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He’s got to be ten, maybe eleven years old. Obviously underfed and neglected, with gangly limbs and a gaunt expression, he’s dressed in clothing that’s too small and dirty with wear. His feet are bare, his hair ragged and long. His wide eyes are fixated on Salvatore’s gun.
“I believe you can put your weapon away now, Salvatore,” I say in a low voice, not wanting to startle the boy. My effort’s fruitless, however, since the boy’s already quaking just looking at my husband. I mean, he is terrifying. I don’t blame him.
“I’ll put my weapon away when I know who he is and why he’s here.” He does lower it, but only so he can reach his fist out and drag the boy toward him. With one angry shake, he rattles the boy’s teeth together.
“Who are you?”
“My name’s Jared!” the boy responds in a half-cry.
“Why the fuck are you here?”
“I—I hid when they vacated the island.”
He gives him another shake.“Why?” My heartbeat thunders. He’s going to hurt him, I know he will. My brothers or father would.
“I had no other place to go!” The boy sniffles and wipes at his nose.
“Please, Salvatore,” I whisper. “We can talk about this rationally.” It’s one thing seeing him assault a full-grown adult who acted like an asshole. If he raises his hand to an innocent child—
“Stay out of this, Marialena,” he snarls at me. I open my mouth to protest, unsure of what to do. If I push him harder, not only would I end up in some form of trouble, he’d likely dig in his heels and double down, proving to me he can do whatever the hell he wants. If he thinks he needs to teach this boy a lesson…
I put my hand silently on his shoulder but don’t say anything. I watch his eyes close, as if he’s trying to gather his composure. His nostrils flare as he inhales once, then exhales. The boy trembles in his grip.
“I almost—we almost—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. I know. We were seconds away from being naked and fucking each other right here in this room, and the thought likely makes him want to break things. Can’t say I’m super crazy about the thought myself.
“But we didn’t,” I whisper. “Let’s find out why he’s here,” I say in a low voice. “And I know you’ll do whatever you have to do to deal with him. He shouldn’t be here and he’s trespassing.” I can’t paint a picture of total innocence. That won’t get us anywhere.
Salvatore’s fist shakes as he drags the boy to the desk chair at the side of the room and forces him into a sitting position.
“Stay there,” he orders, but I’d be utterly shocked if the boy so much as blinks his eyelids, never mind tries to escape. Salvatore’s muttering under his breath, and I don’t even want to hear what he says because I have no doubt he’s spouting violent, angry things. “Marialena, go to the bathroom and shut the door.”
I have no choice, I know this. I walk toward the bathroom, but before I enter it, I give him one last, pleading look, silently begging him not to hurt the child. He only narrows his eyes at me and stabs his finger at the door. I shut it harder than necessary and lock it just because I can, before I stick my tongue out at the door and simultaneously flip the door off.
Very brave, when the master of the castle isn’t watching me. I roll my eyes at myself. I push my ear against the door, eavesdropping. If he hurts him, I amsoout of here and interfering.
I can hear Salvatore peppering the boy with questions, but he doesn’t have much more to say. He and his mother lived here at the hotel, but she took off last year and hasn’t returned. He doesn’t know why or where she is, or if she’s coming back. The hotel staff has allowed him to hang around provided he stays out of trouble, and he does odd jobs for pay. No, no one’s reported him to the police. No, no one took him with them when they vacated, but it’s his fault because he was hiding from the hotel manager in one of the stockrooms and fell asleep. He didn’t know we were coming until the ferry arrived, and he ran to this room to hide because it’s the one people are least likely to use.
Fair enough. It all sounds plausible. But Salvatore needs to test everything, and doesn’t take his story at face value. He calls one of his men to come retrieve the boy, and I hold my breath waiting for his orders. Will he hurt him? Call the police? Even my brothers might do any of those things.
“Feed him,” he snaps. “Clean him up. For the love of fucking God, get him some clothes that fit, then get the name and contact information for the hotel manager.”
A minute later, the door clicks and I hear him heave a loud sigh.
“You can stop eavesdropping and come out now,” he shouts to me.
I open the door. I want to tell him I wasn’t eavesdropping, but he’s made it clear I shouldn’t lie to him.
“Not going to tell me you weren’t eavesdropping?” he says with a curious upturn of his brow. “Good girl.”
I swallow and nod. “I was curious, but I didn’t interfere when you told me not to.”
“You had a few things to say,” he says. He’s leaning against the desk, still fully clothed, his arms crossed.
“I did, but can you blame me?”
He shrugs. “Not really.”
A few silent beats pass.
