Page 44 of Unhinged Little Angel

It shouldn’t matter. This marriage is only temporary, and from what that dickhead in the alley said, the Moretti name isn’t doing much to protect me right now anyway. But it does matter. I need to know that he trusts me.

Instead of answering that question, I answer the original one. “As far as I know, he’s upstairs in the apartment.”

I lick my dry lips, feeling the slight twinge in my cheek. It’s nothing compared to the throbbing in my arm. Part of me wantsto blurt out my side of the story first, but I swallow any more words and reach for the door handle. Let Antonio spin lies and bullshit. At least if Salvatore believes them, I’ll have the bone deep satisfaction of my righteous rage to keep me warm at night again. I’ve spent most of my life believing the worst in everyone. It has the benefit of being familiar, even if it’s lonely as hell.

Salvatore catches up with me as we reach the elevator and rests his hand gently on the back of my neck. I lean into his touch, letting it settle the trembling in my muscles and the queasy feeling in my gut from the adrenaline and the pain.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he asks, waving his magnetic key card in front of the scanner and then pressing the button for the right floor.

“If you still want to hear it after you talk to Antonio.”

I lean into him with my good side and let my head fall on his shoulder for the short ride. A terrifying part of me clings to the gut-deep certainty I have that Salvatore will believe me, that he’ll trust me no matter what. The doors slide open with adingand my heart leaps into my throat. It really shouldn’t matter. I can just leave. We can file the divorce papers tomorrow if he wants to. I still have my apartment, my job, mylife, as small and violent as it is. So why does it feel like my whole world is teetering on the edge of destruction?

I dart my good hand out to grab his lapel, catching him mid-step, and drag him around to face me.

“Kiss me,” I whisper, hoping he can’t hear the desperation bleeding into my voice.

His eyebrows pull together in worried confusion, but he doesn’t hesitate, cupping my face delicately, like I’m made of something precious and fragile. It should piss me off to be treated like I’m breakable, but it makes me ache inside instead.

Don’t break me.

Don’t break me.

Don’t break me.

Salvatore’s lips brush mine, barely there at first, and then more firmly. Am I imagining the tremble in his hands? Our lips move together, and for once I don’t feel the need to challenge him. I just need comfort for a minute, even if I’ll feel silly and pathetic for it later.

“Thank you, Angioletto, I needed that,” he murmurs, sliding his hand back into place at the nape of my neck. “I had some pretty fucking dark thoughts when I heard you hurt and panting on the other end of the phone. Don’t expect me to be able to stop touching you until I manage to convince myself you’re actually okay.”

I let out a trembling laugh. “Well, I’m not in any condition to break your hand right now, so I guess I’ll have to live with it.”

He kisses my bruised cheek then leads me out of the elevator.

“One last chance to tell me what happened before I ask Antonio,” he says, hovering with his key near the lock.

I shake my head. “After.”

The TV is playing loudly again, but I can hardly hear it over the drumbeat of my pulse in my ears. Salvatore’s hand stays firmly on the back of my neck, and he reaches under his jacket with the other to pull out his pistol.

Bodyguard of the fucking year, he doesn’t even react to the sound of our footsteps. Salvatore marches us right up to the back of the couch and uses the muzzle of his gun to tap Antonio on the shoulder. He starts to turn his head, then startles, jumping out of his seat and holding his hands up in surrender. I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised I don’t sprain something. I can’t believe I let this fucking idiot make me feel small, even for a second.

“Hey, Tonio, how’s it going, champ?” The overly friendly tone has me swallowing down a laugh as Antonio’s eyes go wide. Is he surprised to see that I’m hurt or surprised that I’m still alive? I can’t tell.

“Salvatore, hey.” He darts a glance at me and then back at the gun. “You found Dante, that’s great.”

“I did.” His friendly tone slips into a slight growl. “Funny thing though, I could have sworn I left him with protection. Any idea why he was all alone on a street corner, covered in bruises?”

“I wish I could tell you, boss. He spent the morning bitching and moaning about wanting to go out and get some air. At first, I thought he was just giving me a hard time, but the more insistent he got, the more I started to wonder if he had an ulterior motive, like maybe he was supposed to be meeting with someone. So, I agreed to take him out. I figured I could see for myself what was so important that he had to get out of the apartment. But as soon as we were downtown, he took the hell off. He lost me in a crowd on Washington street and just kept running. That was a couple of hours ago, so god only knows where he went after that.”

I hold my breath. Will Salvatore believe him?

His gun doesn’t waver, but he takes his eyes off of Antonio to look at me.

“What really happened, Angioletto?”

“I wanted to go out shopping, Antonio got tired of it, but I wasn’t ready to come home yet. He insisted and I dug in my heels and called his bluff. He left and I kept walking. That’s when I realized someone was following me. I thought I could catch them off guard and fight them off myself, but they already knew my playbook and they were expecting it.” I manage to relay it with detachment, all the feelings of shame and fear locked up tight for now.

I tighten my grip around the burn on my forearm and bite the inside of my cheek against the flare of pain that rushes through me. When the doctor comes and they both see the burn, I’m going to have to explain it. I can’t think about that right now though.

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