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“You don’t have to fight my battles,” I mutter, and cross my arms.
He growls in response. “I’m going to handle it.” Pressing the call button on his steering wheel, a man’s voice echoes in the car.
“Hello, darling,” he says with a thick Russian accent.
The corner of Sal’s mouth twitches before he starts talking to the guy in Russian. The man on the other end snorts and I can make out da. Salvatore ends the call within a minute, taking an exit leading to a parking lot filled with food trucks.
“Want something to eat?” he asks, motioning to a colorful hippie bus.
“Man, how much do you eat? And are you really acting like you didn’t order one of your henchmen to put out a hit on him?”
“Yes, and I’m hungry. And I need to stop fantasizing about fucking you in the back of this truck,” he growls. “My dick has been hard since you came back into my life, Paxxie.”
Several seconds pass, while he stares at my mouth then up to my eyes again.
“We need to get used to each other,” he rasps, adjusting his bulge before jumping out of the car.
My heart starts to beat faster. “I know, for Iggy,” I answer, following him out, fighting with my head and my heart.
Sal orders for us both while I step aside and call Iggy. He answers on the second ring.
“Hey, mom, what’s up?”
“I’m okay, baby, how are you holding up?”
“Same, I finished my homework, and we are about to eat dinner. Grandma made lasagna.”
“Lasagna, that sounds awesome,” I say, trying to speak through the lump forming in my throat.
“Mom, are you okay, you sound off?” he asks concerned.
“Nothing to worry about kiddo,” I tell him, trying to sound strong, looking at Sal taking a seat on one of the benches overlooking the crowded parking lot. There are about fifty people here, probably wanting to explore the wilderness before heading back home. Women do a double take when they see Salvatore sitting there, legs spread wide, resting his elbows on the table while he stares at me. He changed from his black suit into jeans with boots and a white t-shirt straining across his impressive muscles. With his short, almost buzzcut, hair he looks like a soldier or a model even with that angry looking scar, and the women are all drawn to him judging by the flirtatious looks they shoot his way.
“I wanted to check in with you.” There is a silence on the other end. “Kid, you still there?” I ask while I tear my eyes away from Sal’s intense stare.
“Yeah, did you take an assignment? I tried asking Grandma, but she wouldn’t tell me, so I put two and two together.” Another deep sigh. “You’re not going to be home in time for my game on Saturday, are you?”
“I might be, honey, I don’t know. I’ll try and make it.”
“Whatever,” he mumbles, sounding distracted.
“Hey, what’s with the attitude?” Sal sits up when I raise my voice, locking eyes with me. A young girl struts over and pretends to stumble with her food. She laughs, trying to flirt with him, but he doesn’t say anything and keeps staring at me like the stalker he is.
I turn around when he raises one brow. “Ig, I promise we’re going to talk. Give me a couple of days and I’ll be home.” With your father I want to add, but I cringe the moment I feel a hand on my shoulder.
“You okay, amore?” Sal asks, eyes lined with concern or faking it no doubt. I know he mirrors my emotions; all psychopaths do.
“I’m good,” I whisper.
“Who was that, Mom?”
“No one, honey. I’ll be there on Saturday.”
“You promise?” he asks, a hopeful tone back in his voice.
“Yes, babe, I promise.”
Sal’s eyes narrow when I say babe. But he walks back to our table while I follow him.
