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We both knew I had reasons for going with her, reasons that made it worth cutting into the money I was trying to save to use toward her college tuition.
Half an hour later, I was making my way back down the hall toward my apartment, feeling the weight of the last few days trying to push me deeper into the ground with each step.
I’d been trying to sleep. Truly, I had. It wasn’t my fault that my brain refused to shut off, that it just kept me tossing and turning while it played the highlights reel of Salvatore over and over and over.
I woke up tired, trying to convince myself that the only reason it was occupying so much of my mind was because it was the first time in a long, long time that I got to think about anything as it pertained simply to my own life.
And, of course, everything was easier to obsess about when you couldn’t talk about it to anyone.
Keeping it all bottled up was going to make me burst if I couldn’t release some of the pressure eventually.
That was what was on my mind as I slipped my key into the lock, which was how I didn’t notice that it didn’t actually unlock.
Because it wasalreadyunlocked.
I didn’t know that, though, until I’d pushed open the door, and reached to put my bag on the table nearby only to see a man leaning back against my kitchen counter.
Panic swelled for the half a second it took for my brain to recognize him.
Not a stranger.
Or even a familiar threat.
Oh, no.
It was Salvatore.
Standing in my kitchen like he belonged there, holding one of my plates, and one of my forks.
“Did you break into my apartment and help yourself to my lasagne?” I asked, not sure if I was more shocked or amused by the turn of events.
“I knocked.”
“What typically follows a knock?” I asked, smirking as I set my keys down.
“Dunno. Usually just walk in,” he said, but the little smirk toying with his lips let me know he was fully aware it was inappropriate.
“With family, maybe. I’m not family.”
“Coulda fooled me with this,” he said, waving his plate of food. “This is fucking good. Celeste’s isn’t even this good.”
Celeste?
Who was Celeste?
And why did an absolute insane surge of jealousy swell through my system at the idea of her?
“Celeste?” I asked, proud of how breezy my tone came out.
“Celeste Costa,” Salvatore said. “Lorenzo’s mom.”
“Lorenzo?” I asked as I moved across my apartment.
“Baby, you’ve gotten yourself involved with the mafia, and you haven’t even done a quick internet search?” he asked, shaking his head.
“If I recall correctly, I didn’t getmyselfinvolved in anything. That happened with the whole getting shot down in the street thing.”
It was probably not a good idea to bait a known criminal like that. But I got the feeling from Salvatore that he wasn’t the type to get all bent out of shape because someone got a little snippy with him.
