Lady and the Champ (32 page)

“Okay,” I tell Sarah. “I have to get to work. You stay here and think things through. I’ll be back later, and we can hammer out the details.”

Her eyes flick up, her gaze burning. She’s still angry, but it’s more of a petulant anger, like she’s finally admitted to herself that I know what I’m talking about but doesn’t want to admit it to anyone else. She will, though, in time.

I head out—I’ll grab breakfast on the way. I figure there’s about a seventy-five percent chance she’ll still be there when I get back. I’m willing to take that risk.

* * *

T
he meeting’s
just getting underway when I get to Spada’s place. I head for Spada’s office, taking my time up the hallway so I can finish my coffee.

Spada usually holds these weekly meetings in a sort of conference room next to his office. He’s got a big house—he can afford to have a conference room. I know he likes meeting at his house because he can control the surroundings. Not much chance of somebody eavesdropping or the rooms being bugged or some kind of police presence lurking around trying to get information from the next table over.

There’s a low rumble of voices coming from the room, and I pause outside the door. Just a couple swallows of coffee left, so I might as well get it done before I go in.

“Yeah, Sal hasn’t seen her since yesterday.”

I overhear the voice from inside the room and abruptly forget the coffee. I’d much rather hear what people are saying about Sarah. For a second I wonder if she’s safe where I left her.

“Nobody knows where she is?”

“Nobody, far as I know.” There’s a chuckle. “Except maybe Nick.”

“Nick? Nick Angelino?”

“Yeah. Somebody saw him leaving, too. Then his car was gone from the parking lot when we all left after the party was over.”

“When did he leave?”

“Right after Sarah ‘went to the bathroom.’”

I can tell by the way he says the words that he’s making air quotes. I decide this would be a good time to interrupt, and I enter the room, tossing my coffee cup in the trash can just inside the door.

“Nick,” Spada greets me. I wonder if he was paying attention to the gossip I overheard from outside the door. Probably. Not a lot escapes him, in spite of other flaws he might have.

“What’s up?” I ask, taking a seat.

Chris glances at the man next to him, then back at me. “Sarah Corelli’s missing.”

“Missing? Really?”

“Yeah. Nobody’s seen her since the engagement party.”

“That’s weird. Seems like she’d be happy. Be hanging out with Sal or something.”

Chris nods. “Yeah. Weird. You seen her?”

“No, I haven’t seen her.”

“All right, gentlemen. Enough gossip.” That’s Spada, taking control of the room. I look toward him, sitting at the other side of the table, and he meets my gaze. His eyes narrow a little.

I smile. Just a little. I can’t help it. But right away, I know it’s too much.

Spada, however, doesn’t react. He just shuffles his papers and gets the meeting underway. I pull out my phone and get ready to take notes.

* * *

S
pada spews
out a lot of information over the next hour or so. I dutifully take notes, but at the same time I’m sussing out the atmosphere in the room. There’s no overt hostility, but there’s definitely some unease among Spada’s men. I also catch quite a few glances speared in my direction. Somebody noticed too much after the party. Not a surprise, really. We’re all naturally paranoid, always watching our backs. If one person noticed me with Sarah, it’d only be a matter of hours before everybody heard about it. I’m more surprised that nobody’s confronted me directly.

After Spada’s done, I give a wave to my own guys. I’ve got a small group running my own part of the organization, including the guys who help me sort out the complications of our stable of MMA fighters. Based on what I just heard from Spada and a few rumors that have been floating over the last few weeks, I need to shift some priorities.

We head for a back corner of the room where I can hold my own meeting. I haven’t gotten started yet when one of the guys—David—starts asking questions.

“Why no fights next month? What was it, two? That’s not enough to keep the schedule rolling.”

“More than enough,” I answer. “We need to lie low the next several weeks. There’s rumors floating one of the fighters is about to turn state’s evidence. So we need to be ready for that.”

“Ah, shit,” one of the other guys says. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Just a rumor right now.” I’m not sure that alleviates any concerns, but it’s the best I can do. “I’ll let you know as soon as I have more information.”

There are some sullen nods, but among the faces I also see a few odd looks. I don’t like that. I’d rather somebody ask me questions straight to my face than stand around looking like they think they know something.

As I’m taking this in, one of the guys in the back of the group leans over and mutters something to the guy next to him. Okay, that’s enough.

“You got something you want to share with the class, Mick?”

Mick jumps a little. I’m pretty sure he thought I wasn’t going to see that. Surprise, Mick. I see everything.

