AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“We both know what we were playing at last night.”
Heat rockets into my face as Salvatore brings that up here in broad daylight.
“So, what?” I ask, feebly. “What does that have to do with—”
“Everything,” he says, simply, his eyes meeting mine in the rear view. My belly clenches involuntarily again. “It has everything to do with it.
You can’t toy with a man’s instincts and not expect him to act on them, Contessa. Right now, you are the only thing that matters. The only thing in the world.”
16
Contessa
Salvatore tries to cheer me up by keeping the promise that I can choose wherever we go next. He says I can go wherever and do whatever I want. That’s not entirely accurate, but it would be self-sabotage to point it out to him. I take us to the Lower East Side, down narrow one-way streets rife with scaffolding. A familiar diner comes into view. A homesick longing kicks up in my stomach. I have to suppress it, resisting the urge to run the moment we’re out of the car.
Frankie stays with the vehicles.
“This is where you wanted to go?” Salvatore asks dubiously, eyeing the exterior.
It’s a longstanding family-owned business. At least, I think that’s what the signage out front is trying to say. Most of the signs on the windows are so weather worn and sun-stripped, they aren’t legible. Like one of the countless cockroaches infesting New York City, I suspect the diner stubbornly survived long enough that its outdated style cycled back around, became “retro-trendy” through no business savvy of its own. Behind the glass, average Joes pick at their lunches.
“You said I could go anywhere. Does this or does this not qualify as anywhere? Or are we only allowed to go places that don’t have too many witnesses?”
Salvatore holds his tongue at my scolding. We enter the diner without any further objections.
It’s just like I remember. A long bar and booths throughout, big windows looking out into the street. I have to admit, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it in the daylight. It’s the sort of liminal place you simply end up at after a night out, a 24-hour oasis for drunk college students and after-hour clubbers. My heart pounds as I scan the room, picking out faces. Salvatore takes me by the arm and hauls me along to a corner booth, just short of the windows, where only the orange overhead lighting can reach. Leo doesn’t sit with us.
My stomach is starting to sink.
The woman at the register rubs a rag in the same circle on the bar top, eyes fixed on the TV crammed into the corner ceiling. Another is filling rapid-fire to-go orders over the phone. I don’t recognize either of them.
“How many exits?”
“What?” I ask, annoyed and only half-listening.
“How many exits does this place have?”
“How should I know? I lost the election for fire marshal.”
“Fire marshals aren’t elected. And you should know because you’re sitting in it. There’s three. Point them out to me.”
I realize I am being quizzed. I have no desire to play along with Salvatore’s paranoid games, desperately peeking toward the kitchen. A woman comes to take our orders. Salvatore orders coffee, black. I fiddle with the menu without opening it.
“Is Kay not working today?” I ask, deliberately avoiding Salvatore’s expression.
“No,” the waitress says flatly. “Kay doesn’t work here anymore.”
“She quit?”
“No called, no showed a week or so ago. Maybe two. You not ready to order?”
Two whole weeks. It’s not like Kay to up and quit without an explanation. With that girl, it’s a dramatic exit or nothing, and she’s worked here for as long as we’ve known each other.
Now, she conveniently stops showing up right after I go missing?
That’s not coincidence. It can’t be.
My head is a buzz of what-ifs, and every single ugly scenario starts with ‘What if Salvatore…’ My gaze snaps to him, dread chilling my stomach like I’ve swallowed an ice cube. I can no longer tell myself he wouldn’t. I don’t know if those words can apply to Salvatore.
