The Woman in the Back Room by Jessica Gadziala

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twelve

Alessa

 

 

 

 

I let out a string of curses so foul on the way home that the usually pretty liberal Santi handed his son some earbuds and his phone to drown me out.

"Don't apologize," Santi said, as he opened my door outside his apartment building. "You're allowed to be miserable," he told me, reaching for my good arm to slowly lower me down out of the SUV to walk between two rows of men from the Families, my brothers included, all their backs turned to us, their gazes focused outward.

People stopped and gawked, making me push forward a little faster, wanting us to get inside and out of sight as quickly as possible.

Avi was led in behind us by Brio and Christopher.

It was a big deal.

I didn't even want to think about what it would look like every morning and afternoon when they had to take Avi to and from school.

A part of me wondered why they didn't just let him go on home instruction, but I figured Santi was worried about a teacher reporting back about mobsters and guns and various other suspicious activity. And he was probably safest at a school with thousands of other kids and teachers and security guards. Not to mention whoever Lorenzo would have sitting in cars nearby to keep an eye for any suspicious activity.

"Ugh, mother fu...father," I said as we got in the elevator.

"Almost there," Santi said, giving my wrist a squeeze.

By the time I got to the couch that someone had set up with fresh pillows, blankets, and a basket full of little essentials like tissues, pain relievers, chapstick, lotion, extra socks, and two big bottles of electrolyte drinks, I was miserable alright.

"Must be your ma," Brio said as we both looked at the basket. "Moms are good at shit like that," he added. "So I hear," he concluded.

By the time my brothers all came in and had coffee and poked fun at my grumbling, I was even moodier than I'd been at the hospital.

"Bet you're missing that drip button right about now," Elio said, rustling my hair that needed a washing, but I couldn't even fathom trying to bathe with my wounds. Maybe when my step-mom came over, I could have her help me wash my hair in the sink or something. I'd feel more human with clean hair, as superficial as that was.

"The pills just take longer to kick in," I said, shrugging my good shoulder.

"I have to get going," he said. "Work shit. You need to rest, okay? You're not on duty anymore."

"I'll try," I agreed.

"Good. See you in a bit," he told me, patting my good shoulder, then moving out.

Eventually, the apartment cleared out.

Santi somehow managed to get Avi involved in some project in his room.

And I was just starting to doze when there was a knock at the door, jerking me awake, making adrenaline surge through my body as I tried to sit back up, not wanting there to be people around me while I was drooling on myself.

Brio moved to the door, opening it up.

And the shock of seeing the man walking into Santi's apartment managed to chase away all of the exhaustion.

Salvatore Costa.

He was practically a legend in all of the Five Families.

Because when he was pulled in on murder charges and he'd been offered a deal to flip and turn State's evidence, get off with a slap on the wrist, he'd kept his mouth shut, and took his charge.

That shit rarely happened anymore.

Back before RICO, in the Golden Days, made men never flipped. They just took their sentences, and ran shit from the inside.

But when men started getting pulled in on life sentences for petty shit, Omertà—the code of silence—went right out the window.

Things had been volatile as hell during Arturo Costa's reign at the top. No one knew who to trust, or who might flip.

So Salvatore doing the honorable thing, well, it made him a legend.

I'd never met him myself, but I'd seen a picture once in a newspaper when I'd been researching the Family back when no one would give me any information because I was an outsider.

The picture hadn't done him justice.

And, well, the man had aged like fine wine.

Salvatore Costa was six-two with the kind of body that said he spent a good part of his sentence working out. Broad chest, wide shoulders, a strong core. He had a chiseled jaw with a cleft chin covered by a five o'clock shadow, dark eyes with thick lashes, and black hair with silver streaked through it.

He had on gray slacks and a black button-up that he left open at the neck.

Hot.

The man was hot.

"Hey, look who it is," Brio declared to Santi who was coming out of the hallway.

"Salvatore," Santi said, a genuine smile curving his lips as he held out his hand toward the man. "Glad to see you out."

"Glad to see you in," Salvatore said in a low, raspy sort of voice I hadn't been expecting.

"And you," Salvatore said, turning to face me when I didn't even think he'd clocked me from my position on the couch. "The hero," he declared, giving me a smile. "I don't think we ever got a chance to meet," he said, coming close to sit on the edge of the coffee table, reaching a hand out toward my good one. And once he had it, he closed his other hand around it. "Salvatore Costa."

"Alessa Morelli," I said.

"Well, Alessa, I am going to find the motherfuckers who did this to you," he informed me.

"You just got out of prison for murder," I reminded him, shaking my head. "Are you trying to go back in?"

"I take my punches. Lack of pussy aside, it wasn't a rough ride."

"Tell that to the scar on your neck," I said, seeing a long, deep gash—puckered and pink and nasty—that had to have come from a prison attack.

