Salvatore

19. Ivy

19

IVY

Wind lashes my hair, weightlessness leaving me traumatized for the briefest of agonizing seconds before hard impact sucks the life out of me.

I squeal, losing grip, falling.

“I’ve got you.” Salvatore wraps his arms around me, then a mass of unfamiliar hands hold me upright. “We made it across.”

I open my eyes, the faces of all three men staring back at me.

“You good?” the Butcher asks, his brow furrowed beneath the brim of his cap.

I don’t know. My heart is pounding harder than the intro to Jumanji.

“Ollie is going to be glad to see you,” the other man says. Remy . I remember the placating eyes.

I fight the need to scowl at the manipulative asshole, my body trembling. I unlock my ankles from around Salvatore’s back and slide to my feet, my legs Jell-O, my weight too heavy to hold.

“Steady.” Salvatore keeps me at his side with a strong arm. “Take a second.”

I need more than a second. Vertigo has me on lock.

“We can’t hang around.” Remy jerks his head toward the glass door. “We have to keep moving.”

“Give her a fucking second,” Salvatore snarls, holding me tighter.

I drag in deep inhales, willing my body to climatize to the chaos. Breath by breath I gain the edge of composure. Then the light flicks on in the bedroom that was my prison and my momentum collapses.

Salvatore shares a tense glance with his brothers.

“ Move .” Remy rushes for the door.

Shouts echo from the neighboring apartment. José’s name. Alonso’s too.

“Hold tight, troublemaker.” Salvatore sweeps me into his arms and follows his brothers.

I’m jostled as he storms into a dark room, then a darker hall, all of us deathly quiet by the time we reach the entry door.

“Let me down,” I beg, wiggling from Salvatore’s grip.

He obliges while Remy claims a gun from the back of his waistband.

“We can’t risk waiting for the elevator,” Matthew mutters. “We need to get to the stairwell.”

The penetrating thud of Latin music vanishes, replaced with unintelligible shouts and heavy, chaotic footsteps from next door.

“We’ve only got a few seconds before the confusion wears off.” Remy grabs the door handle. “I’ll go first. You two get to the elevator on the lower level.”

“No.” Salvatore nudges his brother out of the way. “You get her down there. I’ll wait by their door in case they run out.”

Then he’s gone, escaping into the building hall while Matthew and Remy rush me from the apartment.

I attempt to keep Salvatore in my sights, rabidly checking over my shoulder, but his brothers have me tripping over my feet as they guide me past the heavy door to the stairs.

I’m manhandled down one flight, then two, their calm intensity under crisis the only thing keeping my panic at bay.

“Call the elevator,” Matthew demands once we reach the quiet lower level. “Yell out when it arrives.”

I nod and fumble my stride into a run, hitting the bank of elevators and slapping my palm against the button.

I tap my foot, glancing from Remy, who straddles the threshold to the staircase, to the shiny double doors of the elevator. Back and forth. Watching. Praying.

Nothing happens.

Minutes pass with agonizing lethargy. Then the subtle ding of arrival sounds and I almost lose the contents of my stomach as I scramble inside.

“ It’s here ,” I shout. “The elevator is here.”

Remy mutters something into the stairwell. And still, there’s no sign of Salvatore.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I should leave.

I should press the button to the lobby and escape both the cartel and the mafia while I have the chance. But as soon as the elevator doors begin to close my chest tightens and I lunge to stab the open button.

I can’t leave without Salvatore.

I shift from foot to foot while I wait. Gnaw my bottom lip.

Then finally the stair door flings wider and Remy and Matthew stalk out, their homicidal brother following a few steps behind.

Thank God .

“ Hurry .” I keep tapping the open button as the men approach—all tall, broad, and lethal. Each step closer should increase my panic due to their notoriety in the underworld, yet it lessens, incrementally slipping from my body as Salvatore’s gaze finds mine.

There’s heated conviction in his eyes—a silent promise that my safety is his priority. Or maybe that’s the adrenaline messing with my synapses.

I stare at him through the uncertainty, still gnawing, still tapping, still on the edge of slowly bubbling panic. Then all three men pause and glance over their shoulders.

“ Run ,” Salvatore barks.

His brothers obey, charging toward me, eating up the short space of distance as the stair door opens and my brother stumbles out.

“ Stop, ” Alonso shouts, dazed and addled, a gun raised in his hand.

