Silent Whisper (9 page)

“So, you’re basically telling me that he was a witness to their murder? I mean he had to be if he got there in time to save you, right? And do realize there’s no Statute of Limitations on murder?”

Oh shit.

“Look,” I said, “Nothing will bring my parents back. I only told you this stuff so you’d understand how it was possible for me to fall in love with him without making me feel like some traitor to my folks. It’s complicated, okay? Please just leave it alone.”

“He still comes from
that
bloodline,” she replied, “I think you need to consider your long term well-being.”

I so needed to change the subject. “Congratulations on your marriage. I’m really happy for you. Are you doing okay?”

I heard her sigh from the other end. “I know you’re probably thinking I only did it to get the hell out of Chester, or for financial security, but honestly? I really love Walter. He’s kind and generous and he loves me seven ways from Sunday. He may be a retired judge, but you know what? He’s never judged
me
. He’s always made me feel so special; and he still does.”

“I’m so happy for you, Lana,” I said and meant it. “And for the record, I don’t judge you either. I’m glad you found love and happiness and why would you think that would be so hard for anyone to understand?”

“I dunno. His age I guess. I mean he’s sixty-seven and I’m twenty-one. We get some looks, I can tell you that.”

“Who gives a fuck? Ain’t nobody else’s business, right?”

“Yeah, right. But we’ll never have children and that kind of sucks. He had the mumps as a kid and is sterile. I kinda always wanted kids. I mean you used to want them, too. Do you still?”

What should I tell her? I decided as little as possible was best.

“Well sure, maybe someday. My situation is a lot different than yours, though.”

“You can say that again,” she said.

I immediately regretted the remark because I didn’t want to get back on the topic of Dominic, or his family, his marriage, his career and every other thing about him that she found despicable. I mean what the hell? She’d been a whore like me; what was up with all of the judgmental bullshit now? I hoped it wasn’t something that Walter had somehow instilled within her. Lana was a girl from the sticks—just like me.

I quickly segued into my new career; designing clothes and my soon to open boutique. The more we talked, the less stilted our conversation became. It almost felt like we were back to normal again, but not quite. I knew it would take some time.

We ended our conversation promising that we would continue to talk weekly so that we were kept up to date on each other’s lives. She was adamant that she would call me though. She seemed paranoid to give me her phone number, making some excuse that it was unlisted because of Walter’s former career as a judge. Threats and all of that stuff she explained.

I rolled my eyes and told her it was fine, but I gave her my work number just in case she needed to reach me during the day.

I was glad that we’d at least cleared the air, and I felt optimistic that in time, we’d be as close as ever.

I spent the rest of the weekend trying to keep busy to help the time pass more quickly.

I did all of my laundry, cleaned the condo from top to bottom, had my hair re-permed, and even hit a jazzercise class.

Sunday evening I showered, shaved my legs and put on some sexy lingerie in hopes that it might just be ripped off of me later by a horny Italian that I was missing. I fell asleep thinking those thoughts and didn’t wake up until my alarm clock went off at seven a.m. Monday morning.

So this was how things were going to be for right now. He was testing me; that much was obvious. He wanted to somehow measure my degree of devotion and sincerity to him. Or maybe it was an issue of trust. Whatever it was, it certainly had me chomping at the bit to have him back in my life, back in my bed, and back between my legs.

Well played, Dominic. Well played.

I took extra care with my make-up and wardrobe this Monday morning. It was mid-July, hot and humid in Camden, New Jersey. My legs were lightly tanned from spending most of Sunday afternoon on my patio, reading the latest edition of Cosmo.

Since today was going to be spent going back and forth between the workshop and the boutique, I needed to dress accordingly. I wore a short jean skirt with a bright tank top, pulling my long, curly hair up into a banana clip to keep it out of my face.

I put extra eye make-up on, giving myself a bit of an exotic look with the shadow and eyeliner. The sun had managed to lighten up my already blond hair a bit.

I slipped on a pair of heeled sandals, grabbed my handbag and my stack of in-process designs and headed out for the day.

I wasn’t even sure that I would see Dominic. After all, his main business interests had been without him for two weeks, I’m sure he had bigger fish to fry with those investments than with my little boutique.

Once I stopped in at West End Storage and made sure that Lily and Rita were working to finish the machine sewing on the last of the fall line designs, I headed over to the boutique.

Beth, the window designer was waiting for me and presented some sketches of how she wanted to lay out the front window. I approved them and she started getting the props ordered.

At noon, Sherry came in, looking well fucked and rosy-cheeked.

“Hi-hi!” she greeted. Her usually quiet demeanor was not in attendance this afternoon. My God, she was practically
giddy.

Guess she’s had her fix of Italian sausage…Ewww….

“Hey Sherry, glad you’re here. Can you take over hanging up the merchandise? I need to go back over to West End and handle the cash receipts that came in on the storage units over the weekend.

The slight smirk that crossed over her face didn’t go unnoticed.

“Is there a problem?” I asked, throwing a glare her way.

“No, not at all. Go ahead. I’ll cover things here.”

The longer the day dragged on without hearing from Dominic, the pissier I got.

I got the cash receipts entered for the storage units, and updated the general ledger. I then snapped at Lily for asking me a question on one of the new designs she was working on and had a mini-meltdown when Rita’s sewing machine started making a god awful racket.

I had just gotten off the phone with the company that had leased us the sewing machines trying to get a repair person dispatched when the office phone rang.

“West End Storage,” I practically barked.

A female voice on the other end asked for Dominic Castellano.

