.”

His apartment is exactly what I would have imagined if I’d ever bothered wondering. It’s minimalist and modern, masculine, with lots of dark wood and shiny steel. I slip out of my shoes, so the heels won’t scuff the wood floors, and leave them by the door while he locks the deadbolt and arms the alarm system. He gave me the tour earlier before he had to run off for his meeting. He was right, his place is twice as big as mine with a much better view and newer appliances. It doesn’t feel homey though. I just can’t imagine curling up on a leather couch to unwind with my needlepoint. But it’s fine. I don’t have to feel at home here because it’snotmy home. I’ll be back in my own place with absolutely no one taking my picture or threatening me in no time.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, loosening his tie and shrugging out of his suit jacket.

I shake my head. I raided his fridge and made myself a sandwich before I went to work. Besides, when I’m keyed up and jittery like this, food is the last thing on my mind.

He rolls up his sleeves and I watch with mild fasciation. Aside from seeing him naked, this is the most casual I’ve ever seen him. For some reason I get the feeling that more people have seen him naked than have seen him with his tie loose and his sleeves rolled up.

“Drink?” he offers next, and I shake my head again.

“I don’t drink much. That martini at the piano bar was basically my limit for the month.”

His lips quirk into a half-smile and his eyes spark with interest. “See, now if I’d known that, your trick with the flask wouldn’t have worked.”

“Damn, now I’ll have to come up with a different plan the next time I decide to kidnap you.” I’m just giving him a hard time like I always do, so why do I get the strangest feeling that I might be flirting with him? I shake my head a little harder, this time with the hope of setting my wandering thoughts straight. I don’tlikeSalvatore, he’s just my husband.

“How do you usually like to unwind at the end of the night?” he asks, leaning against the back of the couch, a strand of his well-coiffed hair falling over his forehead, his unbuttoned shirt falling open just enough for me to see a hint of his dark chest hair.

“Yeah, I’m not going to tell you that.” I chuckle.

“Come on, Angioletto, you’re not going to shock me. Drugs? Sex?” That blaze of curiosity and interest is still lighting up his eyes, which are fixed on me like I’ve somehow tricked him into thinking I’m the most interesting person alive.

I fiddle with the buttons on my shirt and waffle for a minute. What could it really hurt to tell him? It’s not like he’s going to turn me in to the police. If anything, he’ll probably think my favorite hobby is adorably tame compared to his day-to-day.

“I’ve never told anyone this before,” I hedge, and his eyes shine even brighter. “When I have extra energy that I need to burn off, I put on clothes that make me look small and young, and I go for a walk in a bad neighborhood.” His whole expression darkens instantly, his shoulders tensing and his jaw ticking. I’m not sure when I got so close to him, but without thinking, I put my hands on his chest to soothe him before he decides to startlecturing me about safety or demanding to know who’s hurt me so he can whip his gun out and wave it around again. “And when someone takes the bait, I beat the hell out of them to teach them a lesson.”

The smoldering ember of worry and rage in his eyes ignites into a look so full of heat it threatens to burn me alive.

“Hell, Angel, that might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.” He groans, the deep sound going straight to my cock. “You know you can’t go out like that until this threat has been dealt with though, right?”

I sigh. I fucking knew he was going to say that, but it doesn’t lessen the frustration.

“What am I supposed to do to relax then?” Sure, I enjoy needlepoint, but it’s not active enough to scratch this particular itch.

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