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“It is. Thank you.” She hung up.
I tried not to think about her. If I thought about her crying enough, I would just damn her choice and go back to my house. So, instead, I focused on my anger at Salvatore and called him. He told me to come to Vista, and I did.
“Let’s talk,” I said with a hard voice as I barged into his office. My act was probably not going to make sense to him, but I couldn’t care after the thing he did. When it came to Priscilla, self-control was too damn hard.
Salvatore straightened in his chair as I sat down across from his desk. “Did you talk to anyone before me?”
“No, Priscilla wanted to stay alone.” I didn’t even understand why it mattered.
Salvatore’s eyes widened slightly. “Shocking.”
God, he was insufferable today. “What does that supposed to mean?”
He shook his head, murmuring, “Nothing.” Then he looked back at me. “Look, today I got angry and said some bad things to her. I wanted you to hear it from me. I wanted to apologize.”
Why the fuck. “Isn’t Priscilla the one you should apologize to?”
“You are the one I care about, though.”
I really wanted to punch him in the face. For the first time in my life, Salvatore irritated me this much. Being with him was sometimes similar to being with Priscilla. His emotions were too intense sometimes, and they fascinated and annoyed me at the same time. They never got under my skin as much as Priscilla’s, though.
And they never made me want to punch him. This was different.
I wanted to finish this quickly. I wanted to go home and tell Priscilla my work was done early today. Coming here was a mistake. I needed to be with my wife. I wanted to be with her.
“What did you tell her?”
That made him uncomfortable. Fuck, he really said something bad to her. I tried to internally brace myself to his words.
Salvatore cleared his throat and looked away as he said, “I told her if she makes Mia cry again, I will kill her.”
Fucking asshole.
Breathe.
Now I really wanted to punch him.
Breathe.
No one could threaten my wife like that.
Breathe.
I knew it was a vile threat. I knew he said it out of anger.
I still wanted to kill him for it.
“You told my wife that you will kill her?” I managed. My voice was sharper than I intended, but it was hard to control. “And you fucking invite me to tell me about it. What the fuck were you thinking?”
This time he looked back at me. He seemed more uncomfortable than me. It was probably because my discomfort was suppressed by my anger at him.
“I also told her to never come to my house again,” he added.
What the fuck? “Are you trying to make me hit you?”
He lifted a brow. “Do you want to hit me?” Now the asshole seemed more intrigued than uncomfortable. “It is not your style.”
“Well, it is my style to hurt people who disrespect my family.”
