Salvatore

16. Ivy

16

IVY

I stare at my chipped black nails, the polish wearing thin as the gap between color and cuticle grows wider with each sunrise.

It’s been twenty-three days since I painted my nails. Sixteen of those have been spent in this pink room of psychological warfare. But a much-needed manicure is the least of my problems.

The thought of remaining here for the rest of my life is living rent-free at the top of my doom list.

I don’t have any form of communication with the outside world. At least not since my watch ran out of battery the day of imprisonment. If it were still working, I’d be able to see if Liv or Allison had sent texts or called. I’d even be able to reply. But the four auto responses of Yes , No , I’m on my way , and I’ll call you back later wouldn’t really help my situation all that much anyway.

If I got caught communicating with the outside world I’d earn more physical abuse, and my mental stability is maxed out on that already.

So I’ve spent weeks staring at the surveillance cameras I dismantled on the ceiling, listening to the sounds of sex coming from different parts of the apartment. The thud, thud, thud of furniture against walls. The fake moans. The directive critiques.

The whole place is a dedicated porn set. One I assume must have some sort of legitimacy seeing as though it’s in the heart of the city. Or maybe it’s a feeder location where they bring girls looking to step foot into the industry. Where they woo them and pretend the lifestyle is all skyscraper apartments and pristine furniture before the forced scenes and trafficking occurs.

But it’s quiet now. I hear the short sound bites from someone scrolling social media in the living room, and nothing else. I’m pretty sure it’s José—the gun-toting sidekick who helped bring me here.

I’ve been introduced to six different men during my stay—all with varying degrees of panic-inducing qualities—yet he’s always been the worst.

The one who likes to inflict pain.

For example, the black eye when I dared to ask for somewhere to place the wrappers from the continuous pile of junk food I’m delivered. Or the fat lip because I flushed the toilet during the middle of the night and woke him.

But the worst of it was four days ago, two days after I’d ran out of body soap and shampoo, and made the mistake of asking for more.

He’d obliged, which I guess was delightfully generous, yet he’d waited until I was in the shower, then he entered my room, kicked the bathroom door open, and grabbed me from under the water’s spray to hold me against the tile floor and forcefully wash me with the products I’d requested.

I’d thrashed and screamed as he touched me while Alonso watched from the doorway.

I haven’t showered since.

Someone enters the apartment, the higher pitched squeak of the entry hinges discernible from the cupboards and bedroom doors.

“Lunch,” my brother calls out.

I sit up and slide from the bed, anticipating another reunion.

There’s a rustle of paper bags from the hall. Multiple claps of footsteps. Then my door opens and there Alonso stands, glaring at me.

He throws a takeaway food bag at my feet, the thought of its contents turning my stomach. I’d kill for a salad. A head of broccoli. Even a goddamn carrot. I don’t think I can force myself to eat another burger.

And the scent. God . Bile coats the back of my throat.

My room already smells like landfill from the piled food containers in the corner. I’ve had to chance periodically opening the balcony door an inch during the night just to get some much-needed fresh air.

“Don’t look so fucking disappointed, you fussy bitch.” He grabs the door handle and begins pulling it closed.

“ Wait .” I rush for him, quickly tapping the brakes when he scowls at me in warning. “I need to call my boss.”

“Fuck off.” He continues dragging the door shut.

“What does she want?” Gabriel asks from somewhere down the hall, making my brother pause.

My pulse increases. I haven’t heard Gabriel here in six days. “Please let me use my phone.” I raise my voice to carry through the apartment. “Just one call. I haven’t shown up for work in weeks. They’ll be worried.”

My brother looks down his nose at me. “Why the fuck would we care?”

“I’ll be reported as missing,” I argue. “Then the cops will get involved.”

“We’ve got the cops handled,” Alonso sneers.

“What about the media? I’ve got neighbors who will ask questions. Eventually it will make the news and draw attention.”

“I’ll think about it,” Gabriel grates from his unseen location.

“There you go.” My brother raises a condescending brow. “He said he’ll think about it.” Then he slams the door in my face.

