CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Marialena
I wake from a troubling dream whose details fade the moment I wake. I’m tangled in sheets and painted with perspiration. I blink in the quiet, dark room and look around me. Why are the sheets tangled about me like this?
I look around. Salvatore isn’t here.
It’s the fourth day on the island. We’ve done nothing but have incredible sex, and lots of it, eaten so much delicious food it ought to be a crime, and walked on the beach in bare feet. It’s been lazy and decadent and everything a honeymoon should be. I’ve wondered a few times if this is the only part of marriage to Salvatore I’ll enjoy, but the eternal optimist in me can’t help but hope. Still…
We go home tomorrow, and I wonder what life after this looks like. Salvatore seems restless, as if he can’t allow himself to be idle for too long without a purpose. And I know the way mob life goes. There’s always another war to fight, always another battle, always something lurking around the corner. Though he’s nearly invincible and filthy rich, the payoff of it all is, he can hardly expend any time enjoying his wealth or privilege.
I wonder where he is. And again, I wonder how he’ll be when the demands of his job and role take precedence over feeding me cheesecake and giving me orgasms.
Will he resume his position as acting Don and ignore me?
Will his mother throw a wrench into things and force us to find another place to live?
Will I be able to cut it as a newlywed?
My family’s reached out to me intermittently, but Salvatore is a jealous lover. My responses have been brief. I hope they know that these days of being a newlywed don’t allow for much time to text. I’m doing everything I can to learn what it means to be a member of the Capo family.
I miss my own family so badly, sometimes I have to excuse myself and have a quick cry. It helps. If Salvatore notices, he doesn’t say anything.
Ack, of course he notices. He notices everything. It seems as if the power of observation is one of his many superpowers.
I’m glad he doesn’t ask questions. He’s been more doting than I expected, if I’m honest. I figured after consummating our marriage the first night, he’d probably leave me to the beach and sunbathing while he did his work, but it hasn’t exactly been like that. He’s spent way more time with me than I expected. We’re actually getting to know each other.
I’ve seen glimpses of the scary man he can be. I’ve heard the low rumble of the monster’s growl.
I overheard a conversation in Italian the night before last when he ordered someone questioned. “Use any means necessary. Yes, even that.” My imagination had a hell of a time conjuring up images of “that.” Then yesterday, when we were walking on the beach, I tripped. Salvatore quickly caught my elbow to steady me, but one of the guards flanking us caught me at the same time. I froze, knowing that none of his guards are allowed to touch me without a very good reason.
He excused himself from me. Escorted the guard, who looked as if he were being taken by the Grim Reaper himself, back to the hotel. I heard the guard pleading in Italian, begging forgiveness. Salvatore didn’t reply. I haven’t seen the guard since.
Still, if I’m really honest, all of those things are fairly consistent with how my brothers would behave.
And he hasn’treallydone anything tomethat’s too scary… yet.
I know the time will come. I know my brothers wouldn’t fabricate things about someone just for the hell of it. So while I let myself enjoy the good parts—everything from our conversations to sex to meals together—I am not naïve enough to think this is all there is to Salvatore Capo.
I’m wide awake. We left one of the window shades half open, and outside I can see the vacant beach, one lone umbrella from earlier still keeping the sand beneath it cool. Beyond the beach, moonlight from the full moon glints as it reflects off the glacial blue of the water.
No footsteps.
I sit up and yawn, then look down at myself. I’m wearing nothing but one of Salvatore’s faded Black Sabbath tees. He usually dresses professionally in a suit, like my brothers do, but he’s got a small, well-worn wardrobe of casual clothes as well. Last night, he tugged this on me because I was cold. I like the smell of him on me.
I know it’s dangerous to allow myself to grow sentimental and hopeful. I hope I don’t regret it.
I grab a robe and sling it on, slide into my slippers and go looking.
It doesn’t take long to realize he isn’t in the suite. How did I not hear him slip out?
My heart thuds as I reach for the door. I haven’t left this room without him since we got here, and I’m not entirely sure what he’d think about me doing it now.
He didn’t say Icouldn’t.I don’tthink.
Noiselessly, I open the door. Other than his staff and the boy we found the first night who’s remained under the watchful protection of staff until we go home, our hotel is vacant. It makes it easy to hear every word and conversation, though. So when I hear the deep register of Salvatore’s voice nearby, I pause and listen.
I should turn around and go back to our room.