Page 46 of Capo
“That many? Why the fuck are you just telling me now? Why didn’t I know of this?”
“This is a day old, Boss. I tried to get ahold of Christian the whole morning.”
“All right. I’ll find him and get his ass here. Call in our people from Chicago and Vegas. Will that be enough? And arm up.”
“That’ll cover it for now. Will do.”
“Good.” I disconnect as I stop and stare out at my garden, at the robotic lawnmower that’s zig-zagging its way across the impeccably green surface. My front door opens and closes, and I turn to see Carmen, worry etched on her face.
“How is he?”
“Take him until I can sort this shit.” I shove my fingers through my hair. “Fuck! Everything happens at fucking once. Wait here. I’ll get him for you.” I storm off toward my chambers, my heart rate picking up when I don’t see them in the hallway. What if this was an absolutely braindead decision? I gave my son to a woman I’m holding captive, who I’ve been torturing for months. What if she’s hurt him to get back at me? My mouth turns dry as I follow the sounds from a TV, and then I stop in the doorway to my bedroom. David and Chloe sit before a children’s show, an animated talking train. Chloe looks up at me, her features calm, almost serene, then she turns back to David. She gestures, almost as if she’s trying sign language, and David mimics what she’s doing, his lips moving even though he still doesn’t speak.
I swallow against the sudden lump in my throat as I approach them. “His mom is here to take him,” I mutter.
She nods and shuffles back, still kneeling. I realize she doesn’t want to suddenly stand and tower over David and potentially scare him. I follow her cue and get down on one knee. “Mom’s here, Son.” David doesn’t react and my heart sinks. Every fucking time. I just can’t get a response. I grab under his arms and hoist him up, feeling him stiffen as always. I shoot Chloe one last glance. Her eyes are unreadable as she meets my gaze. I have an instinct to say thank you, but I quell it. I can’t show her any weakness. She already knows too much. She’s seen more of me and my fucked-up mind than what’s healthy for either of us.
Chloe
They leave me a mess. That last look filled with so many unspoken words. David’s body protesting against his father’s touch. Every instinct in me screamed that I needed to help them connect. There was despair in Salvatore’s eyes, a brief light when he saw David, and then it died as quickly as it appeared.
I was only a part time accountant at the center, I didn’t actively work with the kids like Kerry did, but we were all put through classes on how to approach children with autism.
Pushing to my feet, I then take an uncertain step toward where they disappeared before I turn and head for the shower instead.
Nothing can soothe the turmoil inside. That night, I don’t even try to sleep. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, I watch TV without seeing anything. I keep expecting Salvatore to show up again. Alone. With the gun. It’s obvious that my time is up. I’ve been held as if I am an animal. I keep fighting him, keep resisting his demands, and now he’s decided he has no use for me.
Suddenly the door opens further, and a shadow fills the opening, blocking most of the light from the hallway. My heart leaps to my throat and my racing pulse feels as if it will choke me.
Salvatore crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the door post. My eyes dart to his hands and even in the dim light I see they are empty. It isn’t comforting in the least. His hands alone are death. I stare, transfixed, as he tightens them into fists, then relaxes them again.
“Please,” I whisper, “make it quick.” Tears well up in my eyes. I won’t beg for my life. I doubt it will change his mind.
He’s quiet for a few moments, then he sighs. “You look good.” His voice is grave, a deep rumbling baritone. Salvatore has a very pleasant voice. When he wants to. And it seems he does now for some reason.
“I—” Not the response I was expecting. “Thank you?” I twitch when he moves toward me, but I remain still even though my insides shrink away.
“Are you enjoying your new toys?”
Frowning, I look around me, at the piles of books, at the TV, the iPad next to me. He has kept moving and is right by the bed now. I inhale, my breath hitching as his scent invades my whole world.
“Thank you for the gym,” I whisper, hypnotized by his black eyes.
“You’re welcome. Lie down.”
I stretch out my legs and fall on my back, never breaking his gaze. He sets a knee on the bed, moves in on me, the air between us thickening, charged with the unmentionable things he has done, all the things I fear he will do. Salvatore climbs on top of me, supporting himself on his elbows, his body brushing mine, intimate, pushing way past my boundaries, but still not quite there. Leaning closer, he puts his lips to my ear.
“Thank you for David,” he whispers. “Tomorrow morning at six, you are to attend breakfast with my son and me. Dress for the occasion. Be ready. I’ll fetch you.”
He goes silent but doesn’t move, hot air fans my cheek and I can’t seem to remember how to breathe.
“Also,” he adds, so close now that I feel his lips moving against my earlobe, “I like the way you’re short of breath when I get close.” He sinks down on me, just enough so that I can feel his bulge pressing against my pussy. I swallow hard, unable to move. “A lot.” His voice a low growl that sends shudders running down my spine.
The mattress rocks as he pushes away and stands. He gives me one last glance, looking me over, as if he’s undressing me with his gaze, then he exits the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.
I curl up on my side, clutching a pillow, panting hard, my skin burning where he touched me. No cruelties? Breakfast? I’m so confused. I jerk and reach for the iPad, setting an alarm for 5 a.m. It’s a little more than five hours away. I doubt I’ll sleep at all, but just in case.
He moves out there, a mere few feet from where I lie. I don’t know how I missed these sounds before. Doors opening and closing. Water flushing. Then silence. Silence. Silence.
Oh my God. How can he fucking sleep when my whole body and mind is in uproar?
I almost fly through the roof when the alarm goes off and realize I must have fallen asleep at some point anyway.
Stumbling, half-blind, toward the bathroom, I listen out the hallway but hear nothing. I shower, and as I dry myself, I twist and look at my backside in the mirror, at the fading red welts, at the thin, still fresh scars–the signs of his rage–and my stomach sinks. It’s all games to him. Being cruel, being nice. Still, I’ll take nice even if it’s brief because I desperately need some semblance of normalcy. I rub furiously at my wet hair, terrified to use the blow dryer now that I know he’s so close. I put on dark gray slacks and a white T-shirt. I don’t have socks or shoes. No makeup. It’s not like it has been needed. When I’m done, I sit on the edge of the bed, twisting my hands in my lap. I still have forty minutes to go before he said he’d pick me up and I’m a tight knot of emotions I can’t sort. Is he tricking me? My worst fear isn’t even that he’ll kill me. My worst fear is that he’ll play with me, hand me rays of hope and then snatch them away.
At half past five I hear a door open and my pulse skyrockets. I sit frozen to the spot as I listen to the sounds of his morning routine. The sudden silence is ominous, and then the door opens. Luciano Salvatore, in all his infuriatingly beautiful glory and power, dressed in tight black jeans and a black T-shirt, appears before me. He’s barefoot, like I am. His hair is slightly damp. Like mine. He gives me a once-over before he nods.
“Good girl. Come.”
It’s 5:57. I don’t know the date, but I think it might be autumn. I have a feeling my life is to change yet again. I just don’t know if it’s for the better or for the worse.