Free No Mercy by Cheyenne McCray Page A

cigars.
    He knelt and opened the floorboard, the door beneath that, and then the safe. He looked down
    into it, directly at what he’d come for.
    As tense and angry as Salvatore was, he needed a fix. Just a small one, but enough to curb his
    anger. From the corner of his safe, next to his handwritten ledgers, he withdrew the stash of cocaine
    he kept for trying moments like these. He snorted a couple of lines on top of his desk, breathing in
    the drug.
    As he knelt again and started to put away the coke, he bumped his arm on the desk and spilled
    a good amount of the drug onto the floor beneath his desk. Irritation made him growl, his muscles
    tensing. He swept up the cocaine into a small envelope, closed it, and put it away with his supplies
    before locking everything up again. No sense in discarding perfectly good coke. He might be rich,
    but he didn’t believe in waste.
    He stood then put the key back in its place beneath the cigars in the humidor. He closed his
    eyes and breathed in and out a few moments until he relaxed and his mood improved significantly
    from the coke. He let the moments of irritation slide from him before unlocking his office door, closing
    and locking it behind him, and heading back to the kitchen and his beautiful wife.

    ***
42
    ***

    Belle’s purse bumped against her hip as she walked through the glass double doors into
    Salvatore’s office on Main Street in the Copper Queen Plaza in Historic Old Bisbee. Both practical
    and decorative copper items filled the room, and the furniture and bookcases were all walnut.
    A walnut and glass display showcased several gorgeous pieces of famous Bisbee Blue
    turquoise along with valuable natural stones and crystals. The office exuded the kind of elegance
    that didn’t exactly match the small town charm of the community.
    “Hi, Belle.” Christie smiled as she looked away from the large computer monitor on her desk.
    A lone closed door was a few feet away from her. Behind that heavy walnut door must be
    Salvatore, where he conducted most of his business. According to Christie, he didn’t like doing
    anything in the office in front of the glass double doors. “He’s a very private man,” Christie had said
    many times.
    Belle usually liked being around her friend’s husband, but it was true that he certainly was a
    private man.
    “Ready for lunch?” Belle asked.
    “Absolutely.” Christie clicked a couple of keys on her computer before pushing back her chair
    and glancing at the closed door. “I forgot to tell Salvatore that I’m going out with you for a couple of
    hours.” She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “He told me he absolutely could not be disturbed,
    so I don’t dare knock on his door.”
    Belle didn’t like the concerned look on Christie’s features and for a moment she wondered if the
    man abused her friend. Belle mentally shook her head—as an abuse survivor, she was fairly
    confident she knew what to look for. Salvatore had always treated Christie like a princess whenever
    Belle was around.
    But what if there was more to it than that? What if he liked to intimidate Christie? Belle tried not
    to frown as she considered the fact that Salvatore could be an emotional and verbal abuser. She
    wasn’t so positive she’d be able to read those signs.
    “Maybe we should wait or reschedule.” The last thing Belle wanted was for her friend to have to
    face any kind of domestic squabble.
    “He’l be fine. I’l leave him a note that we’re just going to the café downstairs.” Christie leaned
    over and looked at the computer screen. “There are no appointments for the next two hours on our
    shared calendar, so he’s not expecting anyone. He’s a perfectionist when it comes to updating it.”
    She scribbled on a square notepad, retreated from her desk, and pressed the hot pink sticky note
    against Salvatore’s door, where it stayed. “I’l just lock up so no one walks in without me being here.
    He hates