Chapter 10 · Lies on the Wire

"Dante." The radio hissed against his wet shoulder. "Dante, pick up. I know you're listening."

Salvatore. My uncle. Smooth, dry, completely bored.

Dante didn't answer. His thumb pressed hard into the hollow of my throat, pinning my head back against the pier railing. Rain poured off his jaw into my mouth. My silk dress was plastered to my skin, shredded at the hem, and my bare feet were numb.

He stared down into my eyes.

"Hold, Sal," Dante said into the mic. His voice was dead flat.

Then he dropped the radio, hooked an arm behind my knees, and hauled me up off the wood like twenty pounds of wet laundry.

"Put me down."

"No."

"I can walk, you bastard."

"You can run. I just watched you do it." He took the slick stairs two at a time. Through the fog, his guards stood with their hands crossed, eyes glued strictly to their boots. "Not tonight, wife."

He carried me through the rear security gate, past the silent kitchen staff, straight down the hall. He smelled like soaked wool, rain, and cold gun oil.