Lady and the Champ (43 page)

* * *

W
hen I wake
up I’m on the ground. I’m in a seated position, my back against the wall. My head aches, and I smell smoke. My hands are bound behind me, and when I try to get my feet under me, I discover my feet are taped together at the ankles.

“Not much longer now.” Sal’s voice floats to me as my brain reorients around the ache and the dizziness left over from his hitting me with the gun. He glances at his watch. “I’m surprised your dear husband isn’t here yet. Maybe he doesn’t care as much as I thought he did.”

I don’t say anything. Nick probably doesn’t care about me at all, but I figured he’d at least come to save the baby. Maybe I was wrong.

“Are you comfortable?” Sal asks.

“Not particularly.”

“Ah, that’s too bad.” He waves something in front of my face. It’s a muffin, and it’s got a big bite out of it. “You know, your baked goods really aren’t half bad. This thing was almost edible, and it’s been sitting in your fridge for weeks.”

I have no idea what he’s getting at, but before I can puzzle any of it out, he shoves the muffin into my mouth. “There. That should keep you quiet.”

“You’re an asshole,” I try to say, but it comes out muffled and indistinct around the muffin. Which is, I noticed, bran and raisin.

Sal just chuckles. “I have no idea what you said, and frankly I like it that way.” He comes closer, leans over me, and I close my eyes, not wanting to know what he’s planning to do.

There’s a crashing noise from the front of the shop just then. My eyes pop open, and Sal spins to face the sound. The door to the back room slams open next, and there’s Nick. He’s got his gun out, and his eyes are blazing. If I didn’t know he was there to help, just the expression on his face would terrify me.

“Let her go, De Luca,” Nick grinds out.

Sal’s as calm as he’s ever been, and he placidly points his gun at my head. “No.” The smell of smoke is thickening around us. “You drop your gun, or I’m blowing her brains out.”

They stand for a few long seconds, just staring, taking each other’s measure. “You think I won’t?” Sal asks finally.

I’m just staring at Nick. I want to see his eyes, but I know if he takes his focus away from Sal for even a split second, Sal will shoot him. At the same time, Sal’s not going to take his eyes off Nick, either, and that’s a good thing for me. I start shifting my weight, changing my position where I’m sitting against the wall.

Nick is very still. Then, slowly, he lowers his hand with the gun then kneels to set it on the floor.
No, Nick. No.
I don’t say it out loud, though. I don’t want to bring Sal’s attention back to me.

“Good decision, Angelino,” says Sal. I feel the cold metal of the gun muzzle shifting away from my head. Then Sal lifts his hand, pointing the gun right at Nick. “Any last words?”

Nick looks right at me. “Sarah. I love you.”

My breath catches. I meet his gaze, but I’m so taken aback and still so scared, I don’t know what he might see in my face.

“So sweet,” says Sal. “Now, say goodbye.”

Dragged back to the moment and to what I’m doing, I shift my weight back. Feet still taped together, I kick out as hard as I can. My feet strike Sal’s shins just as he pulls the trigger. The shot flies wide; I can hear it bouncing off metal—probably one of the refrigerators. Immediately Nick closes on him.

There’s not much else I can do now but watch, unless I can get my hands and feet free. I spit out the stupid muffin Sal shoved into my mouth and try to wiggle farther back along the wall. I don’t want to get in the way.

Nick has Sal by the wrist now, wrenching Sal’s hand sideways to force him to drop the gun. Teeth gritted, Sal tries to fight him, but in the end Sal lets out a sharp sound and lets go. It might be my imagination, but I swear I hear the crunch of breaking bones. The gun falls to the floor. Nick kicks out, sending the pistol skittering across into the dark by the freezers.

The smell of smoke is getting thicker to the point where I can taste it. It’s tickling in the back of my throat. That can’t be a good sign. We have to get out of here before the place goes up in flames, or before a propane tank explodes, or something equally deadly. But I know Nick’s not going to leave until he knows I’m safe and until he knows Sal is no longer a danger.