Salvatore turns to him, splaying his palms in placation while Remy and Matthew rush into the elevator. He backs toward me slowly, the five feet between us feeling like a football field. “We’ve got what we want. Nobody else needs to die.”

“Who the fuck are you?” my brother slurs. “Remove your masks, you cowards. Do you know who the hell you’re fucking with?”

“ Hurry ,” I scream.

Alonso’s gaze snaps to me. It takes a heartbeat for comprehension to hit, then his eyes narrow to slits. “This is about her?” His arm wobbles as he aims at me. “You fucking bitch.”

Time freezes. Reality narrows to the sight of that gun.

Matthew curses. Remy lifts his weapon. And Salvatore— dear God —he lunges, his body a blur as he blocks my brother’s aim.

“ Don’t —” It’s all I get out before a deafening gunshot echoes off the walls.

I cower, closing my eyes and wrapping my arms around my head, my ears ringing.

It’s chaos—barked orders, returned gunfire, rushed footsteps.

I try to process it all, but something slams into me, hurtling me against the wall.

I scramble. Fight.

“Hold still.” Salvatore smothers me, shielding my body with his own as the elevator doors creep shut.

I bury my face in his chest, hands over my ears. Waiting. Hoping.

The metal doors ping and thunk with bullets, each impact startling a jolt from me.

Then silence. A shudder. And finally we begin our descent.

“That was fucking close,” Matthew sneers. “Are any of us feeling extra ventilated or did we get out unscathed?”

“I’m all clear,” Remy states.

I take stock of myself, disregarding the carpet burn to my face, the thrumming pulse in my back from colliding with the wall, and the bells in my ears as I lower my hands to my sides.

I think I’m good, but—I glance down my body to make sure, my attention snagging on the slow drip of blood falling from the fingertips of Salvatore’s leather gloves.

My gaze darts to his in panic.

“It’s not mine.” His voice is barely audible, only for me to hear. “Are you hurt?”

I shake my head. Swallow.

“Don’t lie to me,” he growls, his attention straying to my injured cheek, the fading bruises on the other side of my face, then finally the healing cut on my lower lip. “They beat you.”

I guess the damage hadn’t been visible before, my pink cage too dark and the stakes too high to notice in the moonlight.

I shrug. “My family aren’t known for friendly reunions.”

His nostrils flare. “You weren’t shot?”

I give another shake of my head, fighting to keep my hands at my sides and not entangled in the material of his shirt.

“That was a fucking shit show.” Matthew leans against the opposite wall. “The only saving grace was that Alonso has worse aim than a blindfolded squirrel.”

“No joke.” Remy scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I could shoot better with my eyes closed and my dick in my hand.”

Salvatore and I remain silent, our stare-off continuing.

Breathe. Just breathe.

I can feel his adrenaline. His anger. The emotions ebb from him, his instability seeming just as volatile as mine.

“My brother was drugged,” I clarify. “One of Gabriel’s men sedated him so he wouldn’t notice when…” The memory of José on top of me renders me speechless.

It seems impossible but Salvatore’s face hardens further, the tight furrow of his forehead carving a deep crevice between his brows.

I hang my head, needing a break from all the protective goodness that doesn’t feel right to crave.

Unease fills the compact space.

Thankfully the discomfort only lasts a few seconds before the descent comes to a swooping halt and the doors reopen in a parking garage.

Salvatore leads me into the cooler air of the concrete structure, the quiet of night torn apart by the harsh rev of a car engine, its lights snapping on and blinding me.

I flinch. Retreat.

“It’s Bishop.” Salvatore adds pressure to my back. “Come on. We need to get out of here before we’re followed.”

I struggle to keep up with his longer stride as a dated Chrysler sedan accelerates toward us in a rush, then stops abruptly in front of us.

We climb in, Matthew in the front passenger seat while Remy and Salvatore flank me in the back, both of them working together to secure my belt.

“I suggest leaving in a hurry.” Matthew turns around to focus out Salvatore’s window, his attention on the elevator. “Who knows if the cartel have the ability to lock down the parking lot.”

“Understood.” The driver— Bishop —shoots me a glance through the rear-view mirror, the lower half of his face covered in the same skull bandana, then takes off in a squeal of tires. He navigates the turns like a rally driver, the sharp changes in direction forcing me to slide shoulder-first into Remy, not once, but twice, before we reach the city streets. “Where are we headed?”

