Salvatore

10. Salvatore

10

SALVATORE

“So what do you plan on doing with me?” Ivy walks into my kitchen, eyeing her surrounds as if she’s a property inspector—chin high, eyebrows raised. She’s not fearful of being in the enemy’s lair, or if she is, she’s doing a good job of hiding it.

I fill two glasses with water from the fridge dispenser, then slide one across the island counter to her. “Obviously we need to talk.”

“Do we though?” She continues her nonchalant visual inspection, scrutinizing the black stools lining her side of the kitchen island, then the large glass dining table to the right of the open living space, and finally the floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of the building giving a view of the harbor. “I could go the rest of my life without looking at you, let alone talking.”

“Is that right?” I’m not convinced she isn’t enjoying this as much as I am.

“I know I should feel honored that I’m your latest obsession but I grew tired of boys’ games when I was a teen. Just tell me what you want.”

Despite her indifferent expression I know I’m under her skin. I can feel it. Can fucking taste it. And her instability is the sweetest salve.

I could spar with her for hours. For fucking days. But as tired as she is of boys’ games, I’m tired in general. Utterly goddamn exhausted. “I’m interested to learn why someone from the cartel is working at a funeral home.”

Her chin raises the slightest smidge. “I know emancipation is a big word you’re probably having trouble wrapping your head around, but it means that the family you referenced is no family of mine. I severed ties when I was sixteen.”

I take a gulp of water, wishing it was alcohol. I need something to dull the buzz. To soften my impatience. “And how does anyone, let alone a teenager, achieve something like that against a man as nefarious as your father?”

She lowers her gaze, finding great interest in the marble countertop, dragging her finger absentmindedly along the edge for one second, then two…

“Ivy,” I warn, my impatience intensifying.

She keeps her focus on the counter, her eyes hardening.

“Does Olivia know your secret?” I ask. “Did Carlo?”

Still, there’s no response.

I picture myself stalking around the counter, palming her chin, and coaxing my thumb over her plump bottom lip until words spill out. Her mouth would be so fucking soft. Her tongue no match against my own. I’d leave her gasping for air. Clawing for grounding. Screaming from?—

Jesus Christ.

“I need a drink.” I shove from the counter and disappear into the butler’s pantry, grabbing a bottle of Jack from an overhead shelf.

I need to pull my shit together. To figure out what Ivy knows. What the cartel knows. If they have insight, it’s the perfect excuse to convince Lorenzo war is necessary. I’ll make sure they think more than twice next time they contemplate the assassination of one of my siblings.

“Are you drinking in the pantry like an alcoholic?” Ivy calls out. “Or can I expect you to extend the slightest courtesy and share your stash?”

I smirk at the tinned goods lining my shelves. I don’t even know why. This situation has become beyond complicated. The loose ends. The increasing liabilities. Yet somehow I continue to crave this exchange with her.

I grab an unopened bottle of Belvedere too and return to the kitchen, enjoying the way her dark eyes track me with indifference back to the opposite side of the counter.

“Vodka or Jack?” I dump the liquor on the marble.

She screws up her face, scowling at the whiskey. “Definitely vodka.”

I slide the bottle toward her and keep my fascination in check as she claims her prize, pops the cork lid, then proceeds to drink the alcohol straight from the bottle. “Classy.”

She winces her way through a hard swallow. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She chokes a little. “I didn’t realize class was a prerequisite. When will yours be joining the chat?”

I will not fucking laugh. Not at her infallible tenacity, or the fact she’s got bigger balls than any man I’ve met. I lock that shit down, my gaze intent on her lips as she licks away the moisture, seeming oblivious to how goddamn mesmerizing she is.

“You never answered my question.” I crack the whiskey lid, my limbs alive with how good it feels to spar. How fucking invigorating it is to experience anything other than anger and sickening animosity. “Why are you working at a funeral home?”

“Because it’s a job.” She holds my gaze. “A good one at that. Carlo paid me well, and believe it or not, I didn’t have a lot of job offers before that.”

“Because you’re uneducated?”

“I am educated.” She glowers. “I left Bryn Mawr at the end of tenth grade, but I still received my high school diploma.”

“How?”

“I finished my education online.” She reaches for the glass of water and takes a sip. “Why are you so concerned about my position at the funeral home?”