If I could, I’d get up and get the hell out and drag Nick with me, but with both ankles and wrists taped I can’t even stand up. Instead I start wriggling, working my hands and feet against their bonds, trying to find any slack at all. If I could just get one hand free…

There’s a loud crashing sound, and I look up. Sal’s back on his feet and has flung Nick into a cabinet full of glassware. Glasses and mixing bowls fall everywhere, shattering when they hit the concrete floor. Great. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about already, now there’s broken glass everywhere. The faint light catches it, making it gleam. Nick hits the ground, and I hear him swear, as if he’s landed in a pile of it.

It doesn’t look like it’s scattered very close to me, though, so maybe it’s okay if I keep moving, trying to get my hands loose. Nick and Sal are wrestling now, on the ground, and I can’t even watch, certain Nick is being shredded on pieces of broken mixing bowls. He’s shouting at Sal, cursing and screaming, and Sal’s screaming back. I can’t make out most of the words beyond the obscene ones. And my own name, which pops up occasionally.

I shift my weight, trying to get some leverage against my bonds, and suddenly a glint catches my eye. It’s a piece of the broken glass, only a few inches away from me. I can tell it’s from a bowl; one side is a sharp edge, while the other is the rim of the bowl itself. It would make a completely safe handle so I could use the glass as a knife.

Perfect. With a surge of hope—finally—I rotate so my back is to the piece of glass then, carefully peering over my shoulder to orient myself, I move toward it until I can grasp the dull edge between my fingers. Then I carefully shift it around, using the sharp side to saw through the tape holding my wrists.

Behind me, I still hear Nick and Sal going at it. There are thumps and gasps, cursing and spitting. A fist lands hard on flesh. Glancing quickly over my shoulder, I see Sal jerk backward at the impact, his head hitting a refrigerator behind him. Nick hits him again, again, and Sal is losing ground and possibly losing consciousness.

The smoke is starting to make my eyes burn. I saw frantically at the tape, feel it finally give way, but not quite enough to free my hands. Nick is shouting now, calling my name. I can’t make out any of the other words. My eyes are streaming. Panic clutches my throat; I can barely breathe. I jerk at my hands and they finally come apart. As I drop the piece of glass, I feel sticky blood on my palms, but I never felt the glass cut me.

Reaching forward, I start to use the piece of glass to cut at the tape holding my ankles. As hard as I try to focus, I can’t help looking up to see what’s going on between Nick and Sal.

Nick hits Sal twice in the face, sending him staggering back, but Sal rallies and counters with a few punches of his own. Both men’s faces are swollen and bloody. I want to shout to Nick that I’m okay, that he should just run and I’ll follow him, but I don’t want to distract him. If I do, Sal will be on him, tearing him to pieces. So I just work on getting myself unbound the rest of the way.

There’s a sudden, intense
boom
, a vibration that shakes the floor under me and makes my body jerk, then complete silence. It takes me a second to realize the silence isn’t because the noise around me has stopped, but because my ears have stopped working. Something has exploded in the back part of the building. The heat on my face is suddenly hotter—frighteningly so.

The duct tape finally yields under the sharp edge of the glass, and I’m able to draw my ankles apart. Unfortunately both feet are tingling, the blood supply returning in a pins-and-needles rush. A movement catches the top of my vision, and I look up to see Nick shouting directly at me, his face twisted and ugly but with fear and bruises, not anger.

“Get out! Get out now!” I can barely hear the words past the pressing blankness my hearing has become, but I can read them on his lips. He grabs my arm and drags me to my feet. I stumble for a step or two before I manage to maintain my balance.

“Nick…” I start, but then stop because the one thing I can hear is my own voice, and it’s startlingly loud.

“Just go!” he says again.

I look up at him, intending to argue, but behind him I see Sal lurching up from the floor. He’s got his gun in his hand again. I have less than a split second to wonder how he got it back before sheer instinct takes over and I shove Nick to the side.

The gun goes off. I can barely hear the report; all I know is that Nick’s out of the way.

“Sarah!” he screams, and grabs at me.