“We’ll ditch this car as planned, then go straight to Lorenzo,” Matthew answers. “He’ll?—”

“No.” Salvatore yanks off his bloodied gloves and throws them into the foot well. “After we switch cars we’ll head out of town. I need a few hours to figure out our next move.”

“Head out of town?” Matthew turns to stare at Salvatore. “You’re fucking kidding, right?”

“You can’t put off facing Lorenzo, momma’s boy.” Bishop speeds through the streets. “No matter what happened up there, I assure you, he’s already being told about it. You’ve got roughly twenty-five minutes to get your story straight.”

“What exactly did happen up there?” Remy asks.

There’s a heated pause. Am I supposed to fill it?

All eyes shift to Salvatore.

“Brother?” Matthew warns. “What happened when you returned to her apartment?”

Salvatore removes his baseball cap, discarding it between his feet, and ruffles his hair. “I got her out alive. End of story.”

Remy groans.

“No, that’s not the end of the goddamn story.” Matthew pivots his entire body to face us. “Do you think I didn’t notice the blood on your gloves? What the fuck are we dealing with here?”

“We’re dealing with the aftermath of our baby brother’s romantic whims.” Salvatore’s expression holds offensive nonchalance. “Olivia wanted Ivy rescued, and now here she is… after a slightly violent intervention.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bishop mutters.

Matthew glares, then turns to face the road ahead. “You’re such a reckless, self-centered piece of shit, Salvo.”

I flinch, not understanding the venom, but Salvatore doesn’t acknowledge the cruelty. The only hint that he even heard his brother’s malice is the flex of his tightening jaw.

“Can you at least elaborate on violent intervention ?” Remy grates under his breath.

“The details don’t matter.” Salvatore straightens the lapels of his jacket, relaxed and demure, the gesture a clear provocation. “What’s done is done. I’ll handle the repercussions.”

Matthew scoffs. “You’ll handle Lorenzo wanting to kill us for taking out one of the cartel in their own home, under circumstances that have nothing to do with the family, without his permission?”

Alarm bells ring in my ears.

“Three,” Salvatore states.

“ What ?” Remy and Matthew snap as my heart plummets.

“I killed three of the cartel.” Salvatore lazily peers out his window. “In their own home, under circumstances that have nothing to do with the family, without Lorenzo’s permission.”

The tension inside the vehicle turns volcanic. Curses are shouted. A heated argument erupts.

Salvatore and I remain silent. Me—highly anxious and on the verge of meltdown. Him—chill with no fucks to give.

Accusations are leveled, the brothers and Bishop raising their voices in a battle to be heard.

I drag in a measured breath, ignoring how it feels like I’ve been slingshotted from the frying pan and unceremoniously dumped into the fire.

Warm knuckles graze my thigh as Salvatore rests his hand on the seat space between our legs. The contact is a disconcerting balm. A subtle tether of strength.

I focus on those knuckles. The tanned skin. The warmth.

The last thing I should do is seek comfort from him. Yet in the same heartbeat, all I want is to glide my touch over his and squeeze until our fingers fuse.

He tilts his face toward mine, his exhale gently brushing my ear as he murmurs, “You’re safe,” through the building argument.

I’m no criminal profiling expert, however I sincerely beg to differ.

The vicious volley of hostile words continues as we’re driven into the deserted streets of the Canton industrial area. “ You never think of anyone but yourself. ” “ So fucking careless. ” “ Abri owes me more than a blowjob for putting up with your shit. ”

That last one came from Bishop, his statement putting an end to the witch hunt and earning a cringe from Remy.

“What have I told you about discussing your sex life with my sister?” Matthew snarls.

“You clearly told me I’d live to regret it,” Bishop mutters. “And what did I tell you I’d do if your brother dragged me into shit that could risk the lives of said sister and our fucking daughter?”

Matthew cuts his gaze away to stare at the traffic.

“Exactly,” Bishop sneers, then leans sideways to glower at Salvatore through the rear-view. “I swear to God, one day I’m going to do us all a favor and hold your head under water until the bubbles stop.”

Salvatore rolls his eyes—imperious, untouchable—then retrieves a dated cell phone from his jacket and types a text.

I don’t understand why he isn’t concerned or at least a little unsettled by pissing off men as influential as the Butcher Boys of Baltimore. But his demeanor doesn’t change as we drive past stretching warehouses, graffiti-covered walls, and empty loading docks, until we come to a stop at a deserted cul-de-sac.

His brothers climb out, still muttering and snapping insults, while Salvatore helps me to follow.