“Um… Nothing, sir.”

“No, it’s not nothing. Look. I see you guys giving me the fish-eye and I don’t like it. Somebody tell me what the fuck’s up.”

Mick clears his throat, looking at his feet. After a second or two, David shakes his head. “There’s rumors. Just rumors, you know…about you.”

Well, at least one of them’s got some balls. “What kind of rumors?”

“You and, you know, Sarah.”

I act surprised. I actually am, just a little bit. Not much, though. “Sarah Corelli? Sal’s girl?”

“Yeah. I mean…” David shifts his weight back and forth. It’s annoying. “Some of us saw you dancing with her the other night at the party, and then yesterday… Well, she disappeared and you disappeared, and some people are saying…” He trails off. So much for balls.

“Some people are saying what?” I snap. “Tell me, David. Don’t just throw shit out there and not back it up.”

Mick grows a pair just then. “Some people are saying you took her home. You know. Spent the night with her.”

I nod slowly. “I see.” I let my gaze drift across the group. I wonder if any of the guys outside my group are listening in, but I’m not about to lose focus to scope them out. “Well, Mick, David…and all the rest of you, for that matter. You really think I’m the kind of guy who would run off with another guy’s woman right after they got engaged?”

Of course I’m exactly that kind of guy. I don’t think there’s a man in the room who isn’t exactly that kind of guy. But they gradually start shaking their heads, mumbling, “No, of course not,” and other similar comments. Because of course they do. I’d probably slam one of them into the wall if I got any other kind of response.

“All right then,” I tell them. “No more rumors, then. Just forget about that shit. We’ve got work to do.”

“Yes, sir,” David says, and that’s the last I hear about it.

 
O
ne thing
I’ll say about Nick, he’s got a nice place. He’s bat-shit insane, I’m pretty sure, but he lives in style. Left alone in his apartment, I’ve got plenty of opportunity to figure out that much about him.

I still can’t figure out what came over him. I thought we were having some kind of a fling. At least I think that’s what I thought. When it comes down to it, I’m not sure why I was flirting with disaster by responding to Nick’s advances. As far back as the party where we danced together, I’ve been playing fast and loose with the rules I know apply to me. I’ve been basically asking for Sal to come down on me hard. And in Sal’s world, that means a severe beating or maybe even a bullet between the eyes.

How in the world have I managed to get myself into this position? I feel like I’ve lost control of everything in my life. All because I tried to take the initiative and pursue my own dreams instead of the dreams my family tried to force on me. And now Sal’s trying to force one life on me, and Nick’s trying to manipulate me into another.

Why in the hell would Nick pick me? It makes no sense. He barely knows me. Yeah, we set off major fireworks in bed, but that’s not the same as actually having feelings for each other. And while part of my life plan has always been to get married and start a family, this isn’t what I had in mind.

So basically I’m stuck. I either go back to Sal, accept his “proposal,” and go along with whatever he says I have to do, or I go with Nick and hope Sal doesn’t kill us both.

I feel like the safe choice would be to go back to Sal, but being with Sal is never safe. I’m not sure being with Nick is safe, either, but right now it seems like the better of the two options.

So it feels like a choice, but it really isn’t. Talk about rocks and hard places. I fall into Nick’s sofa, cover my face with my hands, and try very hard not to cry.

* * *

I
n spite of everything
, I stick around at Nick’s house waiting for him to get home. There’s no point going back to Sal’s—I can’t even think about it as my place anymore, even though everything I own is there. I’ll have to go at some point, although how I’ll pull that off is anybody’s guess.

I don’t have anything to wear but the dress I wore to the party and the shirt Nick gave me, so I go rooting around the closets. It doesn’t take me long to find a few ladies’ things in the back of his closet. Undoubtedly abandoned by a former girlfriend or a one-night stand. I keep Nick’s shirt and pair it with some jeans from the closet. They’re a little too big, but they’ll do. And I feel a lot more secure with some reasonable clothes on. With no other choice at the moment, I make myself at home.

Finally, a few hours later, I hear a key in the front-door lock. I think about meeting Nick at the door, but decide against it. That would be too cozy. Too much like I’ve decided to take his deal, and I don’t want him jumping to conclusions.

Instead I stay in my spot on the couch, where I’ve been sitting and reading and occasionally flipping on the TV while Nick’s been gone. I’ve been rolling everything that’s happened around in my head, but I haven’t come to any conclusions, except that I’m scared.