“I’m okay!” I scream back, and hope it’s true. “Sal! Look out for Sal!”

“Run!” he shouts back. I do, moving as fast as I can past him and toward the door. But I have to turn around and look back, afraid of what Sal might do to him.

They’re grappling again, arms linked like I’ve seen MMA fighters do at the ring when Sal would take me there. They’re struggling, and I start to take a step toward them. I want to help Nick. How I could, I have no idea, but that’s where instinct takes me.

Just then, though, there’s another explosion from the back part of the building. Smoke fills the room and I can’t see for a few long seconds.

“Nick!” I scream, terrified now. The smoke thins, just a bit, and I can see the two big bodies still tangled together, but this time one has the other by the throat. It’s Nick, hands hard on Sal. He spins, slams Sal into the wall. Once, twice, again, then several times in succession. The vague shadow that’s Sal slumps to the floor, and Nick runs toward me.

We’re both just outside the door, running toward the opposite sidewalk, when the last explosion knocks us both off our feet.

* * *

I
t seems
like hours later that I drag myself up from the ground, my ears still ringing, my hands still vaguely numb. There are bloody handprints on the sidewalk where I caught myself. Nick’s next to me, struggling to his knees, a cut on his cheekbone, the flesh beginning to swell to the point it nearly obscures his eye.

“Nick.” My voice doesn’t sound as weirdly loud anymore. “Are you okay?”

He turns his head slowly to look at me. “I think so. Are you all right?”

“Mostly.” I look back over my shoulder at the bakery. There’s not much more than a gaping hole left. Strangely my reaction is just…nothing. Numbness. I don’t know whether I don’t care anymore or if I care too much. “It’s all gone,” I mumble.

“I’m so sorry, Sarah.” He shifts to a sitting position on the sidewalk and opens his arms. I move into them and lay my head on his chest.

Suddenly I can feel everything. Every bump and bruise on my knees and elbows. Every cut on my hands, arms, ankles, and wrists. The screaming emptiness telling me my bakery’s gone, the dream is over.

And on top of everything—relief. Just pure, sweet relief. Because it’s over. All of it. Sal’s dead—he’ll never threaten me again. Nick is holding me—I know I’m safe here and always will be.

“Nick,” I say quietly. “Did you mean what you said?”

He kisses the top of my head, and he doesn’t even have to ask me what I mean. “Every word of it.”

I squeeze my eyes shut tight. “I love you, too,” I tell him, and let the tears come.

“
T
hat was
a half dozen bagels and a box of double-chocolate muffins?” I repeat the order into the phone and tally up a quick total on my iPad. “Anything else? We have cheese Danishes on special this week.”

A dozen cheese Danishes later I disconnect the call, smiling. Business is booming. With Nick’s help, I’ve added new equipment, a wider menu, and a storefront in a better part of town. I’ve also added catering services and pursued a hell of a lot more advertising.

It’s made a huge difference. Not just to the business. The knowledge that Nick’s behind me on all my decisions and willing to listen to my suggestions for improvements—not to mention investing in those improvements—makes an even bigger difference. Knowing I’m supported, that he has my back… It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before in my life.

I’m jotting down some notes about the day’s orders so far when I hear that telltale noise from my office in the back part of the bakery. It’s Nicky—little Nicky—fussing for his next meal. For once, the timing isn’t too bad, so I tell Mandy I’m taking a break.

Nicky’s lying on his back in a little porta-crib right next to my desk. He sleeps there during the day while I’m working. Sometimes, if Nick gets a break during the day, he comes by and whisks the baby off for an “adventure.” Today, though, Nicky’s all mine.

With the baby settled in to nurse, I close my eyes for a quick catnap. Nick told me this morning not to expect him back tonight until late. I assume there’s something brewing—I just hope it isn’t anything bad. Having a husband who’s the head of a crime family has its perks, but there’s a big downside, too.

But with Nick at the helm, even the organization seems to have settled a little. The tension isn’t as high—even I can feel that. So I’ve made up my mind to just enjoy life as it comes.

