Sabato: The Cross

by Mj Fields

  “That I am forced to sell something that I worked hard at creating? No.”

  Again, he is waiting. “I’m sorry, that must be hard.”

  He gives a quick nod. “There are harder things, Melyssa. The money has been moved into an account in the Caymans, under our names.”

  “Ours?”

  “Mine and yours. As soon as our contract is legal, it all goes into your name.” He leans forward. “This is where I am trusting you. There is eight point four million American dollars in the account.”

  I am sure my jaw is about to come unhinged. Sabato looks pleased with this.

  “You name your price and commit to whatever amount of time we must keep this partnership going and I will agree. This will be a gentleman’s agreement, just a handshake, Melyssa. A prenuptial agreement will obviously look suspicious.”

  “Ok. Okay, yeah, I guess that’s true.”

  He looks at me impatiently. “A number?”

  As in, how much money do I want, when all this is over? “I have no idea. This is a lot to take in. I....”

  “If I may make a suggestion, how about we go by the time period during which we are legally married.”

  I nod.

  “The penthouse in the City and the vehicle are yours to keep. Consider them gifts. If I am able to go back to Italy, those remain yours without question.”

  “Uh....Thank you?”

  “Well, that’s a polite thing to say.”

  “I don’t know.” Then it strikes me. “Wait. Why can’t you go back to Italy now? Do you really think the Cosa Nostra...the family... the mafia, do you think they’ll be after you?”

  “I’m not afraid to die, Melyssa. I am not going back because I could be facing charges there. My businesses were run legally. However, my father used them to launder illegal funds and I knew it. Therefore, I can be arrested. I’d rather die than spend time in Italian jail, with so many of my father’s ex-employees.”

  That made sense. But it also did not make me feel any better. Not one bit.

  She honestly looks so confused right now.

  It’s sexy. I want to fuck her again. She is...well, she is definitely different from what I’m used to, but teaching her control is going to be a new challenge and a very, very pleasurable one.

  I try to clear my head of those thoughts and continue.

  “But, you think someday you’ll go back?”

  “I made an agreement with a long-time rival of mine that I would allow the Italian police to sell the business fronts Salvatore owned and use the money as they saw fit. When my father’s empire has crumbled and my name is finally cleared, I will consider returning.”

  “Why would you sign away what is rightfully yours?”

  “I want nothing to do with his money.”

  “But...to give it to an enemy?”

  “He hates—hated—my father just as much as I do. He’s a good man, deep down I’m sure, but he’s also an asshole.”

  “Why does he hate your father?”

  “His father was a police officer that died. He blames my father. I don’t understand why it’s his fault and honestly I really don’t give a shit. But I’m sure Thorello will do the absolute best he can with the money, just to spite me.”

  I can see her trying to work through my complicated past and failing to make the connections. “Okay, but....why does he hate you? Is it your father’s fault, that his dad died?”

  My chest tightens. I am annoyed that she asks, but I can’t tell her to fuck off and I certainly won’t tell her most everything is his fault. .

  “I told you, he’s an ass.”

  “Right....” The way she says it leads me to believe she is going to pry. If not now, then soon.

  “Okay.” She looks up from her hands and gives me a weak smile.

  “I need a dollar amount.”

  “I don’t know, Sabato. I don’t want to take your money. I just want you to be okay.”

  “This is a business arrangement. I need a dollar amount.”

  “I trust you, so...you just do whatever you planned to.” She starts rubbing her shoulders. I know I was a little rough with her… I would apologize, but why? She is just as much to blame as I am. She knew what she was getting into. Didn’t she?

  “Favorite sport?” she asks, snapping me back to the here and now.

  “Not really a sports fan.”

  “How do you keep in such great shape?”

  I smirk and shake my head.

  “Oh, oh.”

  “That’s for cardio. I also enjoy the freedom of running. I also lift and beat the shit out of a bag every now and then.”

  “Boxing?”

  “I don’t box, I pretend the bag is my father and I beat the hell out of it. Yours?”

  She clears her throat, delicately. “I like to watch baseball, but not on television. I do like to run, I guess. So it’s something we can do together, maybe.” She shrugs. “For show, of course.”

  “Your parents and brothers names, remind me?”

  “Grace and Melvin are my parents. Lou is my stepfather, Lewis and Johnny are my brothers.”

  “Younger, right?”

  “Much,” she smiles. “My last name is—”

  “Chance.”

  She smiles and nods. “My middle name is Ann. What’s yours?”

  “Salvatore.”

  “Ouch,” she cringes.

  “Exactly.”

  I look at my watch. “We should pack up and get going soon.”

  “First we should take pictures. They may want to see pictures that we took. From our ‘vacation,’ or ‘honeymoon,’ or whatever. I mean, people do that, you know.”

  “Selfies? They’re lame.”

  She laughs. “But something people actually do.”

  “One other thing people do is exchange rings.”

  “True.”

  “Wait here.”

  I walk into the bedroom area and grab my bag, pull the box out and open it to make sure it’s still there. This shouldn’t feel like it matters. No, it doesn’t. I won’t let it. I’ve learned what love does. This isn’t love, it’s a way to finally be free from what love has always done to my life: destroyed it.