"Oh, baby, that's not even the prettiest one I got," he said, smile devilish, like he was proud of getting shivved in prison. "You're gonna have some scars soon too," he told me, reaching to pull the neck of my shirt wide."

"Hey," Santi snapped when I was too surprised to react as Salvatore peeled back the gauze, and checked out my wound.

"Getting kinda weird, man," Brio declared when he continued to stare, his jaw so tight it was ticking.

"Got that good hospital treatment," Salvatore declared, putting the gauze back into place.

"I, ah, yeah," I agreed.

"Want a cup of coffee, man?" Brio asked, clamping a hand on Salvatore's shoulder, leading him away.

"That was weird, right?" I asked in a low whisper to Santi who dropped down in the spot Salvatore abandoned.

"He was never fully right in the head," Santi admitted. "Can't imagine prison helped that at all."

"I mean you have to be pretty twisted if you freak out Brio, right?" I asked, wincing.

"I guess time will tell," Santi agreed with a shrug.

"Hey, at least he's not squeamish. If I can't handle changing my bandages, I can have—"

"I will help," Santi cut me off, tone brooking no argument.

"I can't ask—"

"You're not asking," he interjected. "I'm offering. Now, do you want to stay here, or do you want me to help you into bed?"

Oh, I wanted him to help me into bed alright.

"I don't want to move yet," I told him.

"Okay," he agreed, reaching out to grab the blanket, pulling it up over my body, tucking it up behind my good shoulder.

His fingertips grazed up the side of my neck, and a shiver coursed through me at the contact. Not one of the discreet internal ones, either. Nope. This one racked my body gently, but very visibly.

Santi's eyes went heated in response, a look that made my sex tighten hard, more needy than I felt comfortable admitting.

"I'm glad you're okay, Alessa," he said, voice soft.

Then, like he was uncomfortable, he shot up off the coffee table, and rushed toward the kitchen to stand with the guys.

All I knew for the rest of the night was a mix of sleep and pain when I needed to make a trip to the bathroom.

At some point, Santi settled me in bed.

Which was where I woke back up, past due for pain meds, and grumbling, then dragging my ass to the bathroom where I went ahead and cursed it out in private.

Or so I thought.

"I'm gonna get Dad," Avi declared, standing in the connected doorway to his own room, eyes panicked.

"Bud, I'm okay," I insisted, not even sure what time it was, if Santi would be up yet.

"I'm getting Dad," he insisted, voice firm, then turning to do just that.

It was only maybe two minutes later that Santi moved into the doorway.

In his black pajama pants that hung way too low on his hips. His hair was all bed-sexy and shit too.

Insult to injury.

"How do you look like that when you just wake up?" I grumbled, looking at my haggard reflection.

"I'm sure it helps that I haven't been shot multiple times," Santi said, moving in behind me, shaking my pill bottle. "I didn't want to wake you up for your dose. I guess I should have," he said, shaking one into his hand, then handing it to me as I got a cup of water.

"It's okay. It kicks in pretty quickly. I might try to figure out how to wash my hair in the meantime," I said, glancing back at the shower dubiously. The doctor said I could shower if I was careful, but I didn't feel up to that yet.

"Want help?" Santi asked. "The master bath might be a better idea. You could sit on the step. I can use the detached handle to wash your hair."

I wasn't going to turn him down.

"Okay," I agreed, making sure I didn't sound as into it as I felt.

It was needy and pathetic of me, but I was more excited than I should have been to feel the man's hands in my hair.

I mean, what the hell was that about?

I mean, yes, sure, I enjoyed men's hands in the past. But it was always, you know, a mutual exchange of pleasure thing. Just itches getting scratched. Nothing more.

But wanting a man to wash your hair, to fantasize about all the ways he could take care of you, well, that seemed incredibly intimate to me.

And I didn't do intimacy with men.

Sex, yes.

Intimacy, no.

But I sat on that step that led up to the jetted tub he'd laid me down in when I'd been feverish, and I watched as he carefully tested the temperature of the water, as he gathered the shampoo.

I was too in the moment to even remind him that conditioner would be good too.

"Okay, baby, lean back," he said in that soft, smooth voice of his that was doing all sorts of things to my stomach. Butterflies, the romantic sorts might call it. I went ahead and just called it desire. Because it felt more familiar, more comfortable.

"Ow fuck fuck fuck," I grumbled when I tried to get in the right position.

"Okay, okay," he said, still calm, still soothing. "Here, let's try this," he suggested, putting his fully clothed legs in the tub, and urging me backward across them.

Settled on his lap, I was looking right up at him as he started to run the water over my hair, focusing on his task, not giving a single thought to how his pants were getting soaked in the process.

