Thrill Me, page 17
He’s right though. I’m like Frankie, but then we all are. Maybe not Vincent. Maybe because he’s had to calm down so he can take the lead.
Fuck… there’s always something. Always some shit blowing in on a storm, and always when things seem good.
I couldn’t be more happy with Mimi but this is danger. This is all fucking danger. The kind she was trying to ask me about.
I get home and that fragrance lingers in the air, tantalizing and teasing. That’s what she does to me.
She’s here. I thought she’d be at her grandmother’s and sent men to watch over her. Completely unknown to her. I didn’t want to freak her out. I didn’t expect her to see me tonight because it’s so late. It’s two a.m.
I don’t like her being on the road at this time and definitely not with everything going on.
I walk into the living room and find her over in the corner by the window. Just like weeks ago she’s crying.
She looks to me when I move over to her and practically flies into my arms.
“Salvatore…” she cries and I hold her.
“What’s wrong Babygirl?”
She shuffles out of my arms and picks up an envelope that was next to her. She opens it and shows me a picture of her mother and the old State’s Attorney.
The minute I see that I know we’re in for one long night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Mimi
“Baby, tell me what you need,” Salvatore whispers into my ear.
I can’t answer him. All I can do is shuffle my head and bury my face into his chest as he holds me.
He’s holding me as I cry. I hate crying like this, the kind where you lose control and the tears just flow from your soul.
This only happens to me for her. My mother. And the same man who was there for me the last time I cried like this is here for me now.
I cried like this at her funeral. Dad left me. I was twelve years old and he just left me.
I remember feeling so lost until warm hands covered mine. Warm hands in the rain that felt like ice water being thrown over my body.
It was Salvatore. He was there for me then and he’s here now doing the same thing, holding me, holding me and keeping me from slipping into the darkness of despair and grief.
The odd same feeling that flowed through me then is back now.
It’s a weird feeling I can’t quite find the words to truly describe but if I were to try I’d say that the feeling is like some type of warning. Something dark and sinister singing to me, telling me something isn’t quite right. It’s something primal and instinctual.
Mom always told me to follow my instincts.
Always, no matter how bizarre the feeling.
Mom told me I should go with that prickling sensation that could spike your nerves.
My instincts never let me down once. Always when I went against those feelings I’d end up suffering in some way, or on the wrong path.
Something would go wrong somewhere.
This is the second time in my life that my instincts were screaming at me and I questioned myself. Questioned facts because what my instincts were telling me were different to what fact showed me.
Both times were in relation to my mother.
The first time was when she died. I found the suicide note. I found it in the library at home.
It said she was sorry but she couldn’t take any more. She couldn’t live another day in the house.
It looked like she was going to continue her words but didn’t. There was no full stop after that last word. Mom was particular about things like that. I figured though that when you’re about to die, punctuation is the last thing you worry about.
I found her dead in the pool and Dad came home just after me. He was working. Typical. Days later I found the note and showed it to him.
The coroners told us it looked like she slipped off the upstairs balcony and fell. We had one of those Juliet balconies on my parent’s bedroom. They said she fell from there. I couldn’t understand how that could happen.
Then I found the note and it made more sense. Something that didn’t make sense made sense and I hated it because I preferred believing that she accidentally fell off the balcony over believing she killed herself.
Killing herself meant she left me, left me in this world without her.
Now things don’t make sense again and that feeling is back. It’s back and it’s telling me that something is not right at all.
Dad made me promise not to tell anyone she killed herself. He didn’t want anyone knowing how much she hated him. He blamed himself because he wouldn’t give her a divorce. He wouldn’t allow her to leave him.
Now that I’ve found this picture, the picture of reality is clearer to me.
Mom was having an affair with her boss. Did Dad know? Maybe he did.
And what was she in danger of?
The note on the back of the picture doesn’t sound like someone who would kill themselves the following day.
It sounded like she wanted to protect me, but from what?
The bigger question is what actually happened to her. What if… what if what happened wasn’t what I think?
What if something worse happened?
What if it wasn’t a suicide?
Salvatore is holding me, probably thinking I’m crying because it looks like Mom had an affair.
This is one more secret I need to tell him.
I came straight here and waited for him. I waited for hours and now that he’s here I’m a mess.
His cheek against my head gives me reassurance and I shuffle to face him.
“Talk to me baby,” he says.
“There’s something I have to tell you. About my mother,” I begin.
“Babygirl you can tell me anything,” he assures me.
“It’s a secret few people know.” I stop for a breath.
“Secret?” He narrows his eyes. “What is it?”
“Everyone thinks Mom fell to her death. They think she fell, hit her head and drowned in the pool, but I know otherwise. I found a suicide note and I showed my father. It was clear from the note that she jumped. Jumped to her death from the balcony.”
He blows out a sharp breath. “Jesus Mimi, what? Why didn’t you tell me, baby?”