  I walk out, open the box and hand it to her.

  Her eyes widen. “Wow, that’s—that’s beautiful.”

  “Well in order to pull this off, it’s necessary.”

  “But this is...way above and beyond necessary. Did you pick this out or....” She stops and shakes her head. “It’s beautiful.”

  “I chose it.”

  “You have great taste.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  She holds her hand out. I assume it’s for me to put it on her.

  “Is that necessary?”

  “Play along, Sabato. When you’re finished with me, I’ll be a divorced, twenty-something woman with no future. I’m sure not many men will be lining up to ask me to marry them.”

  “Melyssa—”

  “Non-negotiable.” She pushes her hand closer to me.

  “You interrupted,” I scold her.

  “Mmmkay.” She wiggles her fingers.

  “Melyssa Chance, will you allow me to be your fake, first husband?” She laughs. “I’m sure in the future, there will be others who are much more deserving, but I do come with millions of dollars and infinite amounts of orgasms.”

  “Well, how could I possible say no?” She laughs again, and it makes me smile. “And a gun and a getaway car and—”

  “Just say yes.”

  “What if I say no?”

  That is confusing to me.

  “Why would you?”

  “Fine. Yes, Sabato. I would love to marry you for all your millions and promise of, well, you know.”

  I push the ring on her finger and for a brief moment, I think about Mama. What does she think, if she is looking down on us right now? But I quickly push the question out of my head. Why would my mother care about some sham wedding?

  “Alright,” Mely
ssa says, with a smile. “Let’s do pictures.”

  “Let’s do lunch.” I look at my watch. “Or, early supper.”

  “How long did I sleep?” She grabs my wrist and looks at my watch. “Wow.”

  “You were tired.”

  She looks up at me and I can’t help but smirk.

  “Let’s go somewhere decent.”

  “And chance getting caught?”

  “I’ve been taking chances all week. I think it’s probably—” She puts her hand over my mouth and I am shocked for a moment.

  “Don’t tempt fate.”

  “Don’t tempt me.” I nip at her hand and she pulls it back. “Be careful Melyssa, I bite.”

  *.*.*

  After stopping at that disgusting discount store again to purchase a camera, we end up at a little Italian restaurant—at least, that’s what it claims to be.

  Melyssa seems to love it, though. I can tell by all her delicate little moans of pleasure as she eats. I am sure she would have an orgasm if she ate at some of the places I frequented in Sicily and I tell her so, in front of the wait staff. She burns bright red and I can’t help but laugh. It is actually very enjoyable, taunting her.

  She tells me she’s afraid I’ve offended the people who run the place. I let her know that she should probably get used to me offending people and I tell her to use the language barrier as an excuse, if she needs one.

  We take a couple of pictures, which is harder than you’d think. Selfies would be much easier. Our waiter offers to take a few. Even insists on her sitting on my lap.

  “Ah, bella! Che lovers!” he says, in the worst Italian impression I have ever heard.

  Melyssa grabs my face and turns it to hers, giving me the loudest kiss I have ever heard or felt in my life. In a whisper, she tells me she hopes it makes me uncomfortable. Without whispering, I tell her it makes me hard. And yes, I make sure the waiter can hear me.

  When we are finished eating, I give him a good tip, shake his hand firmly and whisper, “Guarda mia moglie cosi di nuovo, e lei pagherà.”

  “What did you say to him?” she asks, as we walk out.

  “Thank you.”

  “Uh huh, right.” She shakes her head.

  “Prove otherwise,” I say, as I open the door for her.

  *.*.*

  Once back at the cabin, she makes me pose for photos on the porch. I hate it. It reminds me of being a boy, when Mama used to slick back my hair and make me pose by the fiore outside of the house, before taking me to school. Except, unlike Mama, Melyssa runs her fingers through my hair, making it messier and laughing while she does it.

  When I insist on her doing the same, she mimics my sulking, but it’s more a pout. I want to give her a real reason to pout. I want to make her beg to come.

  She walks inside and comes back out with a bottle of wine.

  “To a perfectly posed engagement.” She takes a drink from the bottle and hands it to me. “Did you get the ring in any of the pictures?”

  “I’m sure I did.”

  “Good,” she says and holds it out, looking at it as she sits on the porch step. “I like it here.”

  “You do?” I almost laugh, but she looks up at me and sure enough, her face is gravely serious.

  I hand her back the bottle and lean against the railing.

  “You look bored.”

  “I’m not used to relaxation.”

  “Right, me either. College was very busy.”

  “With those twenty boys?”

  She shakes her head, no. “With classes.”

  “Sure,” I say in jest and she blushes. “I’d like to know about them. The men, not the classes. You know, for the interview.”

  I sit down next to her and wait.

  “Not much to tell. I dated a lot but...you know.”

  “No, I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

  She lets out a deep breath, “I wanted to like them. But the fascination quickly dwindled.”

  “Fuck ‘em and leave ‘em?” I say as a joke, but I honestly I want to know. I don’t like that I want to know.

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Seriously, I should know these things—for the interview, Melyssa.” I want to let it go, but I can’t seem to. It’s not that I’m jealous. Just curious.