Bishop grabs a jerry can from the trunk. Fuel is poured through the car’s interior. Then the vehicle is set alight.

Bandanas, baseball caps, gloves, and cell phones are thrown into the flames, all while scowls and glares remain leveled on my savior.

“Ignore them,” Salvatore mutters. “God knows I always do.”

I’m led away, along the desolate street to the towering concrete columns of a highway overpass and a waiting SUV with dark-tinted windows. This time when Bishop gets behind the wheel he accelerates slowly, sticking to the signposted speed limit, not attracting attention as we travel back toward the city.

I don’t know what’s worse—the aggressive accusations or this new tense silence that consumes the car.

Nobody speaks.

The radio isn’t even on.

There’s only the occasional click, click, click of the turn signal.

Salvatore’s knuckles find the outside of my thigh again as he stares out his window, the slow back and forth sweep of contact easing some of the chaos breeding beneath my ribs.

“Is she at least okay?” Bishop grates, his gaze snapping to me through the rear-view. “She looks messed up.”

I lower my eyes, humiliation adding to the cesspool of emotions drowning my system. I shouldn’t be embarrassed that I was abducted and abused. But I’ve prided myself on being strong and steadfast since well before an age when I should’ve needed to be, only to have those highly cultivated attributes cower too easily under the influence of Gabriel and his men.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Remy nudges my elbow. “Ain’t that right, Ive?”

I glare, detesting the way he says my name so casually. He wouldn’t have dared if he hadn’t wormed his way into my best friend’s life. “I’ll be just perfect as soon as you stop sleeping with Olivia.”

Bishop scoffs a laugh and Matthew flashes me a half-hearted grin, but Salvatore continues to sit statuesque, his expression pensive as he stares outside.

Something is wrong.

Something I don’t want to contemplate when I’m sure I’m the cause.

“Unfortunately—” Remy crosses his arms over his chest “—Olivia and I are the least of your problems.”

Great . Exactly what I need—confirmation of my dire status.

There’s no denying it though.

Where once my life was difficult because I had to navigate the complexity of living in the same city as Gabriel while on my best behavior, now I’m supposed to figure out how to survive in the same space after humiliating him and having his men killed.

We enter the parking garage of a tall residential building where Bishop claims a reserved parking space right next to a silver Rolls Royce a few feet from an elevator.

Remy is the first to climb out, then offers a hand for me to take. “Come on. Let’s get this over and done?—”

“No,” Salvatore warns. “She stays with me. We’ll meet you in the penthouse.”

I pause in the middle of taking off my seatbelt, foreboding prickling the hairs on my arms.

Matthew’s eyes narrow, leveling a hard stare on Salvatore. “What are you planning now?”

Remy leans back into the car. “Lorenzo will only be more pissed if you keep him waiting.”

“I know how to handle our uncle.” Salvatore looks at them with disinterest. “But Ivy doesn’t. I need a few minutes to coach her.”

The brothers and Bishop all exchange tense glances through the vehicle’s interior.

I nibble my bottom lip, waiting for the next world war of insults to reignite, seriously exhausted from the emotional whirlpool. “I promise I’ll be a quick study.”

Bishop gives me a dismissive glance and claps the car fob down on the center console. “Lock up once you’re done.” He climbs out, shuts the door, then walks for the elevator.

Remy sighs and follows.

It’s Matthew who hangs back, remaining in his seat for a silent heartbeat before finally unclasping his belt. “You need to tread carefully, brother. Don’t do something stupid.”

“Me? Stupid?” Salvatore reaches for the seat-back pocket and scrounges inside, pulling out a cell and a SIM card in a tiny plastic case. “I thought I was merely reckless and self-centered. I guess the list goes on.”

“You’re deliberately pushing Lorenzo, and it won’t end well for you. Or her.”

I tense as Salvatore ignores the conversation, placing the SIM in the cell, then turning on the device and tapping out what I assume is a text message. Either that or he’s typing a Reddit post— how does one negotiate with their mafia uncle after stealing an emancipated cartel princess?

“Don’t make me regret guiding you into the lifestyle any more than I already do.” Matthew climbs from the car, leaving me alone with a man who has received enough contempt in the last half an hour to leave most mere mortals crushed.

The three men stalk to the elevator, the doors opening as soon as the button is pressed. They continue inside, then turn to face us, all of them eying the car with varying levels of aggravation.

I’ve never really had a family. And I definitely never had a sibling who would follow me as I defied my uncle and entered enemy territory. I can’t imagine what Salvatore must be feeling.

