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It’s both horrifying and exciting how someone is able to ensnare a person with only a look like Salvatore does. I’m afraid that if he tried to pull me into the depths of hell while looking at me like this, I would willingly follow. Not good. Not good at all.
“I don’t find anything amusing in this situation, Salvatore.” I sigh. “Listen, I understand. I really do. I fucked up, and you wanted to punish me for it. Nobody messes with the big bad New York Don—point taken. But let’s be honest, here. This,”—I point my finger to him, then to me—“this is not going to work. It’s better we part ways. You send me back to Chicago, saying I suck in bed, or whatever, and annul the marriage. I get out of your hair and go on with my life. And you can continue beheading people, sending their bodies around via FedEx, or whatever, without me to mess with your schedule. What do you say?”
Salvatore places his left hand at the edge of the table and tilts his head, regarding me in silence. Is he considering my proposition? Oh God, please make him say yes.
The table between us suddenly flies to the side, knocking me backward in my chair. Dishes and cutlery crash onto the cobbled ground. Pieces of food and broken glass scatter everywhere within a five-foot radius. I stare at my husbandwith wide eyes as he gets up and takes two casual steps until he’s standing right in front of me.
Leaning back in my chair, I tilt my head up. “That would mean no, I assume?”
“That would mean no, Milene,” he says in that cold tone, grabs me around my waist and lifts me up over his shoulder.
“Salvatore!” I yell with my head once again dangling behind his back as he carries me. “Put me down! Right now!”
He takes a couple of more steps, then stops. Thank you, Jesus, there is some sense in him after all.
“The food was excellent, Jonathan. Tell the chef we enjoyed our meal and put the damages on my account.”
“Of course, Mr. Ajello,” answers a strangled voice, and Salvatore resumes his trek through the restaurant. The fucking son of a bitch keeps walking!
“I have your shoulder lodged in my stomach,” I snap. “I’m going to puke all over your fancy suit if you don’t put me down, Salvatore.”
A ping sounds as the car door unlocks. Salvatore settles me onto the passenger seat, walks around the car, and gets behind the wheel as if everything is perfectly in order.
“If you have a mental health diagnosis, now is the time to mention it,” I say, staring at his perfect profile.
He turns his head and I find myself a prisoner of his intense gaze again. His hand shoots up and grabs my chin. I suck in a breath and stare at him as he leans close to my face.
“It doesn’t really matter, cara. Because you’re stuck with me,” he says through his teeth, then crushes his mouth to mine.
It’s so angry. His kiss. My response—even angrier. I grab his neck, intending to squeeze it, but instead my hands slideupward, fingers tangling in his hair. There is not enough air in my lungs as I try to keep up, taking everything he’s giving. God, his mouth... so hard, but somehow soft at the same time. Teeth biting at my lower lip. His fingers, still holding my chin. It’s madness. I can’t think. I don’t want to think. When he kissed me in that parking lot it was like a sea breeze, but this is a tempest. I find myself wrapping my arms around his neck, trying to get closer to the stormy sea that is Salvatore Ajello. His other hand cups my cheek, then moves to my nape, squeezing. The lips on mine go still.
“It looks like we’re not incompatible, Milene,” he says into my mouth, then abruptly releases me and starts the car.
I fix my gaze onto the road in front of us, wondering what the hell just happened.
Chapter 12
The huge lot where I’m planning on building a new warehouse is in the industrial district. It’s far enough away from the city to provide privacy, but at the same time, close enough to the main roads not to be problematic when it comes to our distribution needs.
“I want the main warehouse in the center. Put eight or so more around it and fill them with random goods to act as a front,” I say.
“Food?” Arturo asks.
“No. Something with a longer shelf life. Car parts. Tools. Furniture. Use your imagination. If someone comes poking their nose in, I don’t want anything to raise their suspicions. For example, tons of rotten food.”
“All right.” He nods. “How much should we transfer when the warehouse is fully prepped?”
“Forty percent, max.”
“Why not all?” Rocco throws in.
I turn around and look at my capo. Rocco is good withmanaging the operational part of our construction projects, but he’s not very bright where general business is concerned. I allowed him to take over as capo two years ago when his father stepped down, but I’m not sure if it was the best decision.
“Never put all your eggs in one basket, Rocco,” I say and check my watch. I need to head back, or I’ll be late for the auction.
“Nino told me you assigned Alessandro as your wife’s bodyguard,” he says as he follows me toward our cars. “Was it because he’s not attracted to women?”
I stop in my tracks and pivot so suddenly he nearly runs into me. “I don’t give a fuck about who he’s attracted to, Rocco. I assigned him because he’ll make a damn good bodyguard.”
