Page 20 of Jig's Last Dance

“Come,” he says, and I take his hand.

Sal’s skin is warm and dry as he leads me into his office. Blankly, I stare at the back of his head, his black hair cut short and glinting with hints of gray.

I’m simultaneously comforted by his touch, which has only been gentle, and repulsed because I know how wicked he truly is.

The room, although decorated beautifully, is devoid of a personal touch. Sitting down on the sofa cautiously, I grip my hands in my lap and glance around to avoid Sal’s gaze.

A large desk sits before a set of windows where the afternoon light creeps across the floor. A beautiful old lamp rests on the desk with nothing but a notepad and pen on top.

Sal sits down beside me, drawing my attention away from a painting hanging behind his head. The image depicts a man on his knees, his hands lifted in prayer as a dark figure stands over him.

The macabre picture raises goosebumps on my arms, and I cross them over my chest to hide my shiver.

Although I’ve always been his honorary family, knowing the little I do now puts all of this in a context that makes me uneasy.

I was naive to take everything at face value, and when I learned the truth of who my dad was, I guess I ignored what went with it. In my grief, I chose to focus on what I lost, not what was never there to begin with.

“Alice?” Reluctantly, I meet his stare, curling my fingers together. When I was young, I thought Sal was handsome and fun. Now, I realize that his proximity makes my skin itchy and tight. What I didn’t understand then but is painfully obvious now is that the aura he exudes isn’t charisma; it’s lethal power. This man holds lives in his hands, and he decides whether they die.

With his dark, penetrating eyes on me, I swallow. “Yes?”

“What’s going on? Why are you wearing that?”

His lip curves with distaste, and I mentally cringe. I still have Jig’s billowing white T-shirt on paired with my short skirt and boots.

“Well, I spent the night at a friend’s house.”

“I see. Does your brother know where you are?” I bristle at his disapproving tone but wisely hold my tongue on that front. “Yes, sort of. He’s a little mad at me right now.”

“How so?” He cocks his head to the side.

“It’s a misunderstanding, but I was wondering if maybe I could spend the night here? Give him time to cool off?”

Sal slowly nods, and I wonder what’s going on inside his head before he says, “Of course, bambina.”

I swallow through the lump building in my throat. “Thank you, Uncle.”

The moniker brings a soothing balm to the burn in my chest, but I can’t help the tickle of unease as he nods, smoothing his hand down his no doubt expensive pants suit.

“I’m glad you’re here, Alice.”

“Thanks,” I say weakly.

His lips light in a smile, the twinkle I adored making an appearance. “Relax. This is a good thing. You’ll see.”

“Ben won’t be pleased.”

He waves his hand. “Your brother has many questions with no answers. Maybe with time.”

“Maybe.” But I’m not sure Ben will ever come around to forgiving me. In his eyes, I’ve committed the ultimate sin. The irony is that I wouldn’t be here now if he hadn’t jumped to conclusions.

Cocking his head to the side, Uncle Sal studies me. “Good. I have a meeting this evening—a dinner party. I can’t get out of it. You’ll attend, hm?”

What ? Me? Why?

“Oh?”

“Yes. This is our chance to catch up. It’s been too long.”