Salvatore’s dark eyes stared back at me as he shrugged. “Not really.”
“Geez, lucky me.”
He ignored my sarcasm.
“Why are you here and not tempting the pants off your guest?” he inquired. “Do I need to show you how it’s done? I know you’re out of practice and?—”
“Let me stop you right there,” I cut him off. “Before I lunge across this desk and fucking kill you.”
He leaned over and grabbed a cigar from my open case.
“Let me give you a tip,” he drawled.
“Fuck you and your tips.”
“So damn moody.” He lit up a cigar and inhaled deeply. “I’m staying for dinner to make sure you don’t fuck this up,” he said. “And I’ll stir the conversation between you and the lovely doctor.”
“I’m quite capable,” I retorted dryly. “We did have a night where we ‘conversed’ without your help.”
He snickered. “I would’ve never guessed after the cold reception you got yesterday.”
“Salvatore, I amreallynot in the mood for this today.”
He smiled knowingly. “You need to work on charming the woman.”
“Yeah, that will go over like a ton of bricks, considering my wife is currently three floors up.”
“Let me take Amara back to the clinic,” Salvatore suggested. “Surely Dr. Freud has seen there will be no talking to her?”
The sheer horror on Violet’s face flashed in my mind. “Yes, I think so.”
“How did that go anyway?”
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Violet was in shock and didn’t comment much.”
And she hadn’t even seen Amara at her worst.
If Violet had witnessed her suffocating Aria or cutting her own son’s cheek, she would have been horrified. Probably even scared. Maybe she would have even blamed me for providing an unstable and dangerous home to my children. Who knows?
“I have a feeling it won’t take Violet long to realize she cannot help Amara.”
Salvatore rubbed his hands. “Good. Good.”
“Why is that good?” I asked, my brow furrowing. Sometimes his line of thinking was hard to follow.
“Lykos, she’s a therapist. She lives to talk things through with her patients. Now that she has seen that Amara’s condition is way beyond that, she can focus on you.”
“Fuck, you must hate me.”
He shot me a surprised look. “How do you get that from what I just said?”
“Because you want a therapist to fuck with my mind.”
He chuckled. “Well, yeah, I would love for her to do that so you can start living.”
I scoffed. “Your definition of living is mind-blowing. I hope Renzo doesn’t turn out like you. I don’t think the world, let alone women, can handle two of you.”
I was fairly positive Salvatore had been a man whore in order to avoid dealing with his feelings and the loss of his wife. He was my best friend, and we often talked about it, but it never went anywhere. At the end of the day, he dealt with it in his own way, and his aunt aided in that behavior since she stayed in the house with Salvatore and babysat Renzo like he was her own.