  “Okay,” she takes another drink—and by drink, I mean she downs a quarter of the bottle. “Well, I would decide to be attracted to someone. I would do the three-date-rule thing and most of the time I wouldn’t let them get past feeling me up before I was bored with them, or figured out I was forcing an attraction.”

  She takes another drink.

  “Three dates and you wouldn’t let them fuck you?”

  “Nope,” she laughs.

  “Wow, you know what they call that?”

  “A tease.” She says solemnly and takes another drink.

  “Well, maybe they just didn’t know what you liked. Many men don’t.”

  “You do,” she says quietly.

  There is something in her eyes that doesn’t sit well with me.

  “Well, you were not very subtle about what you wanted from me. Our first meeting, you watched me the entire time. I knew you wanted me. Our second meeting, you watched me do a suspension scene and your fucking eyes were glued. The third meeting alone, you were bound to a cross. Luckily, I knew what you needed, or I wouldn’t have made it to four, huh?”

  She is looking at my lips. Fuck, I’m looking at hers. I look away.

  “I know women, Melyssa. In fact, I know people. So if we face an interview, let me lead.”

  “Of course.”

  “Longest relationship?”

  “Four years.” She answers.

  It takes me a minute to comprehend, “Four fucking years?”

  “Yep, all through high school.”

  “What ended it?”

  “Me. I just always knew he was my friend. I loved him as a friend; there was never really anything stronger between us. We still talk once in a while.”

  “What’s his name?” comes out immediately.

  She looks up and laughs. “Ryan. Why?”

  “Well, anyone who knows me would know that if our marriage was real, I wouldn’t be all right with my wife talking to a past lover.”

  “We haven’t even been together in four years, Sabato.” She giggles, as if I am joking.

  “Put that on the list, non-negotiable.”

  Her jaw drops. “Wow, you’re serious.”

  “For the sake of this, this...marriage, I certainly am.”

  “Fine. Have you ever had a serious relationship?”

  “That really isn’t any of your concern.”

  “It sure is. Spill it.” She crosses her arms in front of her.

  “One. But...I won’t be talking to her ever again, so there is nothing to discuss.”

  “Did you love her?”

  “You’re pushing.”

  “I have just told you everything about my tragic past of crappy relationships.”

  “She’s dead.” Saying it out loud hurts. It hurts like hell.

  “The car accident?” she says, very quietly. “Was she the passenger?”

  “How do you know about that?” I snap at her.

  She looks suddenly uncomfortable. “I Googled you. Sabato, I’m so sorry. I really am.”

  It isn’t her fault, but I don’t fucking care. “I’m done for the day.”

  I go to stand and she puts her hand on my knee, stopping me.

  “I understand. I’m sorry. Sabato, I want to be your friend. Whatever you tell me, I will never tell anyone.”

  I nod. “Can we go in now?”

  “I am going to enjoy the quiet for a little while longer.”

  “Fine.” I settle back down.

  “You don’t have to stay.”

  “Yes, Melyssa, I do. By involving you in this, there is a risk.”

  “Right. Of course.” Her eyes dart around and she stands, then stumbles.

&nb
sp; I grab her elbow to stop her from stumbling down the stairs.

  “No more drinking, either.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine.”

  But it’s not. It’s not fine at all. Sabato just went from fun, even flirty and relaxed, to frigid.

  “I’m ready to go inside.” I hold the railing as I walk up the stairs, because I feel a bit tipsy.

  Inside the cabin, I look around, just now realizing that things are going to change, for me—for us—as soon as we go back.

  “What happens if they arrest you?”

  “Then I go to jail,” Sabato shrugs, “and you stay at the apartment. Not that old place—the new one. It’s your home now. But I doubt I will be in jail very long.”

  “You’re sure it was self-defense?”

  I regret as soon as I ask it.

  “I assure you that it looks that way, but I wanted him dead.”

  “So, you....”

  “Made sure he died exactly how he should. Like a dog, bleeding in a ditch.”

  “Sabato, I know it’s hard to talk about, but I need to know. Please give me that. I need you to respect me with the truth, even if you can’t.... I need that. This situation is crazy, and I am even crazier to agree to it, even knowing—”

  “Why did you, then?” He snaps at me.

  “Because, I like you.”

  “You like the way I fuck you.”

  “No....”

  “You are calling for respect, fine. Then give it to me back. Respect me enough to own up to that much.”

  Honesty. Painful, scary, dangerous.

  “Okay,” I lick my lips. “The first time, I saw you on Dominic’s IG and I—”

  “IG?”

  “Instagram. There was a picture of you, and even though it was just a picture, I saw something in your eyes that....” I try to think of how to say it. “Was deep, and attractive, and...this is incredibly embarrassing and hard to say, but I am being honest. I promise to be honest, as long as you do the same. That night, I saw you at the steakhouse and there was...an intensity and, well, I thought you were perfect. It titillated me, that after four years of trying to force myself to be attracted to someone I saw you and right away—bam!”

  “Titillated,” he says, with a hint of humor in his voice.

  “Oh shut up!” I glare drunkenly at him.

  “Mmmkay.”