Chapter Eighteen
Salvatore
At the concrete shop Monday morning, I’m surrounded by enemies, by men that conspired to, and killed my father, but my hatred for them lies dormant. Molly is on my mind. I can still smell her, and taste her around my lips, a remnant from our final fuck this morning. After returning from the center, we stayed in her apartment for the rest of the day. Our clothes came off as soon as we walked into the door, and we never put them back on again. I fucked her until we were both drained and collapsed into bed to sleep. I woke her up this morning with my face between her legs.
At some point, I’ll have to square this powerful attraction to Molly with my quest to take down the Mariano’s, a quest that she’s an integral part of. But for now, I want to revel in my newfound lust for her.
It’s a quiet morning so far at HQ. Bruno and Anthony sit at the table next to me playing cards. The beast keeps looking my way. I can tell he wants to say something to me. When Anthony gets up to go to the bathroom, Bruno leans towards me, and speaks quietly.
“When you get a chance,” he says, his eyes on the bathroom the door. “We should talk.”
I’m slightly annoyed that he’s distracted me from picturing Molly naked. “About what?”
“I got some ideas about how things are run around here,” Bruno says. “I think you might like them.”
Now I’m intrigued. Bruno’s acting so cagey, he must be considering mutiny. Anthony comes out of the bathroom, and Bruno straightens up.
“Let’s grab a beer sometime,” I say.
“Sure, man,” Bruno says, turning back to his hand.
Anthony looks between the both of us suspiciously before taking his seat.
Things are so quiet around here, I’m tempted to cut out, pry Molly away from work and take her home. While I’m considering this, Snake emerges from his office putting on his suit jacket.
“I got a bookie in West Hollywood who’s late on his payment,” Snake says. “I need backup.”
Bruno puts his cards down and starts to stand.
“At ease, Beast,” Snake says. He snaps his head towards me. “Sal. You’re with me today.”
“Am I?” I say, condescendingly, until I remember I’m supposed to play nice. I stand up, straightening my jacket. “You and me. Just like old times.”
*
We ride out to West Hollywood with Snake driving. I’m in the passenger seat beside him, fantasizing about pulling my gun out and shooting him right in the temple. He’d never see it coming. That’s what I really want, isn’t it, to kill Snake? Why don’t I just do it? I can hear my father’s voice in my head, telling me to blast this motherfucker. But there’s another voice, too, calm and rational. It sounds like Molly. She’s asking if killing him would really make anything better.
It wouldn’t. Because I want Franco dead too. If I jump the gun on Snake, that goes out the window. Franco would send an army to gun me down. I have to be patient.
We go confront the bookie, a tattooed punk with greasy hair and a face full of piercings, in his office down a dark alleyway. It’s by the book for the most part. Snake does the talking. I do the intimidating. When I’ve got the punk’s head pinned under my arm against the brick wall, my gun pressed into the small of his back, and Snake explains that I’ll paralyze right now if we don’t get our money, it feels like old times. The bookie finally hands over the cash, and I forget, just for a moment, that Snake will eventually die by my hand.
When we get back in the car, it’s obvious Snake is feeling nostalgic too.
“I’ve missed working with someone who knows what they’re doing,” Snake says, starting the engine. “These new guys don’t have a fucking clue.”
The smile on Snake’s face is so fucking goofy, it reminds me of him when he was a teenaged orphan who looked at me like I was some kind of god.
“Like riding a bike,” I say, staring stoically out the window.
Snake drives in silence for a few minutes. His eyebrows are drawn together. I hope he isn’t about to get sentimental on me. I hear him take a breath, then he speaks. His voice is low and solemn.
“As much as you hate me, I promise, I hate myself more. For what I did to you.” He looks at me with sincerity. This weak fuck means every word. But I doubt anyone could hate him as much as I do. I recall my elaborate fantasies of slowly torturing him to death while Jess watches. And like most of my fantasies, I have every intention of turning it into reality.
“Like I said, water under the bridge,” I reply.
Snake presses his lips together. “Don’t think you’re fooling me. I know you. You have something up your sleeve. I don’t expect you to forgive me. But things are going well for you, man. You’re back with the family. You have Molly, who don’t forget, is tied up with the business now. If you cross the Mariano’s, you’ll lose everything.”
I should knock him out for even saying her name. I’m playing with fire here, I know that. I don’t need his advice. But once Snake and Franco are in their graves, Molly won’t be in danger. Involving her charity in mob business won’t even matter at that point.
I don’t respond. Snake sighs.
“We’ve always had each other’s back,” Snake says. “That hasn’t changed, not for me. What I’m saying is, don’t put me in a position where Franco orders me to hit you.”
Anger curls through my veins. All this talk of having each other’s back, and Snake wouldn’t think twice about killing me just because Franco told him too. Loyalty my ass.
“It won’t come to that,” I say, nonchalantly, and think, because I’m going to kill you first.