Salvatore

15. Salvatore

15

SALVATORE

I stare at my mother behind the steel bars of her prison cell, the air still relatively cold in the basement of Lorenzo’s Virginia Beach mansion despite the warm weather outside.

“I think I like this color.” She raises what looks to be a green half-knitted scarf from her lap as she sits on the small single bed inside her cage. Her outfit of a basic grey sweater and sweatpants makes her look the part of the incarcerated inmate.

I need to get her out of here. Away from the confines instated by my uncle. But that isn’t as easy as it sounds when Remy, Abri, and Matthew all want her dead.

“You’re quiet today.” She pauses the click, click, click of her knitting needles and raises her gaze to mine. “What’s troubling you?”

“Nothing.” Everything is as unstable and complicated as it’s ever been. Same fucking circus, just different monkeys. However, it doesn’t help that I’ve been fixating on a woman who snuck out of my bed and walked from my townhouse more than two weeks ago. I’d been so obsessed with her in those early days that I’d had her watched, only to grow maniacally frustrated when my PI didn’t glimpse sight nor sound of her in five days.

She must have fled the city, despite telling me she lacked the funds to accommodate the escape, or is holed up in that tiny apartment living a hermit lifestyle. Either way, the radio silence drove me so fucking insane I had to call an end to my predatory behavior for the sake of my waning sanity.

I never should’ve ignored my silent watch alarm when she’d triggered my front door sensor. I should’ve kept her with me. Tied her to my bed. Imprisoned her in a makeshift cell just like my mother’s. That way I’d be exposed to her snappy comebacks every day instead of being haunted by the one-liners she’s already delivered.

The woman called me Adam, for fuck’s sake. While my goddamn dick was inside her.

“Your mind is elsewhere, Salvatore.” My mother places the half-finished scarf and knitting needles on her lap, and repositions herself on the bed. “Tell me what has you distracted.” She skootches closer to the bars and reaches her arm out toward me.

I don’t move from my position a few feet away, my ass firmly planted on an uncomfortable wooden chair that demands perfect posture. “Time is creeping closer to when I’ll be taking over from Lorenzo.”

She retracts her hand, acting as if the attempt for contact didn’t happen. “And that worries you?”

No, it annoys me.

I never wanted the position. Or to be part of the illegal legacy handed down from my mother’s side of the family. But there was little alternative. Remy and I had no prospects for the future. At the time, we hadn’t had a nickel to our names. And living a champagne lifestyle on a homeless budget wasn’t something I wanted to explore.

So I stepped up to be Lorenzo’s successor because I sure as fuck wasn’t going to let my baby brother do it. Rem hadn’t been nurtured toward the underworld like I had, even though his ability to take lives has proven far easier for him than I’d anticipated.

I shrug. “Taking over doesn’t worry me. It’s just been on my mind.”

“You can handle it. Your father taught you well.”

I force myself to remain relaxed, composed, even though what my father instilled in me were teachings I’d rather forget, not one lesson willingly endured.

I mustn’t hide my animosity well because my mother’s eyes narrow, zeroing in on me.

“My father was a great teacher,” I acknowledge. “But living the lifestyle is complicated.”

“Power doesn’t come easily. We will be in control soon enough, and once I’m out of here I’ll be able to help you more.”

I nod.

She smiles and reclaims her knitting. “Update me on your siblings.”

The wording isn’t lost on me. Your siblings. Not my children.

I tell her about Matthew and Layla thriving in D.C. while trying to slowly distance themselves from any criminal influence.

“Is there any news of children yet?” she mutters.

“Not that I’ve heard, but when the news does break it’s not like I’ll be on the top of the call list.”

Her soulless eyes soften. “They resent you because you’re better than them. They want what you have.”

“I know.” I slide an inch down my chair, trying to find the illusive comfy spot, and cross my legs at the ankles.

“Tell me about Abri.” She grates her daughter’s name while she loops and pulls her thread of wool. “Is she still with that butcher ?”