Nick stops by the kitchen before he heads for the living room, giving me another minute or so to catch my breath and clear my head. When he does come into the room, he’s got a beer.

“You want something to drink?” he asks me, and I shake my head. He shrugs and flops down onto a comfortable-looking recliner. There’s something about it that doesn’t quite match the rest of the room. The odd not-quite-right look of it makes me think it’s been his longtime favorite chair that he keeps no matter what the surrounding decor might be. He looks comfortable in it.

“How was the meeting?” It’s stupid small talk, but I can’t summon much else at the moment.

“Fine.” He takes a drink from the beer bottle then sets it aside on the nearby side table and leans forward. “So. You did your thinking? You made your decision?”

Dammit. Why does he have to push this on me? “No. Of course I haven’t. You were gone, what? A couple of hours? How am I supposed to decide in two hours?”

“It was more like three and a half, but whatever. Why can’t you make up your mind?”

“Jesus, Nick!” I push up from the chair and start to pace. I promised myself I wasn’t going to let him get to me, but that’s impossible. Everything about this situation is getting to me. “Most people take years to decide if they want kids. Some even take that long to decide if they want to get married. How do you expect me to make that decision in the amount of time it takes you to have a damn meeting with Phil Spada?”

“I don’t see how it’s that big a deal. Either you want my protection or you don’t. Simple yes or no.”

“No, it’s not that simple. We’re talking about a
baby
, Nick. Another life being brought into the world. It’s not just a deal. It’s bigger than that.” How can he write this off so simply? He has no idea what he’s really asking from me. Having a baby won’t just mean sacrificing my body. It’ll mean giving up part of my soul. Forever.

“Well,” he says, and he’s starting to sound angry, “I don’t have years to decide. I’m thirty-six years old. It’s time I put down roots when I have the chance.”

“What about me?” I have a feeling I wouldn’t be able to get any of this through his thick skull even if I tried to pound it through with a rubber mallet.

“I’ll protect you, and I’ll protect your bakery. That’s your legacy, right? Fair and square.” He picks up his beer again. “We talked about this already. Even trade.”

I can’t make this decision. It’s too much. I don’t know what to do, and I feel like he’s railroading me into deciding before I’ve had enough time.

But he’s right, sort of. What he’s offering me isn’t that much different than what I already agreed to with Sal, except Nick’s more likely to treat me decently. He’s not the type to smack me around—I’m pretty sure of that. Just the way he responded when Nick hit me at the party tells me that.

The big thing is, though, that saying yes could buy me some time. Surely he won’t want to get married immediately, and if all he wants is me pregnant, there’s no guarantee that’ll happen right away, either. In fact, it’s more likely it’ll take a while. Months, even. I could work with that. I might even be able to get out of the deal before I’m actually carrying his kid.

Looking at it that way makes it almost seem palatable. Not ideal, of course, but a better way out than anything else I’ve seen.

“You’ll help me with the bakery? Get the equipment I need so I can actually make some money?”

Nick jumps on that like a dog on bacon. “Yes. I’ll be sure you’ve got everything you could possibly want. And not just for the bakery. For yourself. Anything and everything you need, I’ll be sure you’ve got it. Clothes, shoes, jewelry, books, movies—I don’t care. It’ll be yours.”

“I have clothes,” I protest.

“No, you don’t. You’ve got nothing right now, Sarah. You can’t go back to Sal. Not for anything. You know that.”

I just stare at him. Surely he’s kidding. But no, that doesn’t seem to be the way he functions. He doesn’t kid around, even when what he’s proposing sounds like he’s bat-shit off his rocker. “I can’t just…leave everything.”

“You have to. Trust me on that.”

I don’t want to trust him on anything. There’s a lot of me left at Sal’s place. If I just abandon everything, then what am I really?

He’s not done talking, because of course he’s not.

“You start over. Fresh. Leave everything behind. You’re not Sal’s anymore—you’re mine. You do exactly what I tell you, no questions. Especially when it comes to Sal, or Spada, or anybody else in the organization. That includes your friends—any wives or girlfriends you’ve been hanging out with while you’ve been with Sal.”

I don’t have much in the way of friends—Sal’s seen to that. I’m not going to tell Nick that, though. He’s pushed this deal to another level and I don’t like where it’s going. “How is that any different than being with Sal? You
own
me? What the fuck is this, the Middle Ages?”

“It might as well be.” His voice is flat, humorless. “I figured you would have worked that out by now.”

