Page 14 of Salvatore

We both watch as my girl hides behind a potted palm while Anton messes with his phone. As soon as he wanders off, still looking at his fucking phone, she dashes out the main door. Fuck knows where Sergei was. The pair of them are supposed to man the door together.

I will deal with them later. In the meantime, I need to track my girl down. Declan O’Connor is still out there and if he’s worked out who Thalia is to me, she’s in danger.

Chapter Thirteen

Thalia

It takes me a while to get to the restaurant because there are few buses running this early and I have to walk some of the way. I don’t want to waste money on a cab; the $200 I took from Salvatore isn’t going to get me far. It occurs to me I probably should have taken more cash, but it didn’t feel right to steal from him. Even if his family wants me dead, I’m not a thief.

By the time I reach the restaurant, I’m hungry and my bladder is about to explode. There is yellow crime scene tape all over the main entrance, so I duck down the side alley to the kitchen door.

When I worked here - which feels like a lifetime ago yet it’s only three days since the shootout - Mervin, the chef, told me how to open the fire door from the outside, in case it locked while I was putting shit in the dumpster. Sure enough, the key is still here, hidden under a rock.

I unlock the heavy door and carefully ease it open, waiting for an alarm to scream. But there’s nothing. Just a faintdrip, drip, dripof a faucet. Inside the kitchen, there are still blood stains on the floor where Salvatore shot the guy who’d tried to kill him. My stomach curdles like spoiled milk but I push the images away. There isn’t time for a meltdown.

It takes less than five minutes to reach the staff room where the lockers are. None of them are locked and, thankfully, my bag is still stuffed inside, my old iPhone untouched. The battery is dead, of course, but the charging cable is there, so once I reach the bus station, I can find an outlet.

I take my bag and head into the bathroom to empty my painful bladder. The relief is so intense, it’s practically a religious experience. After I’ve washed my hands, I scurry back into the corridor, heading in the direction of the kitchen. Then I hear voices and freeze.

Fuck. Have the cops come back? If so, I’m in trouble. This is a crime scene. I edge back toward the locker room, listening hard, but the voices fade. Maybe if I’m quick, I can escape before anyone notices. They are probably in the main restaurant area, which is far enough away from the kitchen that I can leave without catching anyone’s attention.

Deciding the risk is worth it, I move silently along the corridor and into the kitchen. The door is still open, but just as I reach it, I heard the click of a gun being cocked and a male chuckle.

“Ah, I was hoping to bump into you,” says a soft Irish voice.

I spin around to see a tall man with red-brown hair and a nasty scar from the edge of his eyebrow to his jaw. He’d be reasonably handsome if not for the frigid gray eyes currently fixed on me.

“Do we know each other?” I ask politely. I’m pretty sure I’d remember an Irishman with a gun fetish if we’d met previously.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, darlin’, but we happen to have a mutual friend in common.”

I edge a little closer to the open door. “Oh? Are you one of Cara’s fuckboys?” I look him up and down and then frown. “Hmm. Maybe not, you’re a bit old for her, plus…nope. Just no. ”

My new Irish friend scowls. He’s smart enough to know when he’s being insulted.

“I’ve no fecking idea who Cara is but I do know Salvatore Faugno and the word is you’ve caught his eye.”

How the fuck does he know this? We’ve literally spent three days together and unless Salvatore’s just outed our relationship status on Instagram without telling me, this guy must be fucking psychic.

“Ah, you’re wondering how I heard the happy news. Well I may as well tell you seeing as how Salvo will be here shortly.” Mr. Irish looks very pleased with himself at the thought he’s got one over on Salvatore. It makes me want to stab him in the balls, just for fun.

I fold my arms across my chest. “Go on, I’m dying to know.” No irony intended.

“One of Salvo’s guys, Anton, is on my payroll. He told me about you and then was helpful enough to let me know when you left this morning. It was easy enough to track you down.”

“Why do you care about me?” I ask, genuinely curious. Salvatore’s family want me dead so I’m not sure why this idiot thinks he can use me as leverage.

“I don’t, but Salvo apparently does, which means he’ll be riding to the rescue shortly.” The asshole grins manically. “And when he arrives, I’ll be waiting.”

“Hate to say it but that didn’t work out so well for you last time,” I point out helpfully.

He glares and waves the gun in my direction. “Shut the fuck up you little bitch before I shoot you.”

“Err, wouldn’t that mess up your little plan?” This guy is dumber than a brick.

We both hear a yell followed by gunfire but Mr. Irish reacts faster than me. Before I have a chance to leg it out of the door, he’s reached my side and has a brawny arm around my throat.

“I’d be very careful if I was you, sweetheart,” he warns. I feel like I should be swooning; his soft lilting accent is very sexy. But he’s a psychopath and he has a gun to my head. I may have a strong attraction to bad boys (Exhibit A: Salvatore), but I’m not unhinged.