Page 69 of Wicked Roses
They’d rather line their pockets and turn the other cheek.
I thought I could change things if I fought hard enough. I thought I could make the city safer and a better place.Howhad Dad lasted as long as he did when the system is so incredibly broken?
Maybe I’m not strong enough...
“You’re right,” Salvatore says, drawing me out of my thoughts. “About Ortiz. About everyone. They’ve all got a price.”
Something about hearing him acknowledge this truth makes me feelmarginallybetter. At least I’m not crazy; he can see it too. The way everyone had gawked at me earlier as I yelled at Judge Ortiz made me feel that way.
“I lost my cool today in the courtroom. I yelled. I ran out.”
Salvatore pauses. “I heard about that too.”
“Giorgio knew. You should’ve seen him. The smugness was all over his face. All of their faces.”
“No surprise there. Hector wasn’t going to let his little brother get locked up.”
“He pointed a finger gun at me. Bang, bang.” Another delirious laugh bubbles out of me as I drop my hands from my face and stand up straight. “Maybe you’re right. It was him. They’re going to shoot me next.”
Salvatore wrenches me around. “That’s not something to joke about. They’re not coming anywhere near you. I told you last night I’d handle it. Tomorrow this is going to come to an end. No more games.”
“What are you going to do? Jon, you’re already taking on your father—”
“So what? I can multitask.”
A third laugh escapes me. This one is less cynical and dark. Lighter.
Salvatore picks up on the change. His hand touches the small of my back and he guides me to one of the kitchen stools. “Sit,” he says. “I’ll pour you a glass of wine. You need something to take the edge off.”
I don’t argue him on it. A glass or two is exactly what I need.
“Thanks,” I mumble when he slides a full glass of red wine across the island counter. I chug half of it and let the tart berry-flavor dance across my tongue.
“You hungry? I’m guessing you don’t want to go out and deal with people.”
I shake my head. “Not right now. I’m a mess.”
Salvatore closes the gap between us. His fingers skim across my cheek and curve the shell of my ear, pushing strands of my straightened hair away from my face. His gaze connects with mine, the swirl of deep blue and green making me lose any train of thought.
“You could never be a mess, Phi. They didn’t break you. You’re still in one piece. You’re still here.”
“I… I think I needed to hear that right now.”
We set to making dinner. Tonight it’s pan-seared filet mignon with red wine sauce and roasted potatoes. We naturally slip into complimentary roles as I prep the potatoes and red wine sauce and Salvatore takes on the filet mignon.
Salt and Pepa slink out from their hiding spots in my room and perch themselves on one of the shelves of Salvatore’s entertainment center. In the open floor plan of Salvatore’s large loft, it affords them the perfect vantage point where they can observe us.
“Looks like we have chaperones.” Salvatore opens the pantry and grabs a can of tuna.
I stay put in the kitchen as a slow smirk comes to my face and I watch him make his offering. Salt and Pepa hop down and curiously approach the plate of tuna he sets down. When he returns, he tilts his head at me in question.
“You said you’re not a cat person.”
He shrugs. “They’re not so bad.”
“Let me find out you secretlylikeSalt and Pepa.” I refill our glasses of wine and then gesture to the filets. “You’re up, chef.”
“You’re not getting off so easily.”