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“Right, it’s still with him. I haven’t, um, asked him much about it.”
Our conversation flows into another topic from there, though I can sense Salvatore’s skepticism. He knows me too well… well enough to easily tell when I’m not being honest.
It’s not that I don’t want to be. It’s that the second I am, Salvatore will be pissed.
More than pissed. He’ll belivid.
Not only have I gone behind his back and kept Sasha as a client, I’ve risked my career and personal freedom by blackmailing Polk, the District Attorney.
He would be unbelievably furious with me for taking such a huge risk.
We team up for dinner, attempting an old Italian recipe that Salvatore says was one of his Grandma Cici’s specialties.
He stirs the bubbling pot with a wooden spoon and then insists on a taste test.
“Tell me if it needs more pepper.”
I’m perched on the kitchen counter opposite the stove—it’s a result of Salvatore’s earlier affections, where he’d cornered me between peeling garlic, and he’d hoisted me up for distracting kisses.
I spend a second absorbing the lemony garlic taste of the vongole sauce. “It’s just right. When did you become such a good cook?”
“When I realized I could use it as an excuse to feed you.”
He grins before kissing me, licking a drop of sauce from my lips. I can’t stop the laugh that rolls out of me as I shake my head and bring a hand to his cheek.
“You’re really trying to start something in the middle of cooking dinner?”
“Salt and Pepa are fed… which means no disgruntled meowing in the background like last time.”
We’re both laughing now at the memory.
The feline pair had sat stubbornly by as we made love, and meowed ’til the very last thrust, in protest that we hadn’t yet fed them their morning grub.
I almost miss the sound of my phone chiming from the other end of the kitchen counter. I hop down and go over to answer.
The number is unknown. I answer in my professional voice—it wouldn’t be the first time a client has called me at random hours.
“This is Delphine Adams.”
“Mrs. Mancino,” comes Polk’s voice. “I’m so glad you answered.”
I glance over at Salvatore, who’s returned to stirring the pot. “I can’t talk about that matter right now.”
“You will listen to what I have to say. I did you a favor getting your husband authorized for house arrest.”
“That was part of the agreement. The next part is for you to drop the charges.”
“The agreement’s changing.”
I walk out of the kitchen, pretending I’m about to discuss the work matter on the phone. Halfway down the hall, I issue my threat, reminding Polk that I’ll destroy him and his career.
But this time, he’s unfazed.
“Your little threats don’t work anymore. I will not only keep the charges against your husband, but I will ensure he’s prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”
My eyes narrow as if I can see him and he’s not on the phone. “Who’s backing you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
