Lady and the Champ (31 page)

“Still… You can’t stop him from destroying my bakery, or—”

“Yes, I can. I’ll take care of you, and I’ll take care of the bakery. I’ll be sure he can’t touch you ever again. I swear to you.”

She’s quiet for a few long seconds, her hands closing on my arms while she searches my face. Finally she says, quietly, “You want something from me.”

“Honey, why would you say that?”

“Because wise guys always want something.” Her voice has gone thin. “You don’t give anything away for free.”

She’s right about that. She’s right about all of it. Sal made a deal with her, and I’m after a deal, too. What she’ll say to my conditions, I have no idea. But I think now that she knows what I can offer her—in bed, at least—she’ll be a little more amenable.

There’s no point denying it—she wouldn’t believe me anyway. By now, she knows the score. Sal has made sure she does. Whatever naiveté initially led her to him, he’s crushed it to death, I’m sure. “No. I don’t.”

“Then what is it you want from me? You might as well tell me now.”

“Let’s talk about it later. Right now, why don’t you get some sleep?”

Sarah sits bolt upright, glaring down at me. “Sleep? Seriously? You expect me to sleep right now?” So much for her veneer of calm. She’s sliding back into panic, and that’s not a good place for her to be.

“It’s okay, honey. I promise. We can talk about the details tomorrow. Right now, let’s just relax.”

“No. If I stay here…if I spend the night, you’re going to assume I’m agreeing.”

“No, I won’t. You’ve got time to think about it.”

She’s adamant, though. “No. You’ll make assumptions, and I don’t want to be beholden to you for your protection before I know what you expect in return. Not even for tonight.”

Dealing with Sal has definitely taught her something. But I’m not going to just lay it all out for her when she’s in this kind of mood. She’ll bolt and run, and I won’t get what I want, and she just might end up dead. That’s not acceptable on either count.

“Look.” I take her hands in mine and kiss the back of one of them. “Let’s get dressed and go down and have some coffee or something. We can talk. I don’t want you getting yourself worked up over nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Nick. It’s my life.”

“Okay, no, it’s not nothing. But you don’t need to worry about it. I’m going to take care of you. I promise.”

I’m sure she’s going to press me again, demand details, but she doesn’t. She hesitates, and then she nods. “All right. We can talk. But I want some straight answers from you.”

I nod, although my goal right now is to distract her enough that I won’t have to provide any answers at all. I’d rather ease into that conversation. Still, she gets up and goes to grab her clothes.

I’m really not in favor of her putting on anything at all, but I toss back the blankets and grab a casual button-down shirt from my drawers before she can start trying to squeeze back into the dress she was wearing.

“Here.” I hold the shirt out to her. “This’ll be easier to get on.”

She takes it and shrugs into it, her gaze softening as it fixes on me. I’m naked, too, of course, and she seems to be enjoying the view as much as I’m enjoying the view on my end of the equation. I grab a shirt for myself and step back into my dress trousers from the party. Good enough. My shirt covers her nearly to mid-thigh, so she’s mostly decent. Not that I want her that way, but if we’re going to talk, it might be best if I’m not distracted. I take her hand and lead her downstairs to the kitchen.

* * *

F
ifteen minutes
later we’re sitting at the kitchen bar with cups of coffee. Hers is almost half milk; mine’s black. She’s staring at hers, turning the cup. I get the feeling she’s calmed down some—for real this time.

“…So I took the bread down to the nursing home, like I was telling you, and they made grilled cheese with it. Put little pictures on it with these special, I don’t know, spatulas or something. Everybody loved it. Especially Mom. She did that kind of shit for us when we were kids. Made mouse pancakes, cut our sandwiches into stars, that kind of thing. Never knew what I was going to find in my lunch box.”

Sarah smiles. It’s good to see. She’s easing up as I tell the story; it’s giving her something else to think about, I guess.

“How long has your mom been there?”

“A couple of months. My dad got sick about a year ago—cancer. He was getting worse and worse, and she was having problems with arthritis, a couple other things. She didn’t want to leave him, but we decided it’d be better for both of them to get some professional care. Then Dad died.”

“How long ago?”

“Couple weeks ago.”

“Oh.” She goes quiet for a few seconds. “I’m so sorry.”

I shrug. “He was in a lot of pain.”

“Still.” Quietly she sips at her coffee. “It’s nice you take care of your mom.”

“I do what I can.” My own coffee is getting a little cold, and it’s bitter. I normally drink it black, but tonight it doesn’t taste quite right for some reason. “That’s what family does, you know? You take care of each other. She’s my mom—he was my dad. I did everything I could. Still doing what I can, you know?”

She nods. “Not everybody feels that way about family. Some people just…toss them aside.”

I get a feeling she might be talking about herself—about her own family—but I’m not going to press right now. “Too many. So when Dad died, I got to thinking a lot about family. My family. I’ve got a brother, a sister, but no wife, no kids. I’m not so close to my siblings. We kind of…grew apart. So who’s going to be there for me when my time comes? Who’s going to take care of me? Who’s going to carry on my name?” I shrug. “You know, you think about that kind of thing.”

“Sure.” A frown develops between her eyebrows. I can tell she’s probably wondering what in the world all this has to do with her. Fact is, it has everything to do with her.

So…it’s time to lower the boom. “That’s what I want from you.”

I can tell it doesn’t soak in right away. Her frown deepens; her hand tightens on the handle of her coffee mug. “What?” she finally says.