I slump. Sigh.

I’m never going to get out of here. Not alive anyway. I’ll be slowly killed by saturated fats.

It’s midafternoon the next time I hear footsteps approach.

I pause my post-lunch session of staring into oblivion and glance at my bedroom door as it opens.

Gabriel moves to stand in the frame, my cell resting in his palm. “I’ve had the battery charged. You can call your boss.”

I lunge from the bed in a rush, my hands shaking with ridiculously pitiful hope as I come to stand before him. But before I can reach for the device his hand snaps out, grabbing my chin.

I turn rigid and force myself not to fight back.

He tilts my jaw from side to side, inspecting my face and I assume my fading injuries. “You’ve misbehaved?”

There’s no right answer, so I keep my mouth shut, the crack on my bottom lip almost healed and the bruising around my eye mostly faded.

“Did you learn your lesson?” he asks.

I lower my eyes in sickening submission. “Yes.”

“Good.” He releases his hold. “Now call your boss and tell him you quit.”

I shoot my gaze back to his, my heart plummeting. “Why? They know I love my job. They’ll be suspicious.”

I’m also scared as hell of the exact opposite. That Liv will think I’m cutting ties, especially since I’ve been radio silent this long after asking for space.

I can’t quit thinking about her. About our friendship. About the recent revelations surrounding Remy. And the accusation regarding her working with the mafia.

Turns out my morality isn’t as high as I’d thought it was because I’d forgive her anything and everything if it meant I could hug her one more time.

“Then you’d better make sure they’re not suspicious,” Gabriel says.

Nerves multiply in my gut. I can’t fuck this up. It’s my one chance. But Liv and Allison won’t be able to help me.

I scroll through my call log, my stomach twisting at all the missed attempts to reach me— Liv, Allison, Liv, Liv, Liv, Allison, Liv, Allison, Liv, Liv —the list goes on and on. I slide through the time stamps until I reach the day before I was abducted. To the unfamiliar number owned by one of the very few people in this world who may hold the power and influence to facilitate my escape.

It’s a risk to call him instead of Liv. It’s more than likely he won’t want to invest skin in my drama. But he’s my only hope if I want to keep my friends out of this.

I swallow hard, click to connect the call, then raise the cell to my ear.

“No.” Gabriel smacks the device down, scratching my cheek in the process. “Put it on speaker.”

The side of my face stings as I do what I’m told, my breath coming heavy while the ring , ring , ring sounds.

I’m so dead. So painfully, torturously deceased as soon as Salvatore blows my cover, yet before I can think better of my one-second plan the call connects and I’m stuck mentally scrambling.

“Before you say anything,” I blurt, “please forgive me for not showing up to work. I know it’s been weeks since Carlo passed and that I should’ve been back a long time ago, but some family obligations came up, and you know how that goes, right? It’s impossible to say no.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrow on me, increasing the arduous thud of my pulse.

I hold my breath, waiting for him to disconnect the call, to slap me again, to end my life while the line remains quiet. There’s no response. Not a murmur of acknowledgement.

Is Salvatore even there?

“Hello?” I rasp.

“I’m here,” Salvatore grates.

Those two words consume me, the relief they bring making me want to double over.

“I’m incredibly sorry.” I swallow and lean into the charade. “I know I’ve disappointed you all, and that Liv must hate me, but this family reunion has been intense. They need me here, and they’ve pulled out all the stops to ensure I stay as long as possible.”

“Family is important,” he drawls, entirely calm, even slightly dismissive. “We can all understand that.”

He doesn’t sound like he understands at all. Not even a little bit. Does he know it’s me that’s calling? Does he have any clue what I’m trying to convey?

“Thanks…” Come on, Salvatore. Read between the goddamn lines. “I, um, I actually think I should quit.”

I keep my gaze locked on Gabriel, trying to determine if he’s buying the bullshit, but his glare neither confirms nor denies.

“Are you sure that’s necessary?” Salvatore asks, yet again lacking the concern to make me feel like I’ve made the right choice in calling him. “Are you still in Baltimore? Should we talk this through in person before you make such a big decision?”