I’m tired when I come home at dinnertime, but not as blindingly exhausted as I’ve been for most of the not-quite eight weeks since Nicky was born. I ease him out of his car seat—he’s asleep, and I don’t want to wake him—and carefully settle him against my shoulder before I head into the house.

Something’s wrong. I can tell right away, and all my senses go on alert. There’s someone in the house, and there shouldn’t be. But then, as I move carefully into the kitchen, I realize nothing’s wrong at all. There
is
someone in the house, but it’s Nick, and he’s in the dining room, grinning at me as I come in. The table’s set with the good china, and the smell of the food he’s made suddenly floods me, making my mouth water.

“Nick. I thought you had to work.”

“Nope. I wanted to surprise you.” He reaches out for the baby as I approach, and I ease little Nicky into his arms.

“Well, you did that.” I take in the room—candles on the table, wineglasses and a bottle of sparkling grape juice since I’m still nursing and I’m not supposed to be drinking alcohol. Tears prick the backs of my eyes. “You made dinner?”

He shrugs. “I’m Italian. I do know how to cook, even though I don’t do it often.”

“It smells wonderful.”

“I hope it tastes good.” He hesitates. “Look… Sarah. I don’t want you to think I’ve got, you know, ulterior motives, but I thought maybe this could be…special? I mean…if you’re okay with it.”

I just blink at him, having a hard time following the sudden shift in subject. “Special?”

“I asked Mandy to come over and watch the baby for the night. I told her she could use the guest wing. So…we’ve got the house all to ourselves for a while.”

It takes me a minute to figure out what he means. Then it hits me. The last time I went to the doctor, she told me I could—well, “engage in sexual intercourse” was how she put it. That was almost a week ago. Nick and I discussed it briefly, but I’ve been so tired, and he’s been busy. Apparently he didn’t forget about it, though.

A warmth moves through me that I haven’t felt for a long time. Suddenly just looking at him makes me want to crawl inside his clothes and have my way with him. But I give him an arched eyebrow and a tilted look. “So you made me dinner because you wanted to get me into bed?”

His expression becomes carefully neutral. “Not necessarily. I mean…I just thought…” He trails off. I find it terribly amusing that he’s working so hard not to upset me. Endearing, even.

“Well,” I say sharply, “you shouldn’t have bothered.”

I take a tight step toward him, giving him the darkest glare I can summon. He takes an automatic step back, and it’s all I can do not to laugh. Mafia boss Nick Angelino, backing away in fear from little ol’ me.

“You shouldn’t have bothered,” I continue, “because honestly, Nick, all you had to do was ask.”

He stares at me for a second, as if he’s not sure he heard me right. Then the grin comes back, and he leans forward and gives me a firm kiss. “You had me going there for a second, Sarah.”

I grin back. “Good.”

* * *

T
he meal is wonderful
, but I can barely concentrate on it. It’s so strange having the baby out of sight—I haven’t really left him anywhere for any amount of time since he was born. Mandy’s just in the guest wing, though, and there’s an intercom, so if she needs anything, we’ll know right away.

Although Nicky’s on my mind, that’s not even the main reason I can’t focus on the delicious chicken Parmesan on my plate. No, Nicky’s father is filling up my thoughts. I can’t think about much of anything but getting his clothes off him, getting him inside me. It’s been a long time, and it’s such a relief to know that, yes, I can have those feelings again. I was beginning to wonder if my desire would ever come back.

“I made dessert, too,” he says, starting to get up from the table to fetch it, but I reach over and grab his arm.

“No.”

“No? I’ve never known you to say no to dessert.”

My fingers tighten on him. “Ask me again later. Right now all I want is you.”

I’ve barely gotten the words out before he swoops me up into his arms and heads upstairs.

He lays me down on the bed, and suddenly I’m nervous. I’ve got stretch marks and all the unpleasant things that happen to your body when you have a baby. He starts kissing me, though, stretching out half over me, and it’s easy to forget I’m supposed to be self-conscious. Instead I’m just melting.