I break eye contact and grab two scotch glasses from a drawer below the counter. “Concern is too strong a word. I’m merely trying to get to know you.”

I want to confirm my suspicions that Gabriel arranged Ivy’s emancipation as some sort of safety measure for his daughter. To hide her in plain sight. Why else would she remain in Baltimore?

She chuckles, all fake and fucking melodic. “Bullshit.”

“You think my interest in you is a lie?” I pour a finger of alcohol into my glass. “I thought we had a connection at the club. I can’t be the only one who felt it, mi bella reina .”

The charm slowly fades from her features, her faux delight no longer in sight. She stands taller. More cautious. A serious woman who’s seriously intoxicating. “I’m not naive, Salvatore. I’m well aware of the threat you pose to my life. But if you’re looking for information on the people who raised me, I promise I can’t help you. The emancipation is real. I’ve fought hard not to have anything to do with Gabriel Rodriguez since I was sixteen.”

I raise my glass, eying her over the rim as I take a sip. “You have nothing to do with him, yet you seem to have kept up-to-date with the workings of the underworld. How else would you know about me when I’m relatively new to the area? I haven’t even made waves in public circles yet.”

She indulges in another gulp of vodka. “Just because I escaped doesn’t mean I’m free. I keep track of the monsters that surround me. And you were added to that list months ago.” She walks for the open living area, past my dining table, and then the sofa.

I drag another taste of whiskey through my teeth, determined not to acknowledge the monster barb as she stops before the wood-framed glass doors leading outside. “How did you find out about me?”

She stares at the view, silent for a few heartbeats. “I have a cousin.” Her voice is softer now. “We don’t risk reaching out often, but when you and your uncle first came to town it must’ve caused enough waves within the cartel for her to give me the heads-up.”

“And yet you still came to my brother’s club last weekend.”

She turns to me, pointing the bottle in my direction. “That was not my idea. I told Olivia time and time again that Smoke & Mirrors was shady. But she wouldn’t listen.” She stares at me a moment, her brow furrowing. “ Why wouldn’t she listen?”

I let her bask in whatever thoughts race through her head.

“Your brother was the one with her when she called earlier, right?” she asks.

I incline my head.

“But she wasn’t scared.” She raises the vodka bottle, taking another gulp. “She seemed fine.” She’s talking to herself now as she lowers her attention to frown at the tile. “Does she know who he is?”

“She knows.”

Ivy’s gaze snaps to mine. “Everything? Like what your family is involved in?”

“For the most part.”

She blinks at me, eyes widening. “Then why leave with him after the funeral? Why still be with him now? I don’t get it. I’m missing something.”

From the confusion etched into her features I think she’s missing a whole heap of somethings, which is good news. It sounds like our personal crematorium, aka body disposer, is also under the radar.

I pour another finger of whiskey and shoot it down, the alcohol already infiltrating my veins and warming me from the inside. “It seems you two have a lot of secrets.”

“No. Liv tells me everything. And apart from my past, I do the same.”

“Apart from your past?” I smirk. “So you mean apart from the fact you’re living a double life.”

Her face hardens and she turns back to the windows, swigging from the vodka bottle like a sailor.

“You might want to slow down on the liquor.” I ignore my own advice and pour myself another. “When was the last time you ate?”

She mutters something under her breath. Something about Liv . About bullshit , that fucking club , and what the hell is going on?

“Did you take Olivia against her will yesterday?” She swings back toward me and storms in my direction. “Did you threaten her like you threatened me?”

“There were no threats.”

She stops before me and claps the vodka bottle on the counter. “She was crying.”

“She was grieving,” I counter.

She raises her chin. “How long have you known her?”

“I don’t. We’ve barely spoken a handful of?—”

“But she knows your brother. And he knew Carlo. There was a photo of them at the funeral.”

She’s creeping closer to the truth, and I need to shut it down. For her sake as well as my family’s. But watching her piece the puzzle together is addictive. The flare of her eyes when understanding dawns. The deep set of her frown when things don’t make sense.

“How long?” she demands. “How long have they all known each other?”

I shrug. “Maybe nine or ten months.”

A look of horror steals across her face, her eyes frantic, her lips parted. “Oh my god,” she rasps. “Is he mystery guy?”

