guy basically tells me all my worst fears about him are true, and what do I do? I agree to be blindfolded in the back of his car.
But the thing is, I don’t believe Angelo would ever let anything happen to me. I saw the way he put himself between me and those thugs in the parking lot, the fierce protective streak in him.
We drive for around an hour, bantering the entire time. “So are you going to shoot or stab me?”
It’s the sort of dark humor I use in my EMT work, a way to stave off my real, bone-chilling concerns. Angelo laughs. “Neither, Dani.”
Finally, the car comes to a stop. When I make to take the blindfold off, Angelo touches my hand softly. “Not yet. There’s a few things I need to arrange first.”
“You were on the phone for half an hour arranging a few things.”
“I want it to be perfect,” he says.
“And what is it, exactly?”
But he’s already stepping from the car. When he returns to the car, he helps me blindly step out and then—big reveal—removes the blindfold.
I feel the breath catching in my throat even as it fogs the night air. I can see my breath because huge floodlights have been set up all around the race-car track. Off to the side, I see two cars and two drivers’ mates. They look a little tired, but they’re both sipping coffee. Angelo clearly woke them up in the middle of the night for this.
“What do you think?” he says. “Shall we?”
I let it all sink in. Memories of Dad and me at the track move through me with powerful emotion. Then I turn to Angelo.
“I think,” I say, “that you just signed your own death warrant. Are you really gonna challenge me to a race?”
“No, I’m going to beat you in a race,” he says.
“Oh yeah?” I chuckle. How can I be laughing right now? How can I be smiling like a fool? But I just love this man so much. No, no. That was a mistake. I love being around him so much. That’s what I meant. “Care to put your money when your mouth is?”
Suddenly, he loops his arms around me, pulling me close. “What’re the terms?” he growls, kissing me passionately. I clasp my hands to his face. It’s like our passion is even hotter, deeper now that I know more about him.
When we break off, I say, “If I win, you’re my personal slave for an entire afternoon.”
“And if I win?” he asks.
“You only have to be my personal slave for an hour?” I offer.
“Ha, ha,” he grumbles. “No, if I win, you’re my personal slave for an afternoon. But think carefully before you agree.” He brings his lips to my ear, whispering. “Because if you’re my slave, I might get a few ideas. Like dressing you in a sexy maid’s outfit and having you dance around the place, underwear not fucking permitted, sliding my hand higher and higher up your legs as you bend over to dust our apartment. I might tie you up, but for real this time, strap you to my bed and spank you until you’re so wet you’re begging for me to move inside you. And only when you’re pleading… only then will I slide my cock inside your wet, aching pussy.”
“Fuck,” I whisper. “I might just throw this race if I wasn’t so damn competitive. Let’s go, playboy. Let’s do this.”
23
Angelo
Two Days Later
When we drive up to the corner, I feel like there’s a devil in my belly. An angry, vengeful, ready-to-do-damage devil.
It’s a cold, wet day on a cold, wet corner in Hell’s Kitchen, miserable and drab, but it doesn’t slow down the Albanians’ trade. I watch their drug-dealing process: a kid rides up on a bike, nods to the junkie, takes the cash. Further up the street, another kid emerges from an alleyway, palming the drugs from inside his cheek.
It’s not the corner kids that I’m interested in. It’s the three Albanians watching from the car on the other side of the street.
I think about Felice and his mother, about his daughter on the West Coast. It doesn’t matter that the Family is going to take care of them, because he’s dead. That’s how a man dies—seemingly okay, then the bleeding gets worse, then they realize too late his internal organs are fucked and … I grip the steering wheel so hard I feel my knuckles pressing through my skin.