“I’m sorry, my dad wanted me to keep it a secret.”
“Does anyone else know?”
I bite the inside of my lip. He’s not going to like my answer to that question. “I told Gabe.” I don’t miss the way he tenses when I confess that.
“Oh… um…When did you tell Gabe?”
“Months ago. It was months ago when Charlotte wanted to leave our life behind. My mother wanted to do the same. She wanted to divorce my father and hated the danger. I told Gabe because I thought it would help him let Charlotte go. That’s the only reason I told him Salvatore.” I reach for his hand. “My dad blames himself for Mom’s death. He thinks she jumped because it was the only way she could get away from him. He didn’t want to let her go.” I have to stop when my breath catches.
“I understand baby. I understand,” he says but I can see he’s hurt I told Gabe and not him. I hope he won’t hold it against me. God knew how many times I wanted to tell him. My promise to Dad, however, took precedence. Me telling Gabe was something I thought was a necessity at the time.
“Thank you. I held on to that for so long. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell you. It was all so horrible.”
“It’s okay baby.” He nods and strokes my cheek.
“I found her in the pool then I found the note. But… Salvatore, you saw what she wrote on the back of the picture. It was the day before she died. The suicide note I found suggests she killed herself but what if that’s not true either? What if someone hurt her?”
He intensifies his stare on me and presses his lips together.
“Salvatore it’s suspicious as fuck, don’t you think? It looks suspicious, please tell me it does. That’s what my heart tells me.” I break down again and as the tears flow my heart and my instincts continue to tell me something doesn’t feel right.
Morning comes.
I don’t remember how I got in bed.
I wake up and roll onto my side. The aroma of coffee and pastries hangs in the air.
My head feels light as I sit up and my eyes are puffy.
It takes a moment by I remember.
I remember what happened yesterday with Mom and the picture, and that I cried myself to sleep. I cried myself to sleep and I’m still wearing yesterday’s clothes.
I glance at the clock on the wall and see it’s close to eleven. I can’t remember when last I slept in so late. I’m an early riser and even when I’m with Salvatore the latest we get up is eight or nine. It’s nearly lunchtime and definitely unlike me to miss a big chunk of the day.
Sliding off the bed, I run a hand through my hair smoothing it down. I catch a glimpse of myself in the long mirrors of the wardrobe and flinch. I look like a troll with red eyes. It’s definitely not the look to go for when in the presence of the guy you’re dating.
I was about to go to the bathroom and splash my face with cold water when he walked in. Shirtless, with muscles and tats on show looking like he just walked out of a fantasy.
He looks at me and it’s like he doesn’t see the mess I am inside and out.
Offering a small smile he lowers and kisses me, but instinct makes me back away despite my low mood because I always like to brush my teeth and look semi decent before I kiss him.
“Baby, what?” he muses.
“I’m not kissing you with morning mouth and puffy eyes.” I try to move away but he catches me and pulls me back to him.
I try to smile and be as playful as I usually am with him but I can’t find myself today.
“You’re perfect. You taste and smell like vanilla honey. You know like those buns your grandma makes at Easter.” His smile widens revealing perfect white teeth.
“Her sweet on sex buns?” That makes me chuckle.
“Yeah them.” He smirks.
My poor grandmother must have thought I was weirder than usual when I rushed down the stairs yesterday leaving all the recipe books behind.
I told her something came up and I had to go.
Those were the most words I formed then I left, went home, realized I couldn’t stay home with the torture in my mind then came here.
“You think I taste like pastries?” I brush over his hard chest.
“Edible and delicious.” He beams with a wink and plants a kiss on the bridge of my nose. “That’s what you in the morning smells like and tastes like. The only thing better than that is the taste of you on my lips when you come. Come here, I made you a good breakfast.”
He slips a powerful arm around me and ushers me to the breakfast table where I see a feast of fattening treats waiting for me.
It’s all my favorite things. He went out and got them. There are croissants, pain au chocolat, and macaroons on a large platter. Next to that is a cooked feast of bacon, scrambled eggs and French toast.
“Wow, thank you. You made all this?” I look him over as he grabs a plate and starts serving up a bit of everything.
“I did. Impressed?”
“Very.” As soon as I answer he sits down and pulls me into his lap.
Taking a fork he spears a piece of bacon and feeds it to me. I take it and instantly become aware of how hungry I am. I had breakfast yesterday and a banana for lunch. I knew Grandma was going to make me dinner so I purposely didn’t have more than that. Only I never had that dinner she made me.
As soon as the memory hits it brings back the other stuff.
Salvatore smiles at me, like he knows.
“You need to eat,” he says. “I need you to eat before we talk.”
“Talk,” I state in a meek and lowly voice. There’s a hollow inside me that I can’t shake. God, as if I’m not screwed up enough, this had to happen.
