“Mr. Salvatore,” Mickey said with surprise. “What brings you to this side of town?”
I wanted to laugh.
His family called my hometown Beggars Bay, yet he spent more time on the rougher side than he cared to admit. No one knew he painted murals in his free time or that he visited his best friend’s cousin when he wanted to exorcise his demons. In some ways, we were friends. We kept each other’s secrets while enjoying each other’s time.
But we could never be together. Arlo Salvatore would marry his youngest son to a hooker before he let him date me. It didn’t matter if either of us wanted more because there would never be more.
“Excuse me for a minute,” I said to Mickey before stepping out from behind the counter to meet Marcello by the door.
He held my gaze as I approached him, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his suit pants.
“Did you reconsider getting a tattoo?”
Marcello shook his head. “I came to see you.”
“What can I help you with, Marcello?”
I inched closer, careful to keep my distance. He always smelled like clean linen and the sea, a scent which reminded me of home. It also made me think of Marcello because he was home for me.
Marcello stared at me, unblinking, refusing to answer my question.
“I’m working,” I told him. “Can we talk later?”
“You don’t look busy.” His eyes shifted to Mickey. “Seems like you have all the time in the world.”
I moved my hands to my hips, giving him a menacing look, but it only pushed out my chest more. He glanced down at my generous amount of cleavage, and if you looked closely, you could see one of my newer tattoos—the Nordic rune for strength.
I was not the girl you brought home to meet the parents. Hence why Arlo hated the thought of me with Marcello. I had ink starting behind my ears, down my neck, arms, back, and thighs, all the way to my toes. It was tasteful and elegant, in an artistic way, but most people took one look at my tattoos and dismissed me as trash. Even my father remarked every time I got more ink. I preferred to wear my art while Marcello wasted his talents painting murals in alleyways.
“I have another hour until I can leave.”
Marcello tipped his head toward the chairs in the waiting room. “I’m a patient man.”
“You can help me with a sketch,” I offered. “I have a room in the back where we’ll have some privacy.”
He nodded.
I lifted my sketchbook from the bench and led Marcello through the studio. Quiet as usual, he trailed behind me without a word. For as long as I had known him, he was never much of a talker. He preferred actions over words. And I was okay with that.
His silence allowed me time to think, to clear my head. Crime and chaos controlled our lives. When we were together, he made it easier for me to lower my guard, to be myself. There was no judgment with Marcello, only understanding.
I shut the door, and he clutched my hand as I attempted to pass him, yanking me into his muscular chest. I slid my hands over his shirt and settled on his strong shoulders. Built like a boxer, Marcello was solid, his arms like steel blocks.
“Did you miss me, Marcello?” I taunted him with a sly grin plastered on my face. “You never visit me at work.”
“You can’t tell anyone you saw me with Aiden Wellington.” His lips stretched into a thin line. “I mean it, Rhi. No one, not even Sonny.”
“I didn’t tell anyone about us. So you know you can trust me.”
“I don’t care about us,” he shot back. “What I do when I’m in Beacon Bay is private. My father would kill me if he knew I hung out with Aiden and that I haven’t stopped painting.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” I assured him.
“Why does someone from Boston want to hurt you?” Marcello slid his hands to my hips and held me flush against his chest. “Tell me the truth, Rhi. I know your dad’s men tortured it out of McDougal.”
“He’s an enemy of the Donnellys.”
He nodded, as if that were enough. Thankfully, he didn’t ask me to elaborate. I still wasn’t ready to tell him about my forced engagement. Marcello was overprotective and would do something stupid to stop the wedding.
The deal was done.
Running away was my best option.
“Why are you keeping Aiden Wellington a secret?” I released a breath. “Do you still have a thing for his sister?”
He glared at me.
“So that’s a yes.”
“I don’t have a thing for Alex.” Marcello crossed his thick arms over his chest. “She’s going to be my queen when she marries Luca. I’ve already told you this, but you don’t seem to understand what she means to the Knights.”