Nick’s mouth is hot and insistent, and I reach up to grasp his shoulders, comb my fingers through his hair as he explores my mouth. It feels good, being treated like a woman again instead of just a mother. It’s taken time to learn that new role, and now it’ll take some time to relearn the old one, I suppose.

Maybe not that much time, after all. My hips rise against Nick’s body as he moves over me. Pulling up my top, he buries his face in my belly then between my breasts as he unfastens my bra.

My breasts swell out, bigger than they were before, swollen from the pregnancy and now with milk. I fed the baby right before dinner, so they don’t hurt, at least, but I’m worried about how Nick will react. I just watch him, fighting the urge to cover myself.

His mouth latches to me, and he nips at me gently. My nipples are so sensitive that just his tongue laving them has molten need pouring through my body. He seems to realize how lit up I’ve become, and starts playing with my other nipple with his fingers. Then his free hand slips down my belly, stroking my lower abdomen then the insides of my thighs.

I open to him, suddenly not nervous at all—just
wanting
. I feel my pussy flooding with wetness, ready for him. I’m achy in a way I’ve never been before, but it’s not really pain. Just a pulsing, throbbing sensation as my pussy swells, desperate for his touch.

He doesn’t touch me, though. He just teases me, for a long time. My body is shivering, my hips pulsing, the insides of my thighs quaking. I’m right on the edge of the cliff; the slightest touch could toss me over. But somehow Nick just holds me there, teetering.

Then he leans up and kisses me again, deep and firm, and his hand cups my sex, hot and firm. Before I can even try to form words to ask him, he’s slid a finger inside.

He draws back, kissing my nose. “Is that all right?”

“Yes. Yes.” It’s more than all right. It’s exactly what I need. “I want you inside me.”

“Wait,” he says.

I wonder what exactly I’m waiting for, but he seems to have a plan. He strokes inside me with one finger, then two, and after a minute or two, he shifts his body down again and adds his tongue.

God. I’m hypersensitive here, too, whether because of the aftereffects of the pregnancy or just because it’s been so long since he’s touched me. The second his tongue brushes my clit, I explode.

The orgasm is hard, long, and intense. Almost painful, with aching pulses between my legs. I let out a ragged half scream, and Nick’s tongue strokes up then presses inside, the movements slow and languid.

I’m still pulsing inside when he draws his fingers out and gives me one long lick. He reaches to one side and I hear a drawer open. He’s retrieving a condom.

My breathing is ragged and harsh. “You don’t have to,” I manage.

He shakes his head, tearing open the package. “No. I don’t want you pregnant again until you’re damn good and ready.”

“It’s not as likely while I’m nursing.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He draws the condom from the packet and gives it to me. “Here.”

I take it. For a moment I consider not putting it on him, but then I lower my hand and roll the thin latex over his hard, hot length. I like having him in my hand, feeling him twitch, feeling the soft pulse of the big veins on his shaft. I think about his words—until
I’m
damn good and ready—and smile a little to myself.

So much has changed between us. We’re not the same people we were when we met on the dance floor. It seems like a lifetime ago. Then, I was a frightened rabbit running from the big bad wolf, and he was just a slightly less bad wolf. Now I’m a successful businesswoman, a wife, and a mother. As strangely as it all started, as unlikely as it seemed that any happiness could come out of our original agreement, I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

I guide Nick’s sheathed cock down between my thighs and let him slide inside me. It’s a slow glide; he’s careful, as if he’s afraid he might hurt me. It feels strange at first—like he’s bigger, or like I’m still a little raw inside. The slight friction of the condom is different from how it’s been before, but I like the way it feels. More, I like what it means; he’s looking out for me, taking care of me. And after a few careful strokes, I’m filling up with need again, and even the new sensations flow into sheer desire.

I climax again with him deep inside me, and a few moments later, he pulses inside me. I kiss his mouth, tasting myself on his lips, and he pulls me tight against him. As the waves of orgasm ease away, he whispers against my lips, “I love you.”

I couldn’t ask for anything more.

* * *