Send me a flower in the spring
breeze
I’d been with Sal Demarco for six years.
Then, on my birthday, he brought home a girl.
He was covered in blood, and this delicate
little thing was tucked into his side. From
that day on, Sal, who’d spoiled me rotten,
never looked at me twice. Everyone thought I
was heartbroken, pining for a love I couldn’t
have. I just smiled and fiddled with the watch
on my wrist. I was an undercover cop, deep in
Jersey’s biggest crime family. I’d been
playing the long game, waiting for the perfect
moment to put him away. Love him? Hardly.
- The house was blazing with lights, even
though it was almost midnight. I sat on the
couch, relighting the candles on the cake for
the tenth time.
“C’mon, Liv, don’t wait up.” One of Sal’s
guys, Frankie, looked at me with a mix of pity
and awkwardness. “Sal said…he ain’t
coming.”
The lighter clicked in my hand, a tiny flame
flaring and dying, flaring and dying. I stared
at it, my face impassive. “He’ll come. He
promised he’d be here for my birthday. He
wouldn’t stand me up.”
Yeah, right. The clock on the wall inched
toward 3:00 AM. He wasn’t coming. And
here I was, playing hostess to a room full of
Sal’s goons. They thought I was waiting for a
birthday celebration. Anyone else would think
I was hosting a mob summit.
Finally, just before the clock struck four, the
roar of an engine echoed from the driveway.
“Liv! Sal’s back!” Frankie practically yelled,
barreling up the stairs.
I stood up, walked to the landing, and looked
down. Yeah, he was back, alright. Blood
soaked through his shirt. And nestled against
him, pale and wide–eyed, was the girl. My jaw
tightened. “Sal,” I called down, my voice
sharp, “who is that?”
- Sal had a long, nasty cut that ran from his
eyebrow to his cheekbone. It was still
bleeding freely. Somehow, it just made him
look more dangerous, more… alluring. I
reached for the first aid kit, dabbing at the
wound with gauze, but he grabbed my wrist.
“Livia, have I been too soft on you?” His
thumb traced circles on my skin, a gentle
caress that held a hidden threat. Sal always
L
had a way of delivering menace wrapped in
tenderness.
I looked down, my expression neutral. “Soft?
Not really.”
He chuckled, his fingers moving to my pulse
point. “Is that so? Then what’s with the
welcoming committee downstairs? Makes me
look like I’m running some kind of…gang.”
Like he wasn’t. He’d clawed his way to the
top, one bloody knuckle at a time. Now he
was a “respected businessman,” all his dirty
laundry neatly tucked away. The newspapers
ate it up. Young entrepreneur, they called
him. It made me sick.
“Who’s the girl?” I asked again, subtly twisting my wrist free. He didn’t answer, his
“None of your business,” he said, taking the
gauze from my hand and pressing it to the
cut. He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear.
“So worried about who I bring home…not so
worried about how I got hurt.” He nipped at
my neck, a playful bite that held a hint of
punishment. “Ungrateful, ain’t ya?”
- The wind howled through the abandoned
warehouse. In the distance, the muffled
sounds of a beating echoed. Someone
offered me a cigarette. I shook my head. “Sal
doesn’t like it when I smoke.”
I turned to my partner, Seven. “Find out
everything you can about the girl Sal brought
home last night.”
Seven sighed, shoving his hands in his
pockets. “Liv, you’re the smartest woman I
<
know. You should know better than to get
mixed up in this…love stuff.” He gestured at the desolate landscape around us. “We both
got blood on our hands. Sal, he’s gone legit
now. He ain’t marrying someone like us.
We’re good for the dirty work, the loyalty…
but he ain’t giving us a ring.”
He was right. Sal trusted me, indulged me,
precisely because I was his shield. I’d taken
risks, done things…things I tried not to think
about. Sometimes, I almost forgot who I
was. An undercover cop. A nail in the coffin
of Sal’s empire. A fuse burning slowly toward
detonation. Thirteen years of my life, and the
blood of good cops, riding on it.
“Let’s go pay a visit to our little Miss
Innocent,” I said, my voice hard.
く
- Unlike the echoing screams of the
warehouse, Sal’s mansion was quiet and
serene. The girl was curled up on the couch,
reading a book. She jumped when she saw
me, her eyes wide with apprehension.
“You…” she stammered, then lowered her
gaze. “Are you Mrs. Demarco?”
I was taken aback. “No,” I said, sitting beside
her.
