Page 111 of The Butcher's Wife
“Because I trust you,” she says with a playful smile.
I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or trying to manipulate me, but in either case, I couldn’t possibly accept what she’s offering, not when I almost got myself killed trying to help Maria and Lucia.
“I don’t think it’d be fair to those women. I don’t know what their needs are or how to help them. Don’t you have someone more qualified?”
“More qualified? Sure.”
The server returns with a flute of orange juice and a small plate of lemon tarts, and she murmurs thanks, sipping from the juice.
She continues. “But I thought you cared about this? Helping others and all that. Without someone like you, they’re just going to land back on the streets.”
I bite back my immediate response, then realize I don’t have a more tactful way to ask. “Why doyoucare?”
She doesn’t seem bothered as she shoves an entire tart in her mouth and hums at the taste. “I don’t, but we have a bit of a PR problem, and having little pet projects like this goes a long way when we have to rub elbows with certain social circles.”
She looks at Salvatore and Dom, who are stepping onto the deck.
“I’ll send the details over to you,” she says with a wink. “Think about it.”
Marisol departs, joining her husband, and Nico detaches from the railing to follow.
The crowd, the boat, and the lake fade around me as Dom and I lock eyes across the deck. In a few quick strides, he wraps me in an embrace so tight it’s like we haven’t seen each other in weeks. I press my face into his chest, breathing in his scent.
Since we came home from the cemetery, we’ve been nearly inseparable. I keep waiting for his interest to fade, for him to detach, but instead, our need for each other grows stronger every day.
The desperate, restless way we’ve been fucking lately has simmered into a gentle and tender lovemaking. It scares me sometimes, how intense it is, and I can’t help the feeling that Dom is treating me so sweetly because my life is in danger. Then he texts me photos when he’s away from thepenthouse of fluffy pigeons on the street, or of him sadly eating a subpar restaurant meal, or flashing me a pair of my stolen panties in his pocket, and I think that’s just how he is. Of the rare, lucky people who find great love in their lives, maybe I’m one of them.
Dom unwraps himself from me to kiss my forehead and peppers kisses down the side of my face, making me squeal, until he’s kissing my mouth, deep and slow. I drag my nails into the nape of his neck and tug at his hair.
When he pulls away, he has that wild look in his eye like he’s thinking about pulling me into an empty room to dip his head beneath my dress. In moments like this, I don’t care how little time I might have left—what I have with him is bliss.
He kisses me again, and right as I consider demanding we go find one of those empty rooms, he takes my hand and murmurs, “I want you to stay near me tonight.”
Fear drips down my spine, though his presence dulls it. “What did Don Salvatore say?”
“I can’t say right now. Can you trust me?”
I squeeze his hand. “Of course.”
Elegant piano music washes over us as we step inside the first deck and pass our coats to the attendant by the door. Neil’s playing is better than I expected, a small relief. The suit I bought him fits well, and his face splits into a wide grin every time someone passes by and shoves another bill into the already overflowing tip jar on top of his piano.
Waiters weave through the crowd with sizzling flutes of champagne while Chicago’s most dangerous citizens dress up in designer clothes and pretend, for one night, to be harmless.
Couples splinter off from the crowd to chat with us, and for once, I’m grateful no one expects much of me. The mentry to preserve an air of dignity as they kiss Dom’s ass, and the women offer me lavish compliments and saccharine condolences for my loss. I smile, thank them graciously like my sister would, and stand silently at Dom’s side until the next person speaks to me.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Carlo says as he strolls up to us. “Serafina, could I have a word with you?”
From his sharp-eyed look, I get the uneasy feeling that my brother’s completely sober—something he only does out of absolute necessity.
Before I leave, Dom grabs my hand and kisses my cheek before whispering in my ear, “Stay where I can see you.”
The council member’s wife exclaims something about “Newlyweds!” as Dom turns back to them with a grin.
Carlo doesn’t make a single sound of disgust at Dom’s kiss, which worries me further. He guides me to the edge of the crowd, near the windows that overlook the dark lake.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “Is everyone okay? You’re freaking me out.”
“Everyone’s okay,” he whispers. His eyes dart back to the crowd several times. “Have you talked to Russell?”