I focus on my hands in my lap, waiting for the mixed bread basket of emotions to lessen now that we’re alone. “I’m sorry for causing trouble between you and your brothers.”

“You haven’t.”

“So it’s always this delightful?”

He doesn’t answer. Why doesn’t he answer?

“I’m not safe here, am I?” I ask.

His chin hitches, the defensive gesture telling.

I drag in a deep breath. “How concerned should I be?”

He keeps his gaze fixed forward, staring through the driver’s seat headrest. “The concern is mine. Let me handle it.”

Right . I’m supposed to leave my life in the hands of a man I barely know and don’t understand.

I unclasp my belt and inch away, allowing myself more room to turn to face him without making leg contact. “Tell me what to expect from your uncle.”

Salvatore meets my eyes, cold, hard, and emotionless. “He’ll want you killed on sight.”

I flinch, not expecting the harsh honesty. “So I can’t go up there?”

“No.”

“But you’re obligated to bring me to him?”

“Yes,” he states simply.

What in the goddamn fuckery of unruly shit shows is this?

“I don’t understand.” The words whisper from my drying lips. “Why go to all the effort of rescuing me if you planned on bringing me to my executioner? If you wanted me dead, I can assure you Gabriel and his men were already well on their way to achieving success.”

“I don’t want you dead,” he growls. “The retrieval just didn’t go as planned. There was no way Lorenzo was going to approve us snatching Gabriel’s daughter just to appease Remy’s goddamn girlfriend—it would cause a fucking war. So we went behind my uncle’s back under the agreement we wouldn’t make waves. We’d either get in and out undetected, or we’d keep trying until we could.”

“You didn’t just make waves, Salvatore. You killed Gabriel’s men in his own apartment and created an unholy tsunami.”

“You would’ve preferred if I sat back and twiddled my thumbs while you were raped?” he sneers. “Because believe me, my brothers would have been willing to stick to the plan and listen to your abuse.”

My chest tightens. My throat, too.

I don’t know what to do with this information. I don’t even know how to digest it.

“Like I said,” he grates, “I’ll take care of Lorenzo. Just relax. You’ll be fine.”

“My interpretation of fine or yours? Because I’ve got a feeling there’s a large disparity in that spectrum.”

He hangs his head, the dark wisps of his hair shrouding his eyes.

Okay, so fine means fucked. I’m totally cooked. And of course the dire outlook feels worse after experiencing the briefest taste of freedom.

Who the hell did I piss off in another life to deserve this?

I slide away from him, sidling up to Remy’s open door. “I need fresh air.” I climb out and subtly scope the concrete jungle for an escape.

I can lay low for a while. I’ve done it before. Homelessness isn’t new to me. I could go back to foraging for food like a rabid raccoon. At least I look the part. And it’s not like the displacement should last long. If I can get to a club tomorrow night I’ll be able to find a past conquest willing to take me home and let me crash at his place.

But you’ve got no fucking shoes, Ivy. Or underwear.

I curse under my breath and shove my hands into my knotted hair.

My dress is torn. My face is messed up. I can’t even remember when I showered last.

I pace, my footsteps stilted and shaky.

Will Salvatore even let me flee? Or is that what he’s hoping I’ll do to distance his family from the mess my existence has created?

He climbs out of the car, slowly strolling around the hood and walking toward me as he slides his hands into his pockets. “You thinking about running from me?”

I fight to keep my feet rooted in place and not stare directly at the glowing exit sign halfway across the parking lot. “It’s definitely moving up my very small list of options.”

“You don’t trust me to protect you?” He continues approaching, the space between us a few feet and closing. “After everything I’ve done?”

“In my defense, there’s been some conflicting messages.” I backtrack, hoping there’s another exit behind me. “You did threaten to throw me in the trunk of your car not too long ago.”

“I’ve also murdered men for touching you.” The ease with which he stalks toward me seems effortless. Instinctive. “Their blood still soaks my clothes.”

“And I thank you for that but?—”

“Kills two and three weren’t even coming after you, Ivy.” Smooth steps. Calm confessions. “They were still panicking in their apartment. I had to knock on the door to give them the punishment they deserved.”

I freeze. My jaw drops.

I stop before him. Blindsided.

He promised his brothers he wouldn’t make waves. Yet he went on a recreational killing spree for what? My honor?

His expression is unreadable—confident and passive in the same measure. “You didn’t think I’d let them get away with their crimes, did you?”