“Yeah, I’m, um, living the high life in a swanky apartment building with a view of Harbor Point but?—”

Gabriel raises an arm, threatening to backhand me into next week.

I flinch, cowering in fucking weakness. “It’s for the best.” I clear the pathetic emotion from my voice. “Please let Liv and Allison know how sorry I am.”

Gabriel snatches the cell from my hand and disconnects the call. “That’s enough.” He stalks forward, intimidating me back into my pink prison. “You’d better not be causing trouble.”

“I’m not. I swear.”

“Good. Because there’s no need for you to worry about employment.” He continues prowling forward, forcing me to retreat until my calves hit the bed, and I flop my ass down on the unicorn duvet. “I have the perfect job for you.” He pockets my cell, then cups my face in his hand, staring down at me in fake kindness. “With such a pretty mouth, men will pay in droves to see it filled.”

I ignore the nausea. The rage. His putrid schemes aren’t new to me.

He strokes my cheek with his thumb. “You always thought you were better than this family, Isabella, but time will show that you needed us all along.” His hand falls away. “I will let my men know you will be making your debut on screen as soon as your face has healed. Until then, enjoy the peace before I make you a star.” He turns and walks for the hall where my brother stands, grinning.

I fist my hands in the covers, my lower lip trembling—not from sadness, from pure livid fury.

Gabriel will make good on his promise. He doesn’t offer idle threats.

The door closes and I curl into myself on the bed, staring at my pillow for hours.

What the hell am I going to do if my face heals and I haven’t figured a way out of here?

I won’t fight. I’m not going to titillate an already perverted audience.

If my body is to be used for entertainment, I’ll be as apathetic as I can.

I’ll lie there and stare at the ceiling. I won’t say a word. I won’t even make a sound.

My eyes burn, the threat of tears haunting me as the afternoon drags on.

Night falls and I don’t bother moving from the bed when the door opens and my dinner is thrown inside.

Despite the chance I took in making that call, nothing has changed.

Another day passes marked by the sound of sex from somewhere else in the apartment, only this time I’m heckled through the door every time footsteps grow near.

“Your turn is coming.”

“That ass is mine.”

“I’m getting hard just thinking about it.”

The last taunt came from my brother, and I’m not surprised. He’s always been a fucking asshole, but at one point I was sure he had humanity. Now? Not so much.

My ability to eat vanishes. Depression sets in.

I wait until it’s dark the following day, when the loud music from the living room tells me it’s going to be a long night, then open the balcony door a crack, letting the fresh air cast away the scent of rotting food.

I keep the lights off as I wash my face in the bathroom, not wanting to see my broken down reflection, then dry my skin with the lone pink towel that should’ve been burned weeks ago, let alone washed.

I want to scream at the heavy bass filtering through the tiled wall. Everything is so incredibly loud—my thoughts, my fears, my despair.

The worst part is that my bruises are barely visible anymore—the scratch on my cheek nothing but a fading pink line.

I anticipate I have a day before my fate will be sealed. Maybe two at most.

They’re going to break me on camera and enjoy every minute of it.

I focus on controlling my breathing, slowly backing myself away from the edge of sorrow, then open the bathroom door and stop dead in my tracks.

In the darkness of my moonlit room, a suit-clad man waits on my bed, a black, skull-painted bandana covering the bottom of his face while a baseball cap hides his eyes.

All my blood drains to my feet.

I guess my timing was off. I don’t have another day after all.

“I’m disappointed.” A familiar voice cuts through the music, quiet yet cocky. “I thought my arrival would be worthy of a scream?”

Salvatore?

I rake my gaze over every inch of him, mask to loafers, cuffs to crisp white collar. “I’m not much of a screamer.”

He pulls off the baseball cap, those dark eyes on mine as he tousles his hair and lowers the bandana with a smirk. “I’d like the opportunity to prove otherwise.”

