Page 53 of Devious Roses
A watery smile breaks through Sasha’s distressed expression. “It means a lot that you’re helping me.”
…and seeking to destroy the man who is targeting my husband.
* * *
Come Saturday morning, Stitches protests from the moment I tell him where I need him to take me. He even threatens to phone Salvatore in jail.
“Absolutely not,” he says. “It’s too dangerous. Are you for real, Mrs. Phi? ’Cuz I’m beginning to wonder if this is some early April Fool’s joke!”
“We’ve been over this. You don’t take me, I go alone.”
“Who says I’m going to let you outta my sight?”
“Who says I won’t just escape at the first opportunity?” I challenge, arching a brow.
He blinks at me, and then cleans off his glasses on his shirt. “You’re the female version of Psycho. You know that right? Just better smelling, more civilized, and prettier in a dress.”
I shoot him a small smile. “I do what’s necessary when necessary. In this case, I’m killing two birds with one stone.”
“That’s what they all say. Hop in. Let’s get this shit show over with.”
Stitches drives me to Centennial Village, my old stomping grounds. After my attack and the break in at my old apartment, I’d moved to this neighborhood only a few buildings away from Polk.
“You got a plan, or are we balls to the wall?” Stitches asks as we ride the elevator up.
I snort. “Balls to the wall? Which is…?”
“We do whatever. We go all out. We’re here to break shit, intimidate, and make Polk piss his pants.”
“I’d prefer if no one pissed their pants. I’m here to force an understanding. You’re here as my backup.”
“Okay,” Stitches says, unholstering his gun and slinging back the hammer. “’Cuz if we were going balls to the wall, I was about to say we might want to call over Fabio and the guys. He does this thing where he rips sofa cushions in half with his bare hands. It scares the shit outta people.”
Stitches rambles the rest of the way up. We exit the elevator by stepping off into a hall that’s pleasant. Plush carpeting and cream walls. An automatic air freshener located in the vents spritzes every few minutes and leaves the soft scent of jasmine lingering.
“Nice crib,” Stitches mutters.
“Shhh.” I stand alone in front of the peephole with Stitches off to the side, then raise my fist and give a single, firm knock.
“Move over. You’ve never done a shake down.Thisis how you knock.”
Stitches quickly leans over and bangs a hard fist to the door several times, similar to what you’d imagine the police to sound like. There’s no way Polk’s neighbors won’t hear.
I’m standing directly in front of the door when it flies open. The only person Polk sees at first.
A scowl crawls over his face. “Mrs. Mancino, just what do you think you’re doing? Do you really think it’s appropriate to turn up on my doorstep? What would your husband think?”
“She ain’t alone. Get the fuck outta the way!”
Stitches slips into mafia guy mode and shoves Polk back several steps. I hurry up after them, making sure to shut the door and twist the lock.
Sometimes, with how down to earth and unassuming he is, it’s easy to forget that Stitches is a soldier in the mafia. But it’s moments like this where I’m quickly reminded. I stand back for a moment, watching as Stitches snatches Polk up, trapping him into a headlock.
“LET. GO. OF. ME!” Polk grunts out. He struggles against Stitches’s hold to no success.
Stitches tightens his arm around Polk’s neck. “I don’t think so! The lady’s got stuff to say, and you’re going to be an obedient twerp and listen! Phi, speak your peace.”
Eying the strange scene in front of me, I force my mind back to the topic that matters most. I take a step forward and hold up my phone.