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It makes me feel guilty for being suspicious of him.
“No. I’d love to go out,” I admit. A whole day out of the house. With Salvatore. Before, his company would have felt like a caveat—the ball on the end of my chain. Now, I’m excited to have him with me, to see if I can find more of the man I met last night, who let me put my head on his chest and confided harmless little truths in me. He must still be in there somewhere, even if he’s harder to find in the light of day.
“Look at me,” Salvatore says, his serious demeanor interrupting my daydreaming. “It’s a lot of trust, Contessa. You will do exactly what I say, when I say it. No games. One step out of line, and you’ll never see the boundaries of this property again. Do you understand me? This is an opportunity I won’t offer twice.”
He’s dead serious about this, and it dunks my feverish excitement into cold water.
I understand his worries. Even I wonder if I can be out there, surrounded by freedom and open doors, and not instinctually run toward them. I force myself to nod.
“I promise.”
He looks me over again, cursing softly under his breath as he shakes his head and turns away. I bite my lip before it turns into a smile.
In the multi-car garage, filled with sleek sports cars and dark, tank-y SUVs, I am introduced to a man and woman, more members of the Mori crime family. The man introduces himself as Leo and calls the girl Frankie. I recognize her from the dinner, one of the women who caught my eye, wearing the same attire as the men.
Salvatore explains that these two will be our escorts. When on the street, I am never to pass ahead of Leo, never to fall behind Frankie. I am to walk on the inside of the sidewalk, on Salvatore’s side, putting him between me and the street. In no uncertain terms am I to ever be out of his sight. If I go to the restroom or a changing room, Frankie goes with me.
Between the four of us, we take three vehicles, all the windows blacked out. To my surprise, Salvatore selects an Audi. It’s one of the less flashy cars in the garage. He makes me sit in the backseat directly behind him. The other two take big SUVs, that look menacing as they form up the caravan. We leave Lambos and Ferraris in the rearview mirror.
“Do you have to do this every time you have to go somewhere?” I ask.
“We take some precautions. Maybe not this many.”
That confirms my suspicion that Salvatore is being extra careful with my outing. I wonder if it’s to keep me safe or to keep me contained.
The street passes by. My heart jumps into my throat as we pass through the final gate. My prison becomes tiny behind us.
“Why can’t I sit next to you?” I ask in the lull. “Not that I don’t appreciate being chauffeured around.”
“Child locks only work on the back doors.”
I gawk at his reasoning and immediately try the door. It hadn’t even occurred to me to try to jump out, but sure enough, the door doesn’t open no matter how I fiddle with the lock.
“You can’t be serious.”
I swear I can see the hint of his grin reflected in the rearview mirror.
“Really mature,” I accuse. “Right when I thought we were getting somewhere.”
His eyes glance up to meet mine in the mirror.
“It’s so I only have to protect one side of the car, Contessa.”
That silences me a little. I know what that’s like, and I don’t envy him the stress. Always looking over your shoulder, always second-guessing every action, every stranger on the street.
Growing up, my father would fill my head with horror stories, all the ugly what-ifs that could happen to me if I wasn’t always vigilant, always suspicious. But nothing ever happened, until finally, those stories felt like any other scary story told to children to keep them in line.
They became another boogeyman, something fantastical and exaggerated. For a long time, I thought my life was normal and uneventful, just how I always wanted it. And still, I ended up here.
“But you still put on the child locks,” I complain anyway.
The door clicks as Salvatore disables them. I fold my arms over my chest…to keep my hands from reaching for the lock again. If I got the door open, I know it would hurt to resist running. Even if I knew he would catch me. Even if I wanted him to.
The lure of freedom is a crazy thing.
“You haven’t said where we’re going,” I point out.
“I have an appointment to meet in the city. After that, you can decide where we go, within reason.”