The sad part is, he’s right. When I stepped into Sal’s world, I stepped back a few centuries. Now I’ve got to live with it, at least until I can find a way out. Nick’s proposal isn’t a way out, but it’s at least away from Sal. I can work out the rest later.

Then I realize I’m actually considering this idea seriously. What the hell is wrong with me? Nick is still talking, though, and I’m still listening.

“I’ll take care of you, and I’ll keep you safe. I can handle Sal. Sal’s an asshole, and I’m not the only one who wants him gone. But when it comes down to it, I’m putting my life on the line here, too. He’ll come after me. You know that. He’ll kill me if he gets half a chance. He’ll kill you, too.” He’s gotten intensely earnest, leaning toward me so close I’m afraid he’s about to fall off the edge of the chair. “It’s not really that crazy a deal, if you think about it.”

I
am
thinking about it. More seriously than I ever thought I would. It stinks, but he’s right. I’ve put myself into a position where this is actually the best choice I have. At least I know he’ll be better than Sal. At least I know I’ll enjoy sleeping with him. Add that to his promise to help me build my bakery into a real business, and it starts to feel like something better than just the lesser of two evils.

I don’t realize I’m nodding until he says abruptly, “There! I knew you’d come around.”

That’s nice for him, because I didn’t know I was going to come around. He rises from his chair and moves to sit next to me on the couch. I draw back a little, not sure what he’s going to do.

“Are we going to make up a contract or something?” I ask him. That’s not the worst idea I’ve ever had. Get it in writing. Then I wonder what kind of lawyer or whatever would sign off on something like that.
Easy answer. A mob lawyer. Duh.

“You have my word, Sarah.” He lifts a hand and strokes his fingers along the side of my face. “Do you really need anything else?”

I’m thinking I probably do, but instead I just turn my face against his touch. His fingers are warm. I know from experience now that he knows just how to touch me. He’ll have me going crazy in five minutes if I stop fighting myself.

“Maybe,” I say. “We can talk about it later.”

His thumb traces over my lower lip. I’m still stunned at how good it feels to let him have his way with me. It’s not just that he knows how to play a woman’s body—he knows how to play
my
body, and how he figured that out so fast is anybody’s guess.

He smiles and leans forward to kiss me. “Later is good,” he says just before his lips touch mine. The kiss is gentle but filled with promise. Not of affection or any sort of emotion, but of heat. His tongue traces the seam of my mouth, and every cell in my body knows he’s going to set me on fire.

The kiss goes deeper, until he’s exploring my mouth with his tongue, claiming it in a way he hasn’t before. It’s like he knows he can do anything he wants now, so he’s not wasting time taking anything slow and easy. His hand moves down between my legs, fingers pressing against my thighs. That’s when I draw back a little.

“No,” I tell him.

“No?” His fingers slide farther between my legs, pressing hard against my crotch. “I’m not sure ‘no’ should be part of your vocabulary right now.”

I give him a look. “Not here. Take me to bed.”

His eyes narrow, then he smiles. “All right. I suppose it’s only fair.”

He bends to pick me up and carries me toward the stairs. He’s conceding to my request, but he’s also reminding me of his strength, of the control he has over me. It’s fine, I tell myself. My stomach’s fluttering, but the anxiety is a turn-on. I don’t like to admit that, even to myself, but it’s true. I’m a little bit afraid of him, and not only is that not a problem for me, but it’s actually making me that much hotter.

He starts kissing me again halfway up the stairs, his mouth fusing to mine. The way he’s holding me—he barely has to exert himself, or at least that’s what it feels like. He’s got me, and I’m not going to fall.

Not this time.

I get lost in his kissing, the movement of his tongue, the way he’s stroking the inside of my mouth. I’m so involved in it I barely notice when he moves through the door to his bedroom. Then he’s laying me down on the quilt, easing himself over me, all while still kissing me.

He gets himself situated, and his mouth shifts, kissing my face, moving down my neck. His hands cup both my breasts, and then he starts easing my buttons open. I don’t have on a bra—I didn’t wear one here, after all—and it only takes a few buttons before he’s able to slide a hand under the shirt and cup one of my breasts. He plays the nipple with his thumb. I focus on the sensation, trying not to think about what I’m actually doing here. Because I’m selling myself, pure and simple. Yes, I did it once before, but this feels different. Maybe because this time I understand what I’m doing, much more deeply than when I succumbed to Sal’s demands.