He crosses his arms. “I’m not onboard yet.”
“My point exactly. Look, I promise I’ll tell them after you’ve kidnapped someone. By then it’ll be too late to turn back.”
I can see the conflict in his eyes. He’s wavering back and forth. For a moment I think he’s going to say no after all, but then he suddenly smiles. “Oh, but the Rizzos are going to be pissed. Royally.”
“They certainly will,” I agree. I don’t tell him I plan to kill The Cleaver either. His death will be up close and personal: I want to see the bastard’s face when I unload lead into his belly. Assuming The Cleaver shows for the trade.
“Take Rosa with you as well,” I instruct Luciano. “But don’t tell her you’re kidnapping someone, of course.”
“Why bring her?” he asks suspiciously. “You know she doesn’t want to be involved in this side of the business.”
“She’s already involved,” I insist. “I want to hammer that point home. Let her go with you, tell her you’re grocery shopping together or something. And when you capture someone, she won’t be able to do anything to stop you.”
He sighs. “All right, I’ll do it. I still think it’s a bad idea, though.” He scrunches up his forehead in thought. “Shouldn’t be too hard to snatch some nobody off the streets, though. Not like running off with a mafia don’s daughter.”
“That wasn’t the easiest,” I agree, remembering the shootout. “Text me updates. Thanks for doing this by the way. I knew I could count on you.”
He nods distractedly. “I haven’t done it yet. Thank me after.” He goes off in search of Rosa.
I wait for Luciano and Rosa to leave, and when they’re gone, I immediately head upstairs. Now that I have the house to myself, I want to do something nice for Angela.
I’m a bit distracted though, because I keep thinking about tomorrow and what I’m going to do. I still haven’t completely decided. Maybe I shouldn’t visit her until I’ve made up my mind, because when I’m in her presence I can’t think properly, my logical brain completely overridden by the other mind I seem to have in my pants.
My thoughts continue churning like that as I climb the steps. And then I pause halfway up, a vague idea coming to me. Something I can use to test her loyalty. Something that will decide our relationship going forward, and what happens tomorrow.
The plan solidifies while I’m standing there, and yet I still hesitate.
It’s a bad idea.
But I turn around anyway and return to the main room. I make a beeline for the patio door. I unlock it and open it wide, leaving the screen portion closed—there’s no lock on the screen door.
I also open the shutters, and the windows, which have no bars on them. I head to the front door and unlock it. I confirm that the mastiffs are secured in their kennels outside.
I go to the remaining car, a beat-up Lancia supermini, and rest the key in plain view on the dashboard.
Satisfied, I return inside and head upstairs. I want to give her a choice, because I need to know if what we have is real. I have to know before tomorrow—before I finally make up my mind about what I’m going to do.
I reach her door and unlock it. Angela is up now. She’s brushing her teeth in the ensuite bathroom, wearing one of my shirts from the laundry basket. It’s oversized of course, but it looks good on her. I like how it reaches down to her thighs, and it makes me wonder if she’s wearing anything underneath.
I’m getting aroused just looking at her, so to distract myself, I tell her: “You’re the only one I know who brushes their teeth before breakfast.”
She glances at me, and spits out a big glob of saliva-coated toothpaste into the sink. Normally seeing something like that would gross me out, but I don’t find it disgusting at all.
“Hey you,” she says. “Sleep well?”
“Not bad, you?” I ask.
“Okay,” she replies. She seems a little sad. Maybe it’s because of how I stormed out last night.
I want to wrap my arms around her and slide a hand up the hem of her shirt to check if she’s wearing any panties, but I don’t. I’m getting good at restraining myself. Control was never one of my best traits, but she’s helping me hone it.
“You’re still mad about what I said last night?” I ask.
She pauses. “No. Not really. I just… I don’t know, I’m confused, I guess.”
When she doesn’t elaborate, I don’t press her.
She finishes brushing her teeth and then swishes out the excess paste.