I give her a skeptical look. “I don’t know what that?—”

“I bet he fucking is.” She rakes a shaky hand through her hair and retreats. “He’s the only man she’s spoken about in years. Which then makes sense why she kept wanting to go to Smoke & Mirrors even when I tried to talk her out of it.” Ivy holds my gaze, but she’s no longer looking at me. Not really. She’s somewhere else—stuck in the churn of contemplation. “And she kept sneaking off… every time we went to his club…” The color drains from her bronzed skin, her attention narrowing. “Please tell me they’re not together.”

“I wish I could.”

Terror contorts her beauty into something less aesthetically pleasing, but ultimately still stunning. Then she swipes at the counter, reclaims the vodka bottle, and smashes the opening to her lips.

She winces through a gulp. Then another. And another.

“That’s enough.” I snatch the bottle from her hand, leaving her hyperventilating. “I take it you don’t approve of my brother.”

“Approve?” She barks a laugh. “You forget that I understand your world. I know the type of atrocities you men take pleasure in.”

“Is that right?”

She glares. “Yes, it is.”

I’m not sure if it’s alcoholic-fueled confidence, but the psycho in her eyes increases her man-eater beauty exponentially.

“Then indulge me in your insight, mi bella reina .”

She stares at me, stares so long and hard without speaking that I’m unsure if she’ll ever break the silence. Until finally, those pretty lips part. “No. I’m not letting my mind go back there for you.”

My hackles rise.

What did they do to her?

Why the fuck do I care?

I pour a generous finger of whiskey, hoping the effects will stop me from giving a shit, then shoot it down before making for the fridge. “You need to eat.” I pull open both sides of the double doors, needing a visual breather from her disheveled radiance. “What do you feel like? Leftover pizza? Grilled cheese?”

“I don’t need your food.” The slightest slur to her words proves otherwise.

I grab the pizza box and slam the fridge shut. “Then lay off the alcohol, troublemaker, and pull your shit together.” I dump the box on the counter, then grab her around the waist and haul her onto the kitchen counter, her shock at my manhandling not registering in her eyes until her ass hits the marble.

My own surprise doesn’t kick in until her knees are nestled against my gut and one shin skims across my hardening dick.

It’s pathetic how I keep touching her. Indulging in contact. I need to quit succumbing to that feminine softness. But here we are, me stunned into self-loathing silence while on the steep slide into intoxication, and her with flames in her eyes that allude to an upcoming verbal onslaught likely to make me nut in my pants.

Her lips part. “I?—”

“Quiet.” I yank open the pizza box, grab a slice of BBQ chicken, and raise it toward her mouth. “You need something to soak up that alcohol.”

“I can handle my liquor.” She remains defiant until her gaze catches on the nutrients right before her eyes, her brow furrowing slightly.

I bet she hasn’t eaten since the wake.

“Take a bite,” I demand.

She glowers, releasing a bull-ish huff through her nose, but inches forward to comply. “Happy now?” she asks around a dainty nibble, her hand raising to cover her mouth as she chews.

“Again.” I inch the slice back toward her.

Her glower intensifies, but she follows my command a second time, taking a bigger bite, the slightest hint of a grateful moan breeching her lips as she eats. The sound travels straight to my dick.

“This situation is messed up,” she mumbles around the food. “Liv doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” I take a bite of my own, needing the distraction, the fucking interference. The whiskey is messing with my head, making me itch to shove something else toward those tempting lips.

“You don’t know her. She barely leaves her house. She hates people. Everything unsettles her.”

I poise the pizza before her again. “That may be true, but I’ve watched her navigate some pretty tricky situations. She can hold her own.”

She chokes on another mouthful. “What type of situations? You said you’ve barely spoken to her.”

God, she’s beautiful when unsettled, her eye movements sharp, her emotions painted across her features in stark clarity instead of heavily influenced sarcasm.

I raise the pizza to her lips for a fourth time, hoping to distract her, only to have her grab my wrist and halt the progression. “What type of situations, Salvatore?”

My brain can’t focus on her question. I’m too caught up staring at her mouth. Her throat. Her chest. “That’s not your concern.”

“Fine.” She drags out the cell nestled beneath her bra strap. “I’ll ask her myself.”

I slam a palm against her phone, slapping it down to the counter. She stares at me as I stare in return, the two of us caught in a visual standoff, her nails claiming my wrist, our hands both remaining on her cell.

“Fine.” I get in her face. “Ask her. Ruin her life. Get her killed. Do you think I give a shit?”

