Wrong (Spada Crime Family #2) (9 page)

But Sarah’s face has gone hard and cold, except for her eyes, which are burning laser-like at me. “Fuck. You,” she says in firm, measured tones. “Fuck you for making me think you actually wanted to help me. God. I should have fucking known better.”

I shrug. “You know it’s tit for tat in this business. You learned that from Sal. You gave him your body to keep him from burning down your bakery; I’m just asking for the same deal, right?”

Tears are edging her eyes now, and I almost feel guilty.

“He just wanted to fuck me. You want me to have your goddamn baby.”

“And he announced your engagement in front of the whole damn organization without so much as a by-your-leave from you. He’s an asshole, Sarah. You know that. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life with him?”

“No, but I’m not sure I want to spend the rest of my life with you, either.”

I’m tired of arguing with her. She’ll either come around or she won’t. I’ve said about all I can manage to say to convince her my plan is the best path for her. “It’s your choice. But I’ll tell you this much: I’m not sorry I did what I did. You need to get away from him. If he doesn’t kill you, he’ll at the very least make your life a living hell. I think you know that.”

Her mouth is tight and firm, her fists clenched. I wait for her to chime in, but she doesn’t.

“He’s going to destroy your business, Sarah. And he’s going to destroy you. Whether he does it physically, mentally, or emotionally doesn’t matter in the long run. You stay with Sal, you’re going to lose
everything
. And I don’t mean just the bakery.”

A tear slides down her cheek.
And I have the nerve to call Sal an asshole.
“Look.” I use my thumb to wipe the tear from her face, and she flinches back from my touch. “Just stay here tonight. You can stay in the guest room for the rest of the night if you want. Think about it. We can talk later.”

“I don’t want to talk later,” she mutters angrily. But I can feel her softening a little under my touch. Truth is, no matter how we get there, there’s something between us. She’s going to have a hard time ignoring that, no matter how hard she tries.

“You can decide that in the morning.” I give her a slight smile and leave her alone in the kitchen.

#

I find her in the kitchen again when I come back down for breakfast several hours later. I don’t think she’s been there all night, though; she’s got sheet marks on her face, so she must have spent some time in the guest bedroom, like I suggested.

“Morning,” I say, probably sounding too cheery.

She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t even grunt to acknowledge me. I’m not going to have much time to talk this morning, since I have to get to Phil Spada’s place for our weekly meeting. There’ll be work for me—I’m sure Spada is lining up fights for next month, and I’ll have to get everything on my schedule and make sure I know who’s supposed to win what and who’s supposed to throw what and when.

“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.

#

The 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.

#

Spada 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.

Chapter Five

Sarah

One 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.

#

In 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?”