“That’s what I want from you.”

“Mouse pancakes? Grilled cheese sandwiches with pictures on them?”

That gets a chuckle out of me. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that she doesn’t get it right away. I suppose it’s a bit of a jump in logic. “No.” I reach out and touch her face gently, tracing my fingers down the curve of her cheek. She’s lovely. Beyond lovely. Good genes. “Family.”

Shaking her head, she gives me that same I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-talking-about look. “I don’t understand.”

I lean closer to her, right into her personal space. She holds her ground, though I can tell she’s on edge now. She doesn’t know what to expect. “I don’t want my name to die. I want kids, a family, a legacy. You’re going to give me that.”

“Wait… What?”

There we go. Now it’s soaking in. I nod. “I want a kid. Somebody to carry on my business, my name. Somebody to take care of me when I get old. And you…” Calmly I take another drink of my coffee. “You’re going to have my baby.”

Her mouth gapes open, snaps shut, maybe three or four times before she squeaks out, “What? What the fuck, Nick? Are you fucking
serious
?”

She has no idea how dead fucking serious I am. “Yes. Serious as a myocardial infarction, as they say.” I shrug. “I mean, we can get married if that makes you feel better about the whole thing. It’s not completely necessary, but I do think it’d help things go more smoothly—”

She practically falls off the stool next to the kitchen island, her bare feet making a slap-thud against the tile. “
Married
? Have your
baby
? Have you lost your fucking
mind
, Nick? There is no way that is ever going to happen. Sal—”

“Oh, fuck Sal.” I’m so sick of hearing his stupid name. “Fuck Sal right in the ear. Forget about him. You’re mine now. I told you I’d take care of you, and I would. All I’m asking is one thing from you in return.”

“Nick, that is a big fucking thing! You have no idea—”

“Yeah, I do. You want me to protect your legacy—that’s your bakery. I want you to protect my legacy—that means I need a kid. An heir, if you want to put it that way. Obviously I can’t have one by myself, and let’s face it—I’m getting older. I’m in a job where I could drop dead any minute just because somebody doesn’t like my face. It’s time I start getting serious about this shit.”

“But why…why me?” I could take that as an indication she’s giving my proposal serious consideration, but I’m not sure that’s how she means it.

I lift a hand. “I’m getting to that. I like you, Sarah. You’re beautiful, you’re Italian, and you’re a good cook, obviously. You’ll be a good mother. I know that. And you’ve got to admit—we’re hot as fuck in bed.”

I don’t mention the fact that Sal will lose damn near every bit of respect he’s garnered if I just take his fiancée from him right under his nose, but that’s part of it, too. I want to take Sal down, and I want to take him down hard. Aside from shooting him in the head in the park or something, this is the best way I can think of. Besides, if I shot him in the head, I’d probably face retaliation at the muzzle of someone else’s gun. This way, Sal just loses his credibility and his power in one fell swoop. It’s brilliant, if I do say so myself.

But Sarah’s face has gone hard and cold, except for her eyes, which are burning laser-like at me. “Fuck. You,” she says in firm, measured tones. “Fuck you for making me think you actually wanted to help me. God. I should have fucking known better.”

I shrug. “You know it’s tit for tat in this business. You learned that from Sal. You gave him your body to keep him from burning down your bakery; I’m just asking for the same deal, right?”

Tears are edging her eyes now, and I almost feel guilty.

“He just wanted to fuck me. You want me to have your goddamn baby.”

“And he announced your engagement in front of the whole damn organization without so much as a by-your-leave from you. He’s an asshole, Sarah. You know that. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life with him?”

“No, but I’m not sure I want to spend the rest of my life with you, either.”

I’m tired of arguing with her. She’ll either come around or she won’t. I’ve said about all I can manage to say to convince her my plan is the best path for her. “It’s your choice. But I’ll tell you this much: I’m not sorry I did what I did. You need to get away from him. If he doesn’t kill you, he’ll at the very least make your life a living hell. I think you know that.”

Her mouth is tight and firm, her fists clenched. I wait for her to chime in, but she doesn’t.

“He’s going to destroy your business, Sarah. And he’s going to destroy you. Whether he does it physically, mentally, or emotionally doesn’t matter in the long run. You stay with Sal, you’re going to lose
everything
. And I don’t mean just the bakery.”

A tear slides down her cheek.
And I have the nerve to call Sal an asshole.
“Look.” I use my thumb to wipe the tear from her face, and she flinches back from my touch. “Just stay here tonight. You can stay in the guest room for the rest of the night if you want. Think about it. We can talk later.”

“I don’t want to talk later,” she mutters angrily. But I can feel her softening a little under my touch. Truth is, no matter how we get there, there’s something between us. She’s going to have a hard time ignoring that, no matter how hard she tries.

“You can decide that in the morning.” I give her a slight smile and leave her alone in the kitchen.

* * *

I
find
her in the kitchen again when I come back down for breakfast several hours later. I don’t think she’s been there all night, though; she’s got sheet marks on her face, so she must have spent some time in the guest bedroom, like I suggested.

“Morning,” I say, probably sounding too cheery.

She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t even grunt to acknowledge me. I’m not going to have much time to talk this morning, since I have to get to Phil Spada’s place for our weekly meeting. There’ll be work for me—I’m sure Spada is lining up fights for next month, and I’ll have to get everything on my schedule and make sure I know who’s supposed to win what and who’s supposed to throw what and when.