Page 19 of Salvatore

I nod, smile, play pretend. “It’s good to have the formalities over.” I keep scouring my surroundings, growing hopeful that there’s been a mass exodus of Italian mafia. “I need caffeine.”

I need to do a better search.

“Okay.” She mimics my smile and claims a nearby seat. “I’ll be here.”

I weave my way through the crowd, still on alert as I murmur “thank you for coming”s to random people who meet my stare.

I scan faces. Listen for duplicitous voices.

There’s nothing.

Only a room full of chattering people sipping tea and eating sandwiches.

I head for the coffee station, grab a mug, then reach for the pot of instant.

That’s when I feel it. The cool chill. The formidable presence.

“It’s good to see you again,” Salvatore taunts close at my back, all slow syllables and condescending energy.

“Is it, though?” I force myself not to stiffen and keep my focus on my task, shuffling sideward to claim a sugar packet, then the jug of creamer.

His snicker is sinister, awakening my skin in goose bumps. “I’ve been thinking about you all week.”

“I bet.” I breathe evenly as I stir my coffee then place the spoon into the container of used cutlery. “Unfortunately those thoughts weren’t reciprocated.”

“Are you sure about that?”

I turn to him, my pulse erratic as I meet those dark, fathomless eyes. “I’m not interested. I’d rather dive headfirst into a meat grinder.”

He grins, the sinful curve of lips calling me out on my bullshit.

Okay, so apparently his murderous family ties haven’t quashed the unhinged hold he has on my ovaries, but that’s nothing a few Tinder dates won’t fix.

“How do you know me, troublemaker?”

“I don’t.” I clear my throat of the uncomfortable ache, unsure if my answer is the correct response.

“You knew my name last weekend and made enough of a judgment on my character to run from the club.”

“I didn’t run.”

“No?” He raises a sardonic brow. “Let’s call it a swift walk then. Either way, you sure seemed in a hurry to flee. Why?”

Because I was taught at an early age to recognize who owns the world. To always be familiar with the devil who pulls the strings, no matter where I roam.

“Cat got your tongue?” He steps closer, consuming my personal space. “Do you need me to open that pretty mouth again and help you spe?—”

“That’s enough,” I cut him off with a glare. “This is highly inappropriate at my boss’s funeral. Now I understand that your ego is fragile after my rejection, but I did warn you that you wouldn’t live up to my imagination. That’s all there is to it. And I know your name because… ”Fuck, why would I know his name if not for my past?“…because the waitress at the club told me.”

His eyes narrow.

He doesn’t believe me.

“Now with all due respect,” I grate, “I’m going to go check on my best friend.”

He stares at me. Stares so hard I don’t know if I should chance moving.

“Goodbye, Mr. Costa.” I swallow down the dryness taking over my throat and step away, turning my back to him.

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