My heart thunders, hope and excitement colliding in a tsunami of overwhelm. I blink away the burn in my eyes, refusing to cry in front of him, but relief has me by the throat.

“Give me a minute.” I swing back to the bathroom and escape inside, pressing the door shut behind me despite the broken latch.

He’s here.

In my room.

Attempting to help me escape.

I scramble to the vanity and clutch it in a white-knuckled grip.

I didn’t actually think he’d show. I guess I’d imagined he would arrange his own paid law enforcement to do a search. Or that he’d set off a fire alarm. Or somehow figure out a way for me to leave the building of my own accord. Not that he’d physically enter enemy territory to retrieve me.

I swallow down the acrid taste of trepidation.

If he’s caught, he’s dead. I’m dead. And we’ll have to endure a Gabriel-sponsored torture session before we get to kiss this life goodbye. Surely Salvatore had to have thought about that before embarking on this reckless mission.

The door creaks open and his dark silhouette fills the frame. “Sorry for the interruption. I just wanted to make sure you knew fixing your makeup isn’t a priority right now.”

I roll my eyes at him in the mirror. “Are you sure? I want nothing more than to look pretty for you.”

“Consider your task already achieved.”

A tiny part of me swoons. The irrational, brainless part.

“Come on.” He pushes the door wider. “We need to get you out of here.”

“We?”

“Me, my brothers, and Bishop.”

This keeps getting worse. It’s bad enough that Salvatore is here, who will be shot on sight. But a mass infiltration of the mafia into Gabriel’s space will only result in a bloodbath.

“They’re all here?” My voice mimics the hollowness of my chest. “In the building?”

“Gabriel owns three of the five apartments on this floor. The other two are vacant. My brothers are in the one right next door while Bishop is waiting in a getaway car in the parking garage.”

“Armed?”

He snickers. “Well we didn’t come in here packing fairy floss and candy canes.”

“If they see you…”

“I know.” He approaches, that dark formidable silhouette making its way to me. “That’s why we need to get moving.”

I don’t move at all. Don’t even budge from my position at the vanity as the Armani-wearing asshole prowls toward me, such an unacceptably phenomenal sight for sore eyes.

“Are you in shock, troublemaker?” He stops a few inches behind me, his proximity making me breathe a little harder.

Still, I can’t move. Can’t speak.

He closes in at my back, a smirk in his voice as he says, “Tell me you’re happy to see me.”

I scoff. “Are you seriously fishing for praise right now?”

His hand finds my hip, his large palm weaving a heated trail around my waist. “Tell me,” he whispers near my ear.

I shudder. After weeks fearing the men who surround me, the one who broke into my room wearing a bandana has me melting against him in minutes. “I’ll concede your suicidal side is slightly endearing. But if my captors hear you, they’re not going to spend time stroking your ego before they fill you with bullets.”

“I won’t get caught.”

My limbs heat. All of me does. Obviously it’s a psychological savior worship snafu but God does it feel good. And his cologne— dear Lord — it smells like heaven against the undertones of my junkyard bedroom, the scent entirely edible.

“How did you find me?” I ask.

“I’d already been searching when you called.”

“Why?”

“Olivia.”

My heart clenches. She didn’t give up on me.

“We weren’t clued in on where you were at that stage. Then Remy got creative with a set of pliers on one of the younger cartel recruits and found out you were still in Baltimore. Problem is, Gabriel has a lot of property in the city, most of it hidden in shell companies. Your comment about seeing Harbor Point narrowed things down.”

I fight to keep hold of the vanity and not lean into him. Drown in him. “How did you get into my room?”

“The balcony,” he states simply, as if we’re not roughly two hundred feet in the air.

“Excuse me?” I swing around to face him, our bodies inches apart in the semi-darkness. “ How could you possibly get into my room from the balcony?”

“I jumped from next door.”

“ Are you insane ?” I whisper-shout, thankful for the loud music hiding my horror.

“It isn’t far.”

“We’re on the seventeenth floor, you fucking teapot.”

His breathy chuckle peppers my lips, making me achy. “I’ve missed your way with words.”