“She is, and she’s happier for it. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know your granddaughter is growing up to be a headstrong young girl… or so I’m told.”

“That girl is no granddaughter of mine. But it’s nice to hear Abri is reaping what she sowed. What about Remy?”

He’s distracted. Unreliable. In love.

I flick an errant piece of fluff off the thigh of my trousers. “He hasn’t changed. He’s still trying to brown-nose his way into every situation. Lorenzo favors him and?—”

“My brother favors him?” She dumps her knitting on the bed. “Don’t you dare let him take your position.” She pushes to her feet. “You were the one born to lead. You have the skills. Not him.”

What she means to say is that it’s imperative I claim the seat of power. Any chance of her freedom depends on it, seeing as though I’m the only one of her children who bothers to visit, while the others pray for her death.

“He’s not going to take anything from me.” My cell vibrates from my jacket pocket. I claim it, read Remy’s name, then lock the screen to reject the incoming call. “I’ve been thinking…” I push to my feet and slowly pace. “I know we’ve discussed getting you out of here once I’m in control, but there’s an option to potentially make that happen sooner.”

She approaches the bars, claiming them in a white-knuckled grip. “How?”

“It wouldn’t be complete freedom. At least not at first, but I’ve gained enough bargaining power with Lorenzo to argue for getting you placed somewhere more comfortable.”

Thoughts dance behind her conniving eyes. She’s already strategizing. Scheming.

“I could buy you a house,” I continue. “Maybe give you free rein inside those four walls.”

She swallows, the wrinkled skin along her throat working overtime. “Your ungrateful siblings wouldn’t allow it.”

“You’re right. They would scream for blood, and you would need to be protected, but it’s achievable. The problem is that I would have to fund the project myself, and cash flow isn’t exactly fluid at the moment.”

Her gaze narrows. “What happened to the family trust you all stole? Don’t tell me you’ve squandered it already.”

I keep my expression on lock. Casual. Dismissive.

It was neither a family trust nor stolen money. The funds were built off the back of my parents’ systematic manipulation of me and my siblings. They seized every dollar we earned and claimed it was for our future when what they really aimed to achieve was our control. But it’s water under the bridge and all that.

“I’m funding a new lifestyle, Mother. There’s a certain level of prestige that needs to be portrayed.”

She scoffs, low-key incredulous. “I wish I could help.” She raises her chin, adamantly stubborn in her lie. “But you’ve already taken everything.”

I pause. Stare. Wait her out, like I have for over a year now.

We both know she has more money squirreled away. Hundreds of millions hidden somewhere, never to be found unless she shares the details.

My cell vibrates again. Another call from Remy.

“Well…” I grab the wooden chair and carry it to the corner of the room. “In that case, the increased freedoms may take a little longer to arrange. You’ll need to be patient.”

A text comes through, and I dump the chair to read it.

Remy

Answer your fucking phone.

I swipe the message from my screen with a tired breath. “I need to go.”

“Already?” my mother demands.

“Duty calls.”

“When will I see you again?”

“I’ll return when I can.” I don’t offer a kiss or hug. There are rules to this game of ours and physical touch is one of mine. I won’t step foot near that enclosure. “I’ll bring more of that expensive wool you like.”

Her face fills with the uncensored motherly disappointment she’s always wielded so well. “I want different clothes.” She waves a dismissive hand at her grey attire, the polyester a humiliation for someone who once owned a fashion empire. “These are disgusting.”

“I’ll have the housekeeper arrange it.”

“And chocolate.”

I head for the door. “Goodbye, Mother.”

She doesn’t reciprocate the farewell. She never does. It’s as if the pleasantry is one too many steps down the path of feigned civility.

I walk from the hidden room that contains her cell, close the secret door into Lorenzo’s basement proper, then head up the stairs as I return Remy’s call.

“Oh, look who finally remembered he has a phone,” he mutters in greeting.