And me, being the creep I was, I watched as his Adam's apple moved as he swallowed, the way his eyelashes fluttered, the way his jaw ticked a little as his free hand cupped my forehead to keep the water from running into my eyes.

My heartbeat felt like it was slamming in my chest by the time he cut off the water and spread some shampoo over my head.

As his fingers slid into my hair, his gaze lowered to mine. And there was this distinct, but unrecognizable, warm sensation that coursed through my chest, then down my belly.

Then his hands started moving, gently rubbing my scalp.

I wasn't sure why everyone had failed to inform me how erotic it was for a man to rub your head, but they were enjoying something I'd been woefully without for far too long.

I sucked in a slow, deep breath, pretending we both didn't notice the way it shook through me.

But then when the little moan escaped me, well, there was no denying how I was feeling right that moment.

And that was, despite everything else going on that should have made it impossible, incredibly turned on.

At the sound, Santi's jaw tightened, but he said nothing as his fingers continued to rub my scalp, making the desire grow even more, until it was a palpable ache coursing through my entire body.

I was so lost in my own need that it didn't strike me right away that Santi was scrubbing my hair like I'd been through an oil spill, not just missed a shower.

Because he knew how turned on I was.

And he was dragging it out.

Driving me crazy.

He grabbed the shower head, rinsing away the suds, but using his other hand to scrub as well.

"Santi." I hadn't meant to whimper out his name, but there was no mistaking that was exactly what I'd done. Andthat he'd heard.

At the sound, he washed off his hands, gently put down the shower head, and squeezed out my hair before resting his hand at the side of my neck.

Then slipping lower, his touch feather-light. Over my clavicle, the swell of my breast, getting a surprised moan out of me as my nipple hardened through my tee.

A low, barely audible growling sound escaped him as his thumb circled my nipple.

His hand slipped lower, over my ribs, my belly, my good hip, the top of my thigh, my knee, then sliding inward, moving back upward. But then pausing right before he touched me where I needed him most.

Did he not want to?

Was he waiting for permission?

"Santi," I whispered, my hand grabbing his wrist, pulling it up another inch or so.

He didn't need anything more than that.

His hand slid all the way up, pressing between my thighs, the touch getting a throaty moan from me.

"Sh," he demanded softly, his free hand pressing to my lips, nodding his head toward the door to the bathroom, reminding me that there were people in the apartment. Not just Avi. But whoever else was on guard shift, who might be showing up to take Avi to school.

His thumb shifted up, finding my clit through my leggings, working it with slow, precise circles, driving me upward without letting the desire flag for even a second.

"Sh, baby," he murmured when my muted whimpers got louder. "Shh," he said again, pressing his hand over my mouth as he got me to the edge, then pushed me right over, sending me crashing down into my orgasm.

When I came back down, his hand slid away, resting on my thigh, as his gaze stayed on my face, something in his eyes making that warm sensation move across my chest once again.

"We should ta—" Santi started.

"This is an interesting way to check wounds," Salvatore said from behind Santi, making both of us jolt hard at the interruption. There was a growling noise from Santi, then, but very different from the sexy growl he'd given me. This was primal and angry. It was a warning sound.

"Don't worry, I didn't see anything," Salvatore said. "Might have heard a little something."

"He was helping me wash my hair," I said, wishing I could sit up without assistance because I felt really vulnerable in my position draped across Santi's lap.

"That's what we're calling it these days," Salvatore said.

"Leave," Santi snapped. "Now," he added.

"You have her in a good position," Santi said. "Might as well let me look at her hip while you got her there."

Santi's gaze looked to mine, frustrated, but silently asking my opinion.

"Fine," I sighed.

Salvatore didn't even pause, he moved across the room, and bending down over me. His hand grabbed the waistband of my leggings, yanking down.

"Hey!" I yelped.

"Whoa," Santi said at the same time, hand flying out to hold a hand over my naked vagina.

"What? Nothing I haven't seen," Salvatore mumbled to himself.

To his credit, he had his gaze focused on the slightly bloody gauze, not my body.

"You've been in prison for fifteen years," I reminded him. "What pussy have you been seeing?"

"Walked out the gates. Got a taste of pussy then a taste of steak. In that order," he clarified. "Yours isn't on the menu," he went on, peeling the gauze back with careful fingers. "So I don't have eyes for it."

That seemed fair enough to me. Especially since he genuinely didn't seem interested in anything but my wound. The freak.

"How's it look?" Santi asked, looking, but obviously not with the wound knowledge Salvatore seemed to have.

"Like she got shot yesterday," Salvatore said, shrugging. "Where's the shit from the hospital?" he asked, looking down at me.

"On the counter," Santi informed him, jerking his head backward.