“Talk. Have a few more bites of this then we talk.” He nods and I allow him to feed me with a few forkfuls of the egg. I take a piece of toast and give it to him and as he takes it and smiles it’s like the best thing ever. Watching him. He really feels like mine.
“You know if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to eat you for breakfast.” He smirks.
“I wouldn’t say no.”
“I want your mind and body with me when I’m with you. It’s not the same if you can’t feel me in your mind, baby. I’m a greedy bastard. When you’re with me I just want you to be thinking about me inside you.”
I don’t know anyone who can be sexy all the time, even when he’s not trying. When he tries it has this irresistible effect that’s paralyzing.
“Okay.”
I enjoy him holding me as we eat. When we finish the food he runs a light finger over my arm and his expression softens. The natural pause in the tenderness of us eating together signals that it’s time to talk.
“So… now we talk. Maria Cipriani, Babygirl… you know I’d do anything for you right?” he begins and I smile.
I smile and nod. “Yes. I do know that.”
“Good. So I looked at the picture of your mom and I agree something feels off but I’m not sure what to make of it. You found a suicide note that tends to suggest that you’re right about … well, I don’t like saying it, but it suggested that she did take her life.”
A tear runs down my cheek and I wipe it away with the back of my hand. “You think so?”
“I… do. You found the note and while the other stuff is suspicious as fuck I don’t know if we can go on assumptions. We can’t just assume.”
I run my finger over his beard. “Okay… Salvatore, I think that something caused her to do it. She mentioned files. I want to… find William. I’d like to maybe see him. It would just give me some closure.”
He takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Baby, William was the State’s Attorney. From experience, when dealing with men like him you don’t get that info just like that. It sounds like something shady as shit happened. But…” he holds my gaze.
“But what?”
“I’ll look into it just… not right now. There’s some stuff going on that affects us all.”
The minute he says that a chill races down my spine. “What’s happening?”
He blows out a ragged breath. “The man who killed Frankie is back on the scene and we’re going to have to be a bit more careful.”
Jesus…
I’m not stupid. I know what that means. It’s not as simple as being a bit more careful.
“Stephanou Portaleu is back on the scene?” I ask, well versed in that name. Frankie’s death was… it was a really hard time. It hit all of us.
“Yes baby. It means we’re just going to have to focus a little more on safety. Not you. Me. I may… well, I’ll be around but there may be a time when you won’t see me as much.”
“What does that mean Salvatore?”
“Things might get dangerous. So, all hands on deck, more responsibility. That kind of thing.”
“You become a capo?” I ask with worry brimming in my voice.
Just the other day I thought of this happening. I thought of the possibility and here we are talking about it.
“Something like that. But hey… it’s not today. Today I’m hanging out with my babygirl. We’re going to go to that restaurant of hers and stay there all day fixing it up. All day. I have an idea for your office.”
I know when he’s trying to distract me. Nice as that sounds it doesn’t work.
“Danger,” I whisper as another tear runs down my cheek.
“Hey… not today, Mimi. Okay, please, can I have today with my girl. Be ordinary. We can talk recipes. We could be a normal couple. A guy and a girl who…um…”
I look at him and I feel like I can say what I feel. “Love each other?” I fill in and he nods.
“Yeah.. we could be a guy and a girl who love each other. Can we do that?”
I nod.
Nothing sounds better than that.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Mimi
“You like it?” Salvatore asks looking at the shelves.
They’re black and sleek with a polish to it that gives it a shine.
“I love it,” I tell him with a smile.
Working in here today with Salvatore has provided a distraction from the picture of Mom. It’s keeping my mind from wandering. My thoughts are still there, I’m just trying to prioritize the situation with Stephanou.
“You sure you like it? I don’t know if it should have a matt or gloss finish to match the rest of the office.” He looks around and I do too.
I look and I can’t believe the place is mine.
The office is pretty much done. He painted it a salmon pink color. The black shelves blend perfectly with the new desk and office chair.
“Salvatore this is amazing. I love it. You can’t get much better than this and this is all so much more than I was going to do. I didn’t know you were so good with your hands.” I didn’t mean to say it like that, but it just came out that way and of course he snaps his gaze around to me and gives me an incredulous glare.
“Excuse me?” he asks with narrowed eyes. “Say that again.”
I chuckle. “I just meant I didn’t know you could do all this stuff. I’ve never seen you make anything.”
“I made you a treehouse when you were eight.”
I burst out laughing. “Salvatore you stole Mrs. Hubbleback’s dog house and nailed it to the oak tree in the yard.”
“Did you fit inside it?”
“Yes. I was like three feet tall of course I fit inside it.”
“Good, so I can file that as having made the treehouse. If it worked then it worked and no one can say otherwise baby.” He gives me a wolfish grin.
“Oh my God, you are too much mister.”
I make a move to go through the door but he catches my waist and pulls me back.
He closes the door, locking us into privacy.