“Please tell me you don’t expect me to escape using the same method.”

“You’ll be fine.” He leans away and adds pressure to my back, attempting to lead me from the bathroom. “It’s literally a small jump. Not even a leap.”

“Salvatore, I’m serious.” I plant my feet and place a staying palm against his chest. “I’m not good with heights. I won’t be able to do it.”

“I’ll be right beside you.”

“I don’t care if the Avengers are out there with a truckload of Xanax and a safety net. I won’t be able to parkour my way around a skyscraper. I won’t even be able to look over the ledge. I’m petrified of heights.” There’s a reason I’ve adhered to Alonso’s instruction not to step outside, and it’s not because I love the smell of rotting garbage. “When I was little my brother used to hold me over a second-story balcony by my ankles at my uncle’s property. I still have nightmares.”

“You’re telling me you’d rather stay here than face your fears?”

It’s not that I don’t want to face them—the problem is my body won’t let me. Vertigo. Anxiety. Psychosis. They will all tag team until I pass the fuck out. “I’m sure there’s another way to escape.”

“And if there isn’t?” He straightens, his hand falling to his side as if I’ve just destroyed his only option for retrieval.

This was his only plan.

Shit.

“I’ll figure something else out.” My voice breaks. “I can handle staying here if I have to. I grew up in this environment. What I can’t live through is a fall from two hundred feet.” The thought is enough to knock the air from my lungs.

I’ll find another way… in the next twenty-four hours… before my bruises are completely healed… when I’ve been stumped on an exit strategy for more than two weeks.

Shit. I rake a hand through my hair, the insurgence of panic leaving me a jittery mess.

“I’m not leaving without you,” he growls.

“Well, you can’t stay.” I push at his chest. “They come and check on me all the time. You’re going to get me killed.”

“Calm down,” he warns.

“I will as soon as you leave.” I shove him, not only fighting him but the overwhelming need to melt down. “Get out.”

“I said calm the fuck down, Ivy. Let me think.” He grabs my wrists and steps into me, thigh to thigh, chest to chest.

It’s all I can do not to hyperventilate. Not to collapse into him.

“How many men are in the apartment?” he demands.

I shake my head. It’s useless. He can’t walk me out of here.

“How many?” he growls.

“I don’t know. Two. Maybe three. There’s always at least one, but when they have the music up loud, it’s usually because there are more of them out there drinking.” I twist my wrists from his grip. “Please just go.”

“I’ll leave when I’m good and fucking ready.”

It hurts—the hope that crashes into despair. The thought of never seeing Liv again after we parted on bad terms, yet she still had my back. There’s so much more too. Things I haven’t wanted to think about. Things I refuse to acknowledge.

“I’m going to speak to my brothers. We’ll figure out a plan.”

I stand immobile, pessimism weighing me down. “You need to leave the building.”

Just because I diffused the cameras in the bedroom doesn’t mean there aren’t any in the main hall or elevators. Any minute now Gabriel could find out what’s going on. Salvatore and his brothers would be ambushed.

“I will.” He stalks from the bathroom. “Once you’re with me.”

I follow like a lost puppy.

He snatches his baseball cap from the bed and puts it on, then raises his bandana to rest against the tops of his cheeks as he makes for the balcony. “Try to get some rest while I’m gone. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“Sure thing. I’ll just bust out a few Zs while getting railed by adrenaline. No problem. Anything else?”

He pauses at the glass door. “Yeah. You can come up with some creative ways to thank me once you’re free.”

My heart skips a beat, my thoughts sliding straight into X-rated territory.

I’ve had a lot of time to think about the day I opened my legs to a fully-grown career criminal with more swagger than sense. Should I have spent that reflection regretting the ovary-fluttering idiocy? Without a doubt.

Have I, though? Sadly not even a little bit.

I take a seat on the bed. “I hope a home-cooked meal will suffice.”

He glances at me over his shoulder, the moonlight bathing him in a sinister glow that shouldn’t make him all the more irresistible. “Just as long as you’re part of the menu.”