“This isn’t his office number,” I replied curtly.

“Well he gave me several numbers as to where he might be reached before he left Fire Island yesterday. Are you his secretary?”

“No, sweetie. I’m his
whore,
” I replied, “But I’ll be happy to give him a message the next time he’s between my legs.”

Brief silence.

“Uh…that’s alright. I’ll try one of the other numbers.”

Click.

I was seething as I slammed the receiver back into its cradle. What an inopportune time for poor Rita to walk up to me and ask about her broken machine.

“I don’t give a fuck about any of this,” I hissed, grabbing my shoulder bag from my desk drawer. “I’m outta here, Rita. Will you handle the phone and lock up? I’m going home.”

“Sure,” she stammered, stepping out of my way as I hauled ass out the door.

I was so thoroughly pissed that I didn’t even remember driving from Camden to Cherry Hill. I was lucky I hadn’t rammed another car from behind or taken out a pedestrian or two along the way. I was pretty sure I might’ve given myself whiplash from the abrupt starts and stops I did the whole way home.

Note to myself: Have brakes checked this week.

How dare Dominic treat me like this! It was obvious that he’d hooked up with someone new on Fire Island, or maybe not new. Had I even bothered to consider that?

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Once home, I kicked off my sandals and headed for the fridge, grabbing a chilled bottle of white wine and poured a generous portion into a wine goblet.

I turned on my stereo, and sank down into the soft cushions of my sofa, sipping my wine and trying my best to calm down. I glanced at the clock. It was only three-thirty.

I sat there for a few minutes, sipping my wine and trying to figure out why my fuse had shorted out like that. I generally didn’t have meltdowns.

Was I that insecure?

When had
that
happened?

Was I just some weak bitch that had taken the path of least resistance to try and put some type of normalcy in my life? Had I used vengeance as an excuse for hopping onto Dominic’s gravy train, loving that he lavished me with gifts and attention that I never would have known had I remained in the sticks?

The more glasses of wine I downed, the more it became fuctperly clear!

Fact: I was still a slut—just a higher paid one.

Fact: I had allowed myself to fall in love—yes LOVE with a mobster from the mob. (Wait—is that redundant?)

Fact: Lana had every right to call me out like she did. I was a stupid, stupid, idiot. (And don’t forget—a SLUT to boot!)

Fact: If Nick (yeah, I’m calling him Nick now) cheated on his wife, why would I be naïve enough to think he didn’t cheat on me?

Fuzzy Fact: If a married man cheats on his mistress I don’t think that actually qualifies as cheating.

And right before I finished the last of the wine one last fact occurred to me.

I LOVED THE MOTHERFUCKER!

That’s right. No amount of alcohol in my system changed that. And as much as I wished that it had, the fact remained that I loved and was in love with him.

I was totally at his mercy. I only prayed that when we next saw one another, I was stone cold sober because right now? Yeah, you guessed it; I’d be putty in his hands, the sweat on his balls, and the fucking lint on his lapel.

Does that make sense?

Oh what the fuck.

@#!$%$#!&^[email protected]!

(hiccup…)

Somehow I had managed (in my drunken stupor) to shower in an attempt to sober up which really wasn’t all that effective. I found a pair of silk tap pants and a camisole and threw them on, not realizing until I had dressed myself that the camisole was on backwards.

Oh what the fuck ever.

I climbed into my bed, leaving one foot planted firmly on the carpeted floor to keep me grounded. Yes, I had heard that would keep the room from spinning and ultimately, me from heaving. I hoped that it was true.

I had finally fallen into a relatively calm sleep when the banging of my front door downstairs hitting the wall of the living room caused me to wake up immediately.

Holy shit.

Moments later, the overhead light in my bedroom illuminated and there stood a very beautiful, very tanned, and very pissed-off Dominic Castellano.

“What the hell?” I asked, my eyes glinting up at him.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” he demanded, his eyes flashing a darker shade of brown. “I am absolutely furious with you at the moment. You will
not
humiliate me, Karlie! Do you understand this?”

“What are you talking about, Nick?” I asked, trying to clear my head, as I struggled to prop myself up on my elbows. I didn’t miss the eyebrow quirk he gave when I referred to him as ‘Nick.’

“I’m talking about the little phone conversation you had this afternoon when a business contact of mine called West End looking for me.”

Uh oh.

“Oh business contact was it?” I replied with a bit of cockiness in my tone. “Is that what you’re calling them these days?”

His brow knitted in confusion, but only momentarily.

“Explain yourself, Karlie. Now.”

I sat up in bed, brushing my hair back from my face. “She mentioned she was at Fire Island. I haven’t heard a word from you in over two weeks; it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’ve moved on.”

I launched myself from the bed, and padded towards the bathroom. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him at the moment. I splashed cold water on my face and rinsed my mouth out. I hadn’t realized that Dominic had followed me in until I saw him behind me in the mirror.

“You’ve been drinking,” he deadpanned.

“Yeah, no shit,” I remarked, drying my face. “So now what? Are you gonna move her in here? How much time do I have before I’m formally evicted Nick?”

He frowned at me, leaning back against my shower, with his tanned muscular arms folded in front of him. He shook his head back and forth, his mouth a grim line. He wasn’t pleased.

At all.

“Apparently you think so little of me that you’ve contrived this bullshit in your mind and convinced yourself it’s the truth. Is that about right?”

He was waiting for a response but I didn’t have one to give.

“The woman who phoned looking for me is not a paramour, I assure you. I was introduced to her at Fire Island, but it was on the golf course, not in a
brothel
,” he clarified.