Salvatore

18. Ivy

18

IVY

I lie in bed, eyes closed, wishing the minutes away as nerves eat at my belly, their sharp teeth rabid for action. The thought of freedom is too much optimism for me to handle. And the even more persistent concept of Salvatore being my hero has me confused as hell.

The music gets louder. Bright light blasts the back of my eyelids.

I crack open an eye and find José slinking into my room, then closing the door silently behind him. “Hey mamacita .” He leers at me through the moonlight. “Your brother passed out on the sofa and the other guys are gaming, so I thought you could keep me company.”

I scramble onto my knees, my gaze flicking to the balcony in some ridiculously vain grasp at hope. But all that stares back at me is the dark of night.

“Leave,” I demand. “You’re not allowed in here.”

“Says who?”

I back myself against the headboard as he approaches. “Gabriel is waiting for my bruises to fade.”

“He’s not waiting anymore. You’re scheduled in for your first scene tomorrow, and I thought I’d do you a solid and give you some practice before your debut.”

I grab the lamp on the bedside table and give a hard yank, attempting to dislodge the cord from the socket, but it remains stuck. I yank again and again, frantic as he rounds the bed, his subtle chuckle heard over the serenade of a Latin pop song.

“Your brother and I have a bet going.” He places his palms down on the duvet. “He thought you’d be a lousy lay. But I told him you’d be wild as fuck.” He lunges forward, grabbing for my ankle.

I jump from the opposite side of the bed, giving one last yank to release the power cord.

He laughs. “You’re going to be a fighter, aren’t you?”

“I’ll scream, then Alonso will come stop you. I know Gabriel well enough that he wouldn’t appreciate you sampling the merchandise.”

“True, clever girl.” He inclines his head. “But given the sedative I slipped in your brother’s beer, and the sound coming from the speakers in the living room, no matter how loud you yell, you won’t wake him, and the other guys plan to join me once they finish their tournament.”

Terror floods my system.

“And come tomorrow, nobody will believe you if you attempt to tell them the truth,” he taunts.

“Really?” I pant. “Not even with a body full of bruises?”

He inches closer. Too close.

I pounce back onto the bed, trekking over the mattress in two steps. I’m about to leap off the other side and make for the door when he jumps up beside me. I swing the lamp, hoping to hit him in the head with the heavy ceramic base, but he crash-tackles me, the both of us plummeting headfirst to the floor while my makeshift weapon slips from my grip.

My cheek takes the brunt of impact and carpet burn sears the side of my face as his bulky weight lands on top of me, knocking the air from my lungs.

I scramble, bucking and elbowing for freedom.

“Quit it.” He fists my hair and yanks me onto my back.

I scream. Scratch. Claw.

“ Cállate! ” He punches me in the gut, stealing my ability to fight as I heave for oxygen.

I’m a gasping, retching rag doll as he climbs my body and sits his heavy weight atop my abdomen. He plasters my wrists to the floor with his knees and leans down, getting in my face with the stank stench of beer.

“We’ll tell Gabriel your bruises are self-inflicted.” He stares into my eyes, no compassion or remorse, while I gulp and gasp. “That you knew your time was up and were trying to cause more delays.”

I wheeze breath after breath, turning my face from him, trying to look away, but he’s everywhere. All over me. Up against me.

I open my mouth, preparing to scream again.

“Don’t even think about it.” He plasters a palm over my throat, pressing hard on my jugular. “Fight all you like, but do it quietly or I’ll knock you out and finish having fun the easy way.” He squeezes a little harder, watching as I suffocate.

I dig my nails into his wrist as the edges of my vision grow darker, the room turning black. “No,” I plead, the solitary syllable a whisper against the thud of loud music.

His hold loosens, allowing my sight to slowly return and find him messing with his belt, then lowering his zipper.

Oh, God.

I told myself I’d be apathetic. I promised I’d play dead. To not let them enjoy my struggle. But I can’t.

I buck. Wiggle. Scream.

He presses tighter on my throat, the pressure threatening to collapse my windpipe.

I panic. Flail. Pummel and kick and thrash.

It doesn’t help.

The room blurs. My limbs grow too heavy to keep up the fight.

