8. Ivy
8
IVY
I fight sleep as I wait for my coffee to be made at my neighborhood cafe, my eyelids heavy enough to take down a linebacker.
Fear for Liv’s safety kept me going through the midnight hours, well past the point where I quit listening to Salvatore’s warning not to go to the cops. Complete and utter rage helped me chug through the morning, after I was turned away from the police station, my concerns for Liv ignored.
“ It’s too early to file a report. ”
“ I’m sure your friend is fine. ”
“ She’ll show up once she’s had time to process the loss of her father. ”
Each placation notched my fury up another rung, and that searing animosity is what’s keeping me standing even though my body wants to collapse from lack of sleep.
The last week has been a spin cycle of insomnia. Carlo’s death, Liv’s inability to grieve, and my own heartache have made for unending sleepless nights. But I have to keep shuffling. I can’t stop until Olivia is safe.
I’ve driven past her house five times in the past twelve hours. I’ve called her phone incessantly. There’s been no word from her. No sign of life. No online activity.
She’s in trouble. I can feel it.
She’s a proud introvert who only frequents two places—her house and the funeral home. She doesn’t have any close friends outside of me and Allison. She doesn’t humor hobbies or interests besides work. She’s an automaton and the most predictable person I know. Yet she hasn’t been seen in almost twenty-four hours.
“Ivy.” The barista slides my takeaway cup across the counter, not breaking her gaze from her commercial gurgling coffee machine.
I stagger forward to claim my prize—“Thanks”—and take a sip, hoping the caffeine will fuel me with enough energy to drive the block home, shower, change, then return back to my one-woman search party.
But neither the first, second, or third sip of the bitter drink brings any sort of pep to my step.
I’m still dead on my feet and poised to push through the glass door onto the sidewalk when my cell vibrates in my hand. I pause inside the cafe, relief punching through me.
I haven’t received a call all night. Not from Liv. Not from the police. Not from anyone. It has to be her. But when I glance down at the screen an unfamiliar number stares back at me.
I juggle my coffee and swipe to connect the call. “Hello?”
“Good morning, troublemaker.” A shiver runs down my spine at the smug smirk in Salvatore Costa’s tone. “You’re a hard woman to find.”
I stumble backward as someone nudges past me to get to the door.
“I thought I told you not to go to the police,” he continues in that effortless drawl. “Do I seem like the type to make demands without expecting compliance?”
I swallow over the dryness taking over my throat. I spent my youth surrounded by murderous, threatening scumbags. It was enough insight to learn there’s no stopping Salvatore if he wants to hurt me.
It was an informed decision to defy him. I weighed the risk against the potential reward, and Liv’s life is worth more to me than whatever Salvatore can dish out. Even if his retaliation results in my death.
“No,” I add censure to my voice. “But you do seem the type to practice your threats in front of a mirror. I bet you convinced yourself you looked like a force to be reckoned with while dribbling those words at your reflection.”
I cringe, cursing my idiotic lack of restraint. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me… well, apart from the usual childhood trauma. I was never like this in my youth. I obeyed orders. Heeded warnings. Had self-preservation.
“You’ve got a smart mouth.” His tone deepens an octave. So devilishly low and sinister. “Don’t tempt me to silence it.”
“I’d like to see you try.” I stride for the cafe doors, eager to get home, and flick down my sunglasses as I push into the midday sun. It’s warm out. Far too warm to be managing the heat along with exhaustion.
“Is that a challenge?” he asks.
“No, but I’m sure anyone with a fragile ego might think it—” The taunt dies on my lips as I raise my gaze, my footsteps faltering at the sight of my car. Or more specifically, the man leaned against the hood.
Salvatore stares at me, one brow raised, his cell at his ear as he says, “You were saying?”
Fuck .
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The dryness in my throat intensifies.
I attempt to ignore it. To shut it down. To remain composed.