"Got all the good shit," Salvatore observed, rifling through the contents, coming back with a little pink tube of liquid, gauze, and some sort of cream. "With all this, there won't be an infection. Should scar nicer, too," he declared, motioning toward the ugly scar on his neck. "This is what the bare minimum shit gets you. Oh, that doesn't hurt," he said when he poured the tube of liquid on my wound. "It's saline."

"It's cold," I told him.

"Alright," he said after wiping the cream on the gauze, then applying it to my hip, reaching for the tape. "That's good for the day. You should shower tomorrow though. No scrubbing. Just let the water run over you. There," he said, yanking my pants back into place, going for the hem of my shirt, starting to pull that as well.

"Ey, enough," Santi growled, grabbing my shirt. "You don't have to fucking strip her naked to take care of her wounds," he said, pushing Salvatore's hand away, then grabbing the neck of my tee, and pulling it to the side, exposing just my shoulder.

Salvatore shared a look at Santi for a second before nodding and getting to work.

"Alright, Alessa. You're all set. Brio is back. We're both taking the kid to school, then I am off to... peruse some more menus," he said, giving me a devilish smirk.

"Come on, fold up," Santi said when he was gone, grabbing my hand, giving me leverage to pull up. With only a couple curses this time.

"It's weird, right? His fixation on wounds?" I clarified, getting to my feet.

"Before he was put away, Salvatore had a nickname in the Family," Santi told me as I went to the counter.

A movement in the mirror caught my eye. And I realized a second too late that it was Santi removing his soaked pants.

So, yeah, I got an eyeful.

It wasn't like it was the first time I'd seen certain parts of him.

But, still, it had an impact.

"What was that?" I asked, hearing the breathlessness in my voice, unsure if he heard it too, if he understood its origins.

"They called him Surgeon. He was the one any of the guys went to when they had gunshot wounds, and didn't want anyone tipping off the cops. Word is, he's seen some nasty shit."

"So my little baby injuries are nothing," I said, shaking my head as he grabbed a towel, wrapped it around himself, and went toward the door.

"If it makes you feel any better, I think they look awful," he said, shooting me a smile as he went into his bedroom.

As the days would stretch on, there was a lot of sleeping and recovering.

But nothing even close to resembling intimacy between Santi and me.

In fact, he seemed to be going out of his way not to be alone with me, or too close to me.

Salvatore took over my wound care whenever he was around.

My step-mom and Celeste helped me with other basic girl things.

I had a check-up. Then another.

"Don't need me anymore," Salvatore told me the day before Thanksgiving.

It didn't escape me that since he decided I no longer needed them, he stashed all the extra gauze and creams and saline tubes away for himself. For any future patients he might have.

The Surgeon was back in business, it seemed.

"Yeah," I agreed, looking at my shoulder wound which had sealed over, even if it still hurt on and off with certain movements. "Thank you, Salvatore," I said, giving him a small smile. "Really, I appreciate it."

"That's what Family does, babe," he said, shrugging.

"Speaking of Family, do you have somewhere to be for Thanksgiving?" I asked, figuring I could invite him to my father's place.

"Lorenzo is having me over. Sort of work/dinner thing. Brio too."

"Oh, good. That's good."

"I haven't had a proper Thanksgiving since before I went away," Salvatore said. "I'm looking forward to it. I hear Celeste is a good cook."

"She is. And I hear she likes to make up for all the years she missed with her family, so she goes crazy on holidays. I hope you have some roomy pants."

"Your brothers are coming to pick you up, right?"

"Right," I agreed.

"What? Not excited?" he asked, head tipping to the side a bit.

"I've had a lot of, ah, family time lately," I said, shaking my head. "Not sure I am up for getting ribbed by my cousins."

"For what?"

"Getting shot," I said, shrugging. They always did like to find fault in me, whether I'd genuinely earned the too close inspection or not. I was the outsider. They often liked to remind me of that.

"Getting shot means you put your life on the line for the Family," Salvatore said, shaking his head. "If they tease you about that, it's their own insecurity talking. Fuck 'em."

That tended to be Salvatore's attitude toward a lot of things.

Fuck them.

Fuck this.

Fuck you.

I appreciated that about him.

"You're right," I agreed, nodding.

"Usually am," he said, giving me a wink, then clamping a hand on my shoulder.

"Ow," I said, half laughing, half in actual pain.

"You want me to get Santi to come in here to take the pain away?" he asked, shooting me a wicked smirk.

"Hey," I said, moving forward. "I know you're just fucking around, but don't go saying shit like that, okay? It's not like that. I don't want people thinking it is. I have a hard enough time getting anyone in this Family to respect me. The last thing I need for them to think is that I'm sleeping my way to a more favorable position."

"Got it. Won't say shit. But know I haven't looked at it like that," he said, heading out.

Not long later, Gio, Ciro, and Elio came to get me.

From then on it was a blur.

Until I got home.

And something dramatically changed with Santi.