“I didn’t forget. I just prefer not to answer your calls.” I open Lorenzo’s basement door and enter the ground level hall. “Someone better be dead or dying to have you disturbing me three times in as many minutes.”

“So wanting nothing more than to hear the pleasure of your voice isn’t a good enough excuse?”

“What do you want, Remy?” I trek along the large, tiled hall that runs the length of Lorenzo’s expansive mansion estate, the entire building silent except for the hum of my uncle’s housekeeper coming from the kitchen.

“I need your help. Well, actually?—”

“ I need your help,” Olivia’s voice carries in the background.

I grind my teeth. Of course his woman is involved in whatever annoyance is on the ticket for today.

“Ivy is missing,” Remy adds. “Have you heard anything?”

My feet stop of their own accord, the face of the woman who’s haunted me becoming a clearer picture in my mind. “No.” The obsessive itch I’ve been fighting over Olivia’s best friend comes back with vengeance.

“She hasn’t reached out or checked her messages in two weeks,” Olivia calls out. “At first I’d thought it was because she asked for space, but she wouldn’t go this long without making contact. Something is wrong.”

I run a rough hand over my mouth. Agitated. Uncomfortable. “And what do you want me to do about it?”

“You had someone look into her, didn’t you?” Remy asks. “I need them to do some more digging and find out where she is.”

“And you expect the organization to foot the bill for this inconsequential bullshit?” I force myself to continue along the hall to the open living area, refusing to dive down a tempting rabbit hole. “We have higher priorities.”

“Please, Salvatore,” Olivia begs. “She’s my best friend.”

“She’s Gabriel Rodriguez’s daughter. It’s not like your friendship is destined to flourish if you plan to continue fucking my brother.” I turn on my heel and make for the entry, trying and failing to shove Ivy’s image from my mind.

“ Salvo ,” Remy warns. “We’re going to search for her with or without your help. So stop being a dick about it and give me the number of your PI.”

I reach the front door, grab the handle, and pause. I don’t want to get mixed up in this. Mixed up in her. Getting sucked back into Ivy’s vortex would be a mistake. I’ve barely regained my train of thought after two weeks as is. “Tell me what you know.”

“There’s not a lot,” my brother says. “Ollie and Ivy haven’t spoken since that day we all found out about the connection with the cartel. Ivy said they needed space, but she hasn’t returned to work or been online as far as we can tell.”

I yank open Lorenzo’s front door and make my way across the pebbled drive to my rental. “So go to her apartment.”

“What a fabulous fucking idea, brother,” Remy drawls. “Why didn’t I think of?—”

“We did,” Olivia talks over him. “She isn’t there, and her neighbor says he hasn’t seen her in weeks. Not since someone fitting your description came sniffing around her front door in the middle of the night.”

The night I’d had her pinned to a wall in my brother’s club.

The very same night I would’ve killed to fuck her in the entry of Smoke & Mirrors.

My dick gets hard just thinking about it.

“Are you trying to imply that I’m involved?” I ask. “You do realize I went there before you saw her last.”

“I know.” Olivia agrees. “We already figured that out. But you haven’t been since, have you?”

“No.” No matter how many nights I was tempted to break into her apartment and slide beneath her sheets. And the PI who’d been watching the building had remained outside, only keeping tabs from a car parked down the road.

“This isn’t like her,” Olivia repeats. “Even if we were fighting—which we weren’t—she wouldn’t skip out on work like this. Not without at least calling. Something’s wrong, and I’m worried her family is involved. She told me they were abusive. What if they’ve found out about our association? What if they have her?”

Then her disappearance would be my fault. I’d be responsible for whatever hell Gabriel was unleashing upon her, and the possibility of that shit sits uncomfortably on my fucking shoulders.

I yank my car door open. “Leave it with me. I’ll make some calls.”

“And what if they do have her?” Remy asks. “What then?”

Then I guess I’ll need to decide whether or not a good lay is worth finally going behind Lorenzo’s back to wage war with the cartel.