Chapter Twenty-One
Molly
I can’t stop smiling on my walk to work. All I can think about is Sal. And the words, I love him, keep repeating in my head. I love him when he’s vulnerable, I love him when he’s demanding, whip in hand. He’s not perfect. He has a long way to go emotionally, but then again, so do I. Hopefully, we can get there together.
When I think back on our recent history, my physical response alternates between a fluttering heart, and lustful excitement tightening my belly. I’ve never tried BDSM before. It was a foreign, exotic kink to me until the other night. And I’m not surprised that Sal is into it. The demanding role he took when I was tied up and helpless fit him perfectly.
And it was undeniably hot. It brought to life my dangerous attraction to Sal, both my fear and desire to be dominated by him. And I like the fact that it wasn’t all whips and chains. Our session had ended on a quiet, loving note. And he said he loved me. Emotionally evolved or not, just by saying that, he’s making progress.
I’m making progress as well. My days are no longer dominated by anxiety and insecurity. I finally feel like I’m right where I need to be, with the right man by my side.
Since we started our online outreach campaign, we’ve signed up at least thirty new clients. The center is busy this morning. All of the counselor’s are here, and preparing to take on the increased work load. The room is abuzz with an exciting energy. Everyone here is passionate about the cause, and I can feel it in the air. I’m not used to being so happy, and it makes me a little lightheaded. I sit at my desk, catching my breath.
“Good morning, Greg,” I say cheerily to my partner. I reach over and lightly massage his shoulders. Greg looks at me with a weak smile. I pout, disappointed. In bad times, Greg’s always the one telling me to keep my chin up and look towards the future. Now that that sunny future is here, I just want him to celebrate with me.
He turns to me with a solemn face, then reaches for my hand. “Molly, we need to talk. Let’s go to the break room.”
I shake my head, internally screaming, no, no, no. This sounds like bad news. I’m flying high right now and I don’t want to hear it.
But I can’t run and hide from Greg. Like it or not, I run this center, and need to know everything going on, good or bad.
“Okay,” I say, putting on a brave face. “Let’s go.”
We both stand from our desks. Greg stops to gather a folder full of documents. I gulp, my stomach twisting. This can’t be good.
There are a few counselors waiting in line to use the espresso machine. With just one pointed look from Greg, they get the picture, and leave us alone. I try to keep breathing while Greg closes and locks the door.
“What is it, Greg?” I ask, my impatience getting the better of me. The sooner I know the problem, the sooner I can find a solution and go back to my easy breezy way of being.
“Sit down,” he says, gesturing to the table.
I huff, but I do as he says in hopes of getting this over with more quickly. Greg exhales deeply, thumbs through his documents, then hesitates.
“Can I get you a coffee-“
“Greg,” I say, in a tone I didn’t think was humanly possible.
It does the trick. With shaking hands, Greg opens his folder, pulls out a couple pieces of paper, and places them in my hands. It’s a photo copied article from the LA Times, dated a few years ago. I blink, struggling to concentrate on the words. My hands are shaking, making it even more difficult.
I close my eyes for a moment, taking a breath. Whatever it is, I will get through it. I have Sal on my side now. With him, anything seems possible. After internalizing these thoughts, I turn to the article, ready to get down to business.
City Contracts Rife with Mob Corruption, reads the headline.
At first, I feel relief. What does this have to do with me, or the center? I want to laugh in Greg’s face. But then, I keep reading.
The article describes how nearly every construction contract in LA has profited the mob over the last couple of decades, in particular, the Mariano family. My lips move as I speed read. Through the corruption of city officials, bid fixing, and price gouging, the Mariano’s made millions, funneling taxpayer money to their own accounts. They protected their empire through violent, and often deadly, means.
I flip over to the next page. There’s a black and white picture of Franco Mariano, many years younger, in a nice suit. He’s flanked by men on both sides. I squint at the faces. My blood pressure drops as I recognize one. Then I read the caption and find his name. Salvatore Mariano.
In a shuddering instant, my vision goes black. Nausea overcomes me. I toss the papers away from me, then double over, placing my head between my knees. My stomach roils, making me wretch dryly.
“Molly,” Greg says. His voice sounds like it’s miles away. I feel his hand on my back, and I swat it away. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”
With my eyes closed, that black and white image of Sal burns in my mind. My thoughts race at a hundred miles an hour, putting all of the pieces together. Sal’s not an emotionally damaged soul. He’s a mobster. A criminal.
How could I have been so stupid?
“We need to discuss this,” Greg says in a firm, but gentle, voice.
I sit up slowly. The blood rushes from my head, making me dizzy. I press my fingertips to my throbbing temples. Through my distress, my voice of doubt returns, louder, and more persuasive than ever.
Of course Sal doesn’t love you. He’s using you.