My arms flop to my sides, my consciousness waning as he slides down my body, balancing his weight through the hand threatening to collapse my jugular.

I grapple to remain conscious.

I’m sinking. Falling.

Nothingness takes over. Darkness. Maybe death.

I become weightless. His heavy body vanishes. The black void allows me to breathe.

“ Ivy. ”

My name is called. Shouted.

“ Ivy. ”

I blink back to consciousness with an unforgiving gasp, the influx of oxygen rushing down my throat like burning oil.

But the world has been tipped on its axis.

José no longer sits atop me. He’s on his feet.

No . He’s being held upright, his back to the chest of a shadowed figure, a gloved hand clawed around his mouth.

The intruder holds my gaze beneath his baseball cap, the familiar skull bandana hiding his features but not his identity as he plunges a blade into José’s neck.

“Salvatore?” I scramble backward, shocked, surely hallucinating.

He delivers one savage blow after another, each strike to the throat ruthless yet deliberate, every motion sterile and controlled.

“Get to the balcony,” he demands as blood spurts and splatters the carpet.

José doesn’t fight back. He’s already gone. Limp. Dead.

“ Now , Ivy.” Salvatore flings the lifeless body to the floor and lowers the bandana from his face. “ Move .”

I struggle to my knees, my body aching, my cheek burning.

“Come on.” He pockets the knife and stalks forward, towering over me in the darkness, hauling me to my feet with bloodstained gloves around my upper arms. “It’s over. I’m getting you out of here.”

I nod. Numb. Disoriented.

For a moment he just stands there, staring at me, taking me in with shadowed eyes and an aura of destruction that comforts me more than anything wholesome ever could.

“You’re okay.” His thumb strokes my skin as the other hand descends to lower the raised hem of my dress.

Shame sinks in, the weight of it crushing my chest and making my eyes burn.

“You’re okay,” he repeats, stronger this time. Insistent. “He’s dead, Ivy. He can’t hurt you again.”

“But the others…” I shake my head. “They were coming to join him.”

His nostrils flare and those dark eyes harden to venomous slits. He releases me and makes for the bedroom door.

“No. Please. ” I grab for him, my trembling fingers slipping over the crook of his arm. “I want to go home.”

His jaw ticks, the usually mischievous Salvatore Costa now a man I don’t recognize. “Balcony. Move .” He jerks his chin toward the glass door. “Before I change my mind.”

I nod, taking the first shaky step.

“Come on.” He wraps the steel cage of his arm around me, his grip unyielding as his long stride forces me to quicken my pace.

He leads me to the glass door, raising his bandana while my mind remains trapped ten paces behind, stuck on the floor beneath José. I can still sense the weight of him on top of me. Can feel the pressure of his hands around my throat.

The night air brushes my sensitive skin as I step outside, the chill in the breeze leaving me stone cold and shivering.

Salvatore closes the door behind us while two men stand waiting on the neighboring balcony—suit clad, baseball caps and matching bandanas in place.

His brothers .

“You don’t have to jump.” Salvatore ushers me toward what looks to be a wooden door laid flat between my balcony and the next. “You can walk or crawl across.”

Walk or crawl ?

I glance from the door to him and back again, my cognitive function lagging.

“I can do what?” I rasp, my throat painfully hoarse. “How?… I don’t?—”

“Forget it. I’ll carry you.” He inches closer.

“ No .” I shake my head. Retreat. “I-I’ll…”

What, Ivy? You’ll Spiderman your way around this city skyscraper on your own?

I shuffle closer to the parapet. There’s still a good foot and a half between me and the concrete divider separating me from death. More of the street below comes into view, the plunging height making my stomach crawl its way into my esophagus. Next will be my heart and lungs. If I take another step I’ll be regurgitating my large intestine.

“Come on, Salvo,” his brother growls. It’s the older one. The man known to be one half of the Butcher Boys of Baltimore. I think his name is Matthew. “We don’t have time for this.”

He’s right. We don’t. Gabriel’s men will barge into my room at any minute. I could get caught half way across. Then what would happen?

