Chapter 22

 

Carla

 

They strolled briefly around the gallery, watching other scenes being played out. Carla was surprised that Gio helped her get dressed and allowed her to walk instead of crawl.

 

Carla's legs were still shaking slightly as Gio walked her back to her car. He'd insisted that they both keep their masks on even after they left the club, and Carla wondered if that meant he was worried about being followed.

 

Had someone already seen them together? And if so, had he gotten in trouble as a result? More questions for her to file away and ponder later, in case the answers might give her an advantage over him.

 

But it felt strange for her to keep thinking about them in adversarial terms after what they'd just shared. She'd been able to put a lot of trust in him by assuming he'd obey the limits he'd set for them, and she was amazed that he hadn't abused that trust.

 

Instead, he'd opened doors inside of her that she'd never known existed, and it was difficult for her to focus on her original mission when she was dealing with such unfamiliar and conflicted feelings.

 

Gio remained silent as they walked together. With the mask hiding his expression, she couldn't discern his thoughts. Was he trying to intimidate her? Was he displeased with her for some reason? Was he struggling with his feelings about her, the same way she was with him?

 

They got to her car and Carla got behind the wheel, unsure of what to say. After what they'd just done, any comment she could make seemed like it would be inappropriate, if not downright surreal.

 

But Gio broke the silence, leaning over and resting his elbow on the edge of her window. “Thanks a lot for tonight. I had a great time.”

 

Carla was taken aback. He'd started off blackmailing and abusing her, and now he was thanking her?

 

“Me too,” she said before she could stop herself. She tried to tell herself that was the only response that made sense in terms of keeping him happy, that it wasn't sincere—but that felt like a lie.

 

“I brought you something,” Gio said, reaching into his pocket. He produced a small tube of ointment, handing it to her. “If you dab that on your welts, they'll heal a lot faster.”

 

“Thank you,” she answered, putting it in her pocket. She was taken aback by this gesture of concern.

 

“Listen, uh, I need you to do something for me,” Gio said uneasily. “I need you to use your Fed connections, your databases, all that shit, and find out about a guy named Salvatore my dad knew about twenty years ago.”

 

Carla blinked, surprised. When he'd said he needed something from her, she expected it to be sexual, not something work-related.

 

“That could be difficult,” she said. “There are a lot of guys named Salvatore in your line of work, and most of them go by Sal or even Sammy...”

 

Gio shook his head. “This won't be someone he worked with. It'll be someone he knew personally, like a friend, or...something. Please, okay? It's important.”

 

Carla couldn't believe he was actually asking her for a favor, or the sincerity she heard in his voice.

 

“Okay,” she agreed. “I can't promise I'll find anything, but I'll do what I can.”

 

He looked relieved. “Thank you,” he said. “I'll, uh, see you around, okay?”

 

Carla nodded, and Gio took his elbow away from the car window. She drove home full of questions, wondering who the hell Salvatore could be.

 

Halfway to her place, she felt agonizing pain in her chest and lap, and realized the seatbelt was digging into the welts left by the whip. Instead of taking the belt off, she savored the pain, fondly remembering every lash.