I almost want to laugh. What a fool I’ve been. To think, I deserve for the center to be a success, and to have a man like Sal. Or, a man that I thought Sal was.
“The money Sal’s uncle donated, it could be dirty,” Greg explains. “Nonprofits are vulnerable to gangs and terrorists. We’re tax exempt, and we’re not required to report our source of funds. It can happen to anyone in this industry.”
“Could you just-“ I raise my hand to his face. My eyes burn with tears. I feel on the brink of losing it, whatever ‘it’ is. “Stop talking.”
He rubs my back gently, scrunching his eyes in compassion. “No, Molly, I can’t stop talking. We have to deal with this. I know this is hard for you. You had a personal connection with-“
“Stop,” I say, turning to him with a look of warning.
Greg sighs. “We have to go to the police.”
“We don’t know anything yet,” I snap.
“We know enough.” He speaks slowly and carefully like I’m a child. “Who knows what kind of illegal activity we’re aiding and abetting. If we don’t report this, and the cops find out, the center could be shut down.” He grabs my shoulders, making me look at him. “Molly, we could go to jail.”
His eyes glaze over with tears. He’s scared, and he’s on the hook, just like me. But I can’t go to the police just yet. Maybe it’s denial, but I can’t fully believe that Sal’s using me. Everything between us has felt so real.
“We’re not going to the police,” I tell Greg. “Not yet. I need time to think.”
I stand up so quickly my chair clatters to the ground behind me. While I rush out of the break room, I hear Greg saying, “You have to confront this, Molly. We have to do something.”
I walk quickly through the center, my head down, so the other counselors can’t see my red, tear stained face. Bursting out of the front doors, I turn in the direction of my apartment building, where Sal is, and begin to walk quickly. I have no plan. I have no idea what to do, or what I need to do. Should I find him and confront him? And what if it’s true? Will he kill me for finding out?
I’m walking so fast, that before I know it, I pass by our apartment building. I stop, frozen in my tracks. My feet won’t let me walk inside. My instinct is telling me that now isn’t the time to confront Sal. He’s probably not even home anyway.
I lean against the railing, my hand on my chest, forcing myself to breathe slowly, to get a grip. My emotions have overridden my rationality. I have to calm down and think this through.
I need more information. But how will I get it?
I stare up into the sky. The bright sun briefly burns my eyes. And in an instant, I know.
I keep walking, crossing the street to the next block over, and the next block after that. There’s something in my history with Sal that never felt quite right, but I never paid it too much attention. I walk quickly, eyes focused ahead, until I find who I’m looking for.
Finally, I spot a cluster of shopping carts filled with black plastic bags, and the group of homeless people who collect recyclables on my block. I scan them quickly. There he is, the man who assaulted me with a toy knife when Sal so gallantly saved me.
I walk up to the group with rabid determination, and force my way through their barrier of shopping carts. A few of them toss vulgarities at me when I grab the coat of my assailant and pull him towards me.
“What the hell are you doing, lady?” he says.
I look into his eyes, waiting for him to recognize me. What am I doing? How can he have the information I need in his drug addled brain?
“Get off of him,” one of the others say. I feel hands pulling me away. I drop my grip of his jacket. They begin to shove me down the street.
“Wait,” I wail. “I need to ask him something. There’s a twenty in it for each of you.” I dig into my purse to see what cash I have.
“Twenty?” a woman with a dirty face says. “How desperate do you think we are?”
I quickly count through the bills in my purse. “I have seventy-five bucks,” I say, then point to the man in question. “It’s all yours if you answer my questions.”
The man’s eyes light up at the wad of cash. He walks towards me, elbowing his companions out of the way. He reaches for the money, and I yank it away, fumbling with my phone. I pull up a picture of Sal, so achingly handsome my breath hitches, and show it to him.
“Do you know this man?” I ask.
He leans forward, squinting at the screen. After a few moments pass, I start to lose hope. This man doesn’t remember anything or anyone. Then suddenly, his eyes brighten with recognition.
“I know him,” he says, pointing at Sal. “I see him around the street a lot. Once he paid me a hundred bucks to harass a lady. He even gave met this knife.” He pulls the toy knife out of his pocket, grinning at it, before scrutinizing my face. “The lady looked like you. Was she your sister?”
I step back, numb, feeling only a hard ball in my stomach. It was all a setup, orchestrated by Sal. He was never attracted to me. He never cared for me. I was someone to take advantage of, and he did. Memories flash before my eyes; that first dinner with Franco, the BBQ where I was humiliated on stage, and the countless times I let Sal into my bed. I let him restrain me in his dungeon for fuck’s sake.
Before, when I thought I had success and a real relationship, it had felt too good to be true. Now, I know it is.
I shove the money into the man’s hand, along with my business card.
“You should really come see us,” I say, walking away. “But don’t wait. We’ll probably be shut down soon.”