That night at the club—before I’d bothered to cast my gaze over the guy I’d been rabid for—I’d sensed he had killer energy. I wish I’d realized my intuition meant it in a literal sense.
I lower my phone and raise my chin, refusing to appear daunted.
He’s no more of a threat than the long list of men I’ve successfully navigated for years. He’s not special. He doesn’t get a prize.
I walk toward him, determined, delusional. “Where’s Olivia?”
“I assume she’s still with my brother.”
“And where might that be?”
He crosses his feet at the ankles, increasing my animosity with his nonchalance. “At his penthouse.”
“An address would be helpful.”
“So would your lack of interference,” he counters. “Did you not receive my text last night? I don’t appreciate being ignored.”
“That was you who threatened me during the early hours?” I feign ignorance. “I didn’t recognize the number.”
“You get those sort of texts often?”
I shrug. “What can I say? If popularity was a sport I’d have Olympic gold.”
His mouth quirks, and I hate to admit it’s fucking sublime. It’s the perfect teeth and generous lips set against the backdrop of flawlessly tanned Italian skin.
Still a wolf in wolf’s clothing, but a delectable one.
“You told me to wait until morning yet I’ve still heard nothing from Liv.” I approach my car, keeping a wide berth. “So can you quit the pretense and just tell me what your brother is doing to her?”
His nose scrunches with distaste. “That’s not something either of us want to visualize.” He pushes from my car, standing to his full domineering height. “But I’m happy to elaborate if that’s what you want. I just won’t do it here. I’ll drive you to my place where we can discuss it further.”
I bark a laugh and take a sip of coffee for good undaunted measure. “I’m going to have to take a hard pass on the willing abduction. I only have a few hours left before the police have to take my missing person’s report seriously.”
Not that my confidence in the cops is top tier. After my earlier arguments with the authorities about Liv, I’m pretty sure Salvatore’s family has them on the payroll, but storming my ass back into the station beats climbing into a car with a psychopath.
He strolls toward me, all broad shoulders and menacing grace. It’s such a goddamn plight on the human race that he looks good while doing it.
“Forgive me. Let me ask more nicely.” He stops a foot in front of me, the humor in his eyes seeming almost genuine as he weaves a hand beneath his suit jacket, sliding it aside and revealing a gun holstered in his waistband. “My car’s the black Porsche parked across the street. You can either ride shotgun or in the trunk. Which would you prefer?”
His confidence is infuriating. Sickening. And yes, okay, I’m slightly envious at how he fucking owns it, but that’s an unhinged fascination I’ll have to unpack with a trained professional at a later date.
“Why can’t we talk here?” I take another sip of coffee, the bitter taste not registering over my scrambling need to maintain control. “There are free tables in the cafe.”
“As cozy as that sounds, I haven’t slept in days, my patience is thin, and what we need to discuss isn’t fit for public consumption.”
Well, at least we have insomnia in common.
“Come on, Ivy. Let’s do this the easy way. The alternative is that you run, I chase. You scream, I silence. Do you really have the energy for all that when what I’m offering you is what you’ve been begging for?”
“Color me ungrateful, but I’d prefer my order to come without a side of rape and murder.” I sidestep him to make for my car.
A strong arm weaves around my waist, halting my escape. “Do I look like a man who needs to take women unwillingly?”
I loathe his constant need to manhandle me.
I drag in a deep breath, my insides tingling. I am not turned on right now. Not at all… Okay, I totally am, but it’s not like I’m unaware I have issues. I’ve spent a pretty penny attempting to unravel my cognitive quirks. Especially the ones that revolve around men and sex. But being aware is half the problem. Or so my shrink says.
“Get in my car, bella .”
My libido taps out at his endearment. My blood runs cold.
It’s a common compliment. Even more so when spoken by someone with Italian lineage. But the syllables stab through me like a knife.
“That’s right, troublemaker.” He nuzzles the back of my ear, his heated breath awakening my skin in goose bumps. “This game is about to get more interesting.”