She smiles, and my dick takes notice. “Are you threatened by me, ninito ?”

I hadn’t understood the Spanish taunt last night, but I took the time to enlighten myself while sitting in the club.

Ninito, aka little boy.

She’s itching to be messed with.

“You exude such infallible confidence,” she continues, “but on the inside you must quaver in your Gucci loafers at the mere sight of me if you’re scared of one measly phone call.”

Something is definitely quavering, but it isn’t my insides. If she’d like to direct her shin a little to the left she’d feel exactly what she has an effect on.

“You’ve got me pegged, bella .”

“Well let me assure you—” She retracts her claws, loosening her hold on my wrist. “—I don’t want any criminal complications in my life. I only want to guarantee Liv’s safety.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you went to the cops.”

“You didn’t give me a choice. And it’s not like it was a move I made lightly. I risked my life by walking into that police station. If word gets back to Gabriel you won’t have to worry about killing me because he’ll do it himself.”

That pathetic possessiveness tightens into a thorny ball inside my chest.

“Why?” It’s the only word I can muster.

“Because I’m the one that got away. I’m the only female he couldn’t make cower to his will. It doesn’t take a psychology degree to predict a daughter’s emancipation won’t sit well with a powerful, heartless misogynist.”

“Then why let you go at all?”

Her smile is sad and slow to form. “Because I witnessed something I shouldn’t—a lot of somethings, actually—and I threatened to put him behind bars. The only thing that saved me from my ignorant adolescent fearlessness was my mother, who begged him to spare my life and grant me the emancipation so they could be done with me.”

I don’t want to feel kinship with her. To commiserate about what it’s like to be betrayed by those who gave you life. But that fucking emotion is there, building and consuming. “Then why stay in Baltimore?”

She slides her hand from my wrist and the other away from her phone, leaving me bereft of that sinful fucking contact. “With your extensive glimpse into my life I’m sure you’ve seen my bank balance… or lack thereof. Which made fleeing a non-starter. So instead I lie low. I keep my nose clean. At least I did, until this.” She waves a lazy hand between us. “Things might be a little different after Gabriel finds out I’ve caused waves.”

He won’t find out .

I inch back, thrown off-guard by the mental vow.

I need to quit drinking. To get some fucking sleep.

“Tell me about these situations with Liv.” Her voice is low. Uncharacteristically pleading. “Please.”

“Knowledge isn’t power in this case.” I raise the pizza back to her mouth, my vision laser focused on the food and not her tempting lips. “Insight will only get you killed.”

“I’d risk it for her.” Her hand reclaims my wrist, this time softer. Gentle. Entirely perplexing. “She’s my best friend.” She stares at me, the eye contact entrancing.

Is she attempting to fucking seduce me?

“Let go.” There’s an edge to my voice, one born from the growing need to part her legs, palm her thighs, and sink my cock inside her.

I’m undone by this woman, and I’ve never been undone by anyone in my entire life. At least not sexually. Attraction has always been surface level. An easily dismissed vice.

Not now though.

She’s under my skin. Fucking with my head.

She raises her chin. Determined. Undaunted. “Tell me about the situations Olivia has been in.”

Her lips mold every word like a siren’s call, luring me deeper under the spell of her charm.

I should step back.

I have the information I need. I’m convinced she knows nothing about the cremation agreement. My family’s crimes are safe. At least for now. Indulging in this situation will only complicate matters.

“Let go,” I grate, “or this is going to escalate quickly.”

Her breath hitches, and my drunk ass doesn’t hear the fear.

Her tongue snakes out, quickly moistening her lips.

All I can see is her interest—the way her face is tilted toward mine, the hunger in her gaze.

She fucking wants me. Or at the very least that’s what she wants me to believe.

I snap a hand around her chin, her sharp gasp a dose of ice-cold reality. I wait for trepidation to kick in. For her self-preservation to sober us both. But it doesn’t come. Instead those dark eyes simmer.

“Are you fucking with me, mi bella reina ?”

Her breathing quickens, her phenomenal tits rising and falling a bare inch from my arm. She stares at me for long seconds, and I swear to God all I see is attraction. Pure fucking lust.

I lean in, my mouth almost upon hers. “Are you attempting to seduce the answers out of me?”

“Why do you think that?” she whispers.

“Because it’s almost working.”