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“That’s hardly any of your business,” I quip, my voice a bit unsteady.
The man steps up to me. Really close. I find myself nose-to-chest with a black well-fitted suit. “You just made it my business, lady.”
Tilting my head, I give the guard the hardest glare I can muster. “Mr. Salvatore will want to speak with me. And he’ll be firing your ass if he finds out who you turned down at the gate. If you’re lucky, that is, and firing is all he does.”
I don’t know where I get this crazy courage, but there’s something about having been tricked, cheated, lured into a death trap and beaten, that makes me want to slap Salvatore’s handsome face. And that’s what I’m here to do. At least metaphorically. I don’t think it’s a good idea to actually lift a hand against him. Sadly.
The man looks at his buddies, and then they burst out laughing. My cheeks heat up, but I refuse to budge.
“Tell him it’s about David. I’m Kerry Jackson. He knows me.”
He goes silent, narrowing his eyes, then he walks a few steps to the side and speaks seemingly into thin air. After a few seconds, he nods to one of the other men.
“Take her inside.” Then he turns to me. “Arms out, spread your legs.”
“What?”
He steps forward and pushes out my arms, patting me down, all the way to my feet and up. He’s efficient and clinical about it, but I freeze up in discomfort. It feels way too intrusive, and thank God I didn’t bring the gun. I don’t think that would have gone down well.
The guard nods and steps back, throwing me a curious gaze as the gates slide open. It’s with an ominous feeling I walk next to the blond giant toward a two-story white house with white pillars along the front facade. The dark wooden double doors look impenetrable and suddenly I feel really small, standing in front of them. My mouth goes dry at the thought that I’m entering the nest of the man who has ordered my murder. I might never come out of here. But who can I turn to? I don’t know which of the cops are on the mob’s payroll, and I refuse to leave my life in San Francisco, my mom, my friends, the little life I have.
I jerk as one of the doors open and yet another tall, beefy guard, wearing a black suit, stares me down with pitch black eyes. He’s got a scar on his left cheek, and a thick, crooked nose that looks like it’s been broken more than once. I open my mouth to speak, but snap it shut again as he nods. We walk in silence until we stop by a door that stands ajar where he motions for me to enter. He doesn’t follow, and I step into a large room with a heavy desk at its center. Behind the desk sits the man I’m here to see. My stomach clenches and my mouth goes dry. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all?
Luciano Salvatore. Little David’s dad. The man I suspect is the capo of the largest mob family in town. A shiver runs through me as I walk across the deep red oriental carpet, glancing at the dark wood bookshelves, filled with ancient-looking books, that cover all the walls except the one behind the desk that instead consists of floor to ceiling windows, showing glimpses of a beautiful garden. Next to Salvatore stands a tall, blond man, dressed in an impeccable three-piece suit despite the early hour. What’s with all these men? It’s like an army. Is he afraid of me, or what?
“Miss Jackson,” he exclaims, and tents his hand, supporting his elbows on his desk. “What brings me the honor?”
I lick my dry lips, glance at the guard, then back at Salvatore. “Can I speak with you? Alone?”
Luciano Salvatore
I study the girl before me. I haven’t seen her since that morning outside the center when she asked about what my son might have seen. It’s true that there was an incident in the garage. But it wasn’t my cousin, and it wasn’t a foot that was chopped off. David had slipped away from one of his caretakers, and stumbled over a very unfortunate scene.
I scared the caretaker until she cried, but I didn’t lift a hand toward the old woman. I did have the man whipped who had forgotten to lock the door, though.
Miss Kerry Jackson. I don’t know whether to call her brave, or incredibly stupid. She knows I ordered her execution, and here she stands, right in front of her worst enemy. Amazing. Or desperate.
Narrowing my eyes, I glance at Eric, nodding for him to leave. I wait until the door closes and then look expectantly at her.
“Miss Jackson. What brings me the honor?”
I swear her large green eyes darken, her chin juts out. “How’s David?” she grits out.
I raise an eyebrow. “Is that why you came, Miss Jackson?”
She squirms visibly. I let my gaze travel her body. She has thinned out since I last saw her. The clothes hang loose. Living in fear hasn’t been good for her. Shame. She was really pretty. Now she looks terrible, her eyes haunted.
“Among other things…”
“David is doing well, thank you. Let’s move on to the ‘other things’.”
“Why did you move him?”
“I believe that is none of your business.”
“Was it something I did? Or… said?”
I smirk. She knows more than well. Why is she stalling? Does she think she’ll buy time? Make something more out of this conversation? Get under my skin?