“ Mi bella reina .” Salvatore’s endearment is a subtle murmur near my ear, his tone dark and velvety as he settles against my back. “I listened when you told me not to walk from that bedroom and slaughter every man within the walls of that apartment for what they’ve done to you. So now it’s time for you to listen to me.” His palms graze my hips, gentle yet commanding. “Let me do this for you. Let down your guard and have faith in me. Just for a little while—barely even a few minutes.”

I swallow down my insides, not wanting to trust him with my life and wanting nothing more at the same time. I’ve been independent for so long. Guarded and alone. “Are you capable of carrying me across?”

“I’ve carried you before under much more dire circumstances.”

I turn to him. “More dire?”

“Up a flight of stairs with a hard-on and a one-track mind not to fuck you in the hall was far more challenging.”

Heat radiates in my chest, the memory flooding back in a rush.

“I can do this.” He holds my gaze, dark and intense, as he palms the material of my dress and begins inching it upward.

“ Wait .” I slap my hands over his. “What are you doing?”

“Hiking the hem over your hips.”

“Why?” I fret, given the lack of underwear beneath.

“You need to wrap your legs around me and hold on while I carry you.” He continues hefting the hem skyward.

“No. Stop .”

His smirk is subtle. “I understand your attachment to the dress, having worn it for weeks now and all, but if the material stretches I’ll buy you a new one.”

“I’ve been wearing this godforsaken dress for so long because I wasn’t exactly afforded a budget for costume changes.” I keep my hands firmly gripped on his, my nails digging into his skin. “And I can’t raise the hem because what the last few weeks also hasn’t afforded me is new underwear after someone stole mine the day I was abducted.”

Any sense of humor slowly bleeds from his features as his eyes search mine.

Yes, you deliciously gorgeous thieving asshole. I was trapped with predators without underwear.

One of his brothers gives an awkward clearing of his throat and the tense visual standoff ends.

Salvatore’s face hardens. “I’ll tear it then.” He bends down on one knee, fists the hem in both hands, then yanks.

I jolt with the rough movement, the material ripping to leave a long slit that ascends my right thigh.

“That should be enough.” He stands, admiring his handiwork. “Ready to climb aboard, troublemaker?”

My internal organs volt back into my throat.

This can’t be happening.

He steps into me, his expensive loafers brushing between my bare feet. “I’m going to pick you up. You need to hold tight.” He grabs my hips and lifts.

I grip his shoulders and cinch my thighs around his waist, clinging for my damn life.

“You’ll be fine.” He approaches the parapet. “Just don’t look down.”

Is he fucking kidding?

“That’s not the motivational pep talk you think it is.” I lock my arms around his neck, attempting to forge my limbs together in an unbreakable loop.

He palms my back with one hand and grabs the concrete rail with the other. “It’s better than letting Matthew drug you, which was his preference. So count your blessings.”

Honestly, I’d give unconsciousness a thumbs-up right now when pitted against this alternative of a front-row seat to doom.

“Hold on tight.” He releases me, the rescinded contact making me gasp. “You’re okay. Breathe.”

“That’s literally all I’m doing.” The air puffs in and out of me like a goddamn locomotive.

“I meant slowly.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll add it to the wish list.”

His chest vibrates against mine, his snicker silent. “I’m climbing up now. Don’t let go.”

“I’ve never hugged anyone tighter in my life.”

“It’s an honor and a privilege,” he croons in my ear, his player game phenomenal even when the stakes are this high.

“Now’s not the time for cute. I’m literally on the verge of cardiac arrest. Just please don’t drop me,” I beg. “I promise I’ll repay you with something better than a home-cooked meal. I’ll even let you set the terms.”

“How about your firstborn?” He climbs onto the parapet, stabilizing himself with strong hands on the upper level’s balcony floor.

I hold in a squeal, my pulse chaotic. “That’s a little dramatic but you could ask for a lifetime of servitude right now and I’d concede.” I bury my face in his neck and close my eyes. “Please don’t kill me.”

“If I kill you, I kill us both, and I have no plans to die tonight.” He shuffles his feet, his body growing tense beneath me.

“Aim between us,” one of the brothers calls. “We’ll help you stick the landing.”

I feel Salvatore nod. Stiffen. Brace.

“Hold on,” he demands.

Then he jumps.