Page 2 of Salvatore
I swallow hard when I hear cascading water coming from the bathroom and I note the discarded suit on the floor that he stripped off before taking a shower. As I edge inside, I hear a deep groan from inside the bathroom and my curiosity gets the better of me as I creep toward the partially closed door.
As I peer through the crack, the steam from the shower obscures my view and I blink as a shape reveals itself.
It’s not Edward.
The man with his face pressed against the shower glass is not my fiancé, but the man behind him most definitely is.
I stare in horror as the man’s face hits the shower screen as Edward thumps against him from behind and the loud groans tell me that whatever he’s doing is causing the stranger a great deal of pleasure. They are naked and dripping with water and Edward says roughly, “You fucking love my hard cock in your ass, you piece of shit.”
I pull back and blink away the tears, but the confusion remains. I may be a virgin, but I know what I’m seeing and the bile tastes bitter in my mouth as I stumble to the door.
The most important thing in my life right now is to get the hell out of here and yet pain is fast giving way to anger as I stumble from the room.
CHAPTER 2
SALVATORE
The whiskey glows brightly in the glass and will burn a trail down my throat but do little to dull the ache inside me.
I hate this shit.
As the roulette wheel spins, gamblers watch with anticipation, their chips scattered on the green baize.
My pile of chips is high, but the euphoria of winning has long since faded. I always win. If not this time it will be the next. If I suffer a losing streak, it makes no difference because as fast as I gamble it away, it drops back into my bank account courtesy of the business I inherited.
Mafia business.
I own this casino, two down the block and several across the country. The whores who work the private clubs are my employees, and the drugs on the street are there courtesy of me. I am a monster and the devil all rolled into one sadistic package and I search for kicks in the unlikeliest of places.
The whiskey glass empties down my throat, and I don’t even blink. The burn faded long ago. The effects don’t remain for long and so I nod to the waitress who pours the waiting bottle into my glass for the fifth time tonight.
Her cleavage brushes against my arm and the provocative pout of her lips are directed at me, but I’m not interested in a sordid fuck with yet another whore. They all blend into one after a while and I’m bored with it.
The wheel stops spinning, but I don’t give a fuck if I win or lose. It’s as meaningless as my life and I observe the reactions of my fellow gamblers with interest.
Hope, greed, fear, and desire flicker across their faces as they wait for fate to playforthem or against them.
As it drops on red twelve, I can almost touch the disappointment surrounding me as they lower their eyes in defeat. The croupier pushes the chips across the table toward me and the envious stares of the losers follow them.
The waitress whispers, “Who’s a lucky guy?”
I ignore her and merely grab a pile of chips and stuff them down her offending cleavage and say huskily, “Beat it.”
The gamblers either stay for another shot or slope away, and several new faces take their place. Then I see her standing hesitantly on the side, her tear-streaked face causing the mascara to paint her face in misery and her chest heaves from the desire not to cry.
Interesting.
She hovers behind a marker as if she’s uncertain what to do next and the croupier nods toward her. “Are you in? If not, please step back to let someone else take your place.”
Her fingers shake as she grasps her purse, and a flicker of defiance spreads across her angelic face.
“I’m in.”
She steps toward the table, and I run my lascivious gaze across her heaving chest, the whiteness of her skin in direct contrast to her dress and she fumbles in her purse for a handful of chips that are much less than I stuffed down the waitress’s dress.
She is fighting demons for sure as she sweeps the wheel with a frantic gaze and then glances at the man beside her who pushes his chips on four. He takes pity on her and whispers in her ear and she smiles, a fleeting glimpse of humanity in the shell of a broken woman.
Just how I like them.