“You deliberately?—”

“Yes, I deliberately.” He stands before me, a man without remorse. “From now on, nobody touches you and gets away with it. Although, Alonso was an oversight. I didn’t realize he was inside the apartment. And given the rules laid out for the rescue attempt I couldn’t exactly execute him in front of my brothers. So his retribution has been postponed.”

“No.” Fear claws at the inside of my skull. “No more death. All it does is create a bigger target on my back.”

“I have the manpower to take out the entire Baltimore cartel?—”

“ You might, but I don’t. I don’t even have somewhere to stay, Salvatore. I have no money. No phone. No car.”

“You’ll have all those things. I just need to arrange them to be bought for you.”

He’s serious. Seriously unhinged, and yet still so captivatingly serious.

“I’ll protect you,” he vows.

I swallow. Emotionally wither. “How?”

“However I see fit.”

I scoff, the double dose of cocky arrogance renewing my necessity to flee. “As tempting as that offer sounds…” I take another retreating step. “I’m going to have at it on my own.”

He grins, as if enjoying the thought of me running.

My heart skips an idiotic beat.

“Salvatore,” I warn, backtracking.

“Ivy,” he drawls, following.

I want him to stop. To quit the promises and protection. But I also want to drown in a sea of it, all the crazy that is him soaking into my skin and infiltrating my lungs.

“Let me leave,” I say.

“And go where?”

“I can bide my time until tomorrow night. Then I’ll get on the club scene and find someone I know to give me a warm bed for a few nights.”

His expression hardens. “Some one ? Or some man ?”

I don’t respond—just keep trekking backward.

“You would fuck a man for safe harbor?” he demands.

I raise my chin, ignoring the shame. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Just as long as that man isn’t me, mi bella reina ?”

I scrunch my nose, hating how that address makes me instantly achy. “You’re the enemy to the man who’s supposed to be my father.”

“An enemy to my enemy is my friend, right?”

I feel like I’ve been swept back into the 16th century, directly in the heart of fair Verona.

These violent delights have violent ends.

I keep striving for distance, keep maintaining the foot of space between us, not allowing the heavenly scent of his aftershave to weaken my defenses. “You said I can’t go upstairs.”

He inclines his head.

“But you’re expected up there,” I add.

He shrugs. “Meeting expectations isn’t my strong suit.”

“Neither is maintaining personal boundaries.” I plant my feet and hold up my hands, keeping a buffer between us as I palm his annoyingly muscled chest. “Why would you go against your family?”

Something shifts in his expression. The relaxed lines of his face now seem forced. Fake. “That’s prized information.”

“Don’t you think I should know, given the circumstances?”

“I’ll willingly give you all my secrets, mi reina . Just know, once you have them, you’ll need to remain with me to ensure their safekeeping.”

Remain with him? For how goddamn long?

Something vibrates, short and sharp in his vicinity.

Whatever it is he doesn’t acknowledge it. He only stares, those eyes peering into mine, his steadfast temperament wearing me down when I need to be strong.

The vibration sounds again and again.

“Is that them?” I lower my hands from his chest. “Are your brothers messaging you?”

“Probably.”

“And you’re not going to check what they have to say?”

“Would it make you feel better if I did?”

Probably not. “Yes.”

“As you wish.” He raises and extends his left arm, exposing his watch. “ Hurry the fuck up. Lorenzo is livid— that was from Matthew.” He thumbs the toggle on the side of the watch face. “And from Remy— Lorenzo is yelling in Italian. I don’t know what the fuck he’s saying but your name is getting dropped more often than your self-preservation would appreciate. Then there’s Bishop who says— You’re an asshole. ” He returns his gaze to mine. “Feel better now?”

I struggle to hold in my nausea. “Yeah. Thanks. God bless.”

He grins, undeterred.

Christ, he’s handsome. Such an incredibly strong force of nature. An unholy deity.

I guess I’d prefer to die at the hands of someone like him. Someone impassioned and filled with stark conviction. Someone who I know has at least the slightest pinch of humanity hidden beneath all his layers of malice, unlike Alonso or Gabriel.

I cross my arms over my chest, attempting to distance myself from surrender and failing miserably. I can’t stop yearning the safe harbor he’s baiting me with. To finally be able to breathe thanks to the protection of someone powerful enough to shield me from my family.

“Get back in the car, Ivy.” He stands before me, strong, sure, and sinful. “Let me fix this for you.”