Salvatore

25. Ivy

25

IVY

I’m mid mind-melting orgasm, my body tingling with pleasure, my brain thinking crazy things about an even crazier man when Olivia’s voice siphons all the delicious dopamine from my system.

Every inch of me stiffens as my best friend gapes at me from the door in disbelief before backtracking, disappearing into the hall, her footsteps loud as they retreat.

“Did you not hear her approaching?” I shove at Salvatore’s chest, hating the inundation of regret that I’m choosing to blame solely on him.

“I couldn’t hear much of anything over the breathy way you came for me.” He removes his hand from my panties and raises his fingers to his mouth for a taste. And when a masculine sound of appreciation rumbles from his chest as he smirks, I hate myself even more for the way my insides tighten in renewed lust.

What’s worse is the easy way he retrieves his pool cue and carries on with his game as if nothing happened while I’m stuck in a holding pattern of shock.

“Don’t worry, mi bella reina .” He hits the white ball into the purple with a hearty thwack. “Despite the inopportune interruption, you still earned yourself a new wardrobe.”

I glare, hitching up the waistband of my jeans and raising the zipper. “ Thanks. ”

He snickers as I stride from the room, then jog to catch up to my best friend. “Liv, wait.”

She pauses halfway down the hall, her expression cast in stone as she turns to face me. Her animosity doesn’t let up while I approach, not even when I stand in front of her for a few seconds of awkward silence, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

The whole lust-filled-skirmish-against-the-pool-table had felt like it had a deeper meaning. An agenda of sorts. Like Salvatore was trying to help me. Heal me. And I’d been the limp-brained lemming who’d allowed it. Not only that, I’d been enthusiastic. Even trusting.

Idiot .

“I swear I can explain…” I swipe at an errant crease in my blouse, frantically buying time to come up with said explanation.

“ Really ?” Her brows hike toward her hairline. “Please do, because what I think I saw has me concerned that you should be medicated with anti-psychotics.”

I cringe. “Your suggestion holds merit.”

“ My suggestion holds merit? ” she hisses. “What in the ass did I just walk in on?”

“A slight lapse in judgement.” I should tell her this isn’t my first offense. That my crimes against common sense where Salvatore are concerned have been far worse. But the disappointment on her face is already brutal.

“Do I need to remind you of how you reacted to me being with Remy? You literally wanted to walk out on our friendship because of him. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you still glare in his direction when you assume I’m not watching.”

“I know,” I mumble. “And the worst part is that my opinion of him hasn’t changed.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head. “Forget it.”

“Remy told me his older brother thought you and Salvo had slept together the day of my dad’s funeral, but I loudly laughed it off because there’s no way that could be true.”

I grimace. “Definitely my bad.”

Her face falls. “You slept with him?”

“Only a little bit.”

She glowers.

“Okay.” I raise my palms in apology. “I admit it wasn’t a little bit at all—the guy is hung like a Polynesian warrior—but it meant nothing. The same as today. Can’t we just control-alt-delete this and move on? I don’t plan to even look at him again.”

Her glower deepens. “For starters, I don’t believe you. But what’s more concerning is that I don’t think you have any idea who he actually is.”

“I’m not that cooked, Liv. I realize his family doesn’t exactly host bake sales.”

“So you’re aware the guy who was just rummaging around in your pants like he was looking for spare change is in training to take leadership of the East Coast mafia?”

My pulse falters.

“You heard right,” she grates. “He’s in the thick of it. Soon to be at the very top.”

Oh, shit.

“Did he take advantage of you?” she asks. “Given what you’ve been through?—”

“No.” I shake my head. “It was more of a reckless collision of insane chemistry.”

She screws up her nose. “He’s hot, but he’s an asshole. He’s narcissistic, manipulative, volatile, and a completely psychotic asshole.”

“You said asshole twice.”

“It was deliberate, and now isn’t the time to start critiquing me.”

“Understood.” I nod.

“I just really don’t get it. You and Salvatore Costa .” She shudders. “How is this even a thing?”

Again I wince. It’s a permanent fixture at this point. “Look, I agree with everything you’ve said… and it’s not like this is an actual thing …”

“Why does it feel like you’re pausing before you say but ?”

“But…” I paste on a pained smile. “He’s not all bad. He also rescued me from Gabriel’s apartment—where he almost got shot. And put me up here—where I’ve had all my needs catered to.” I fling an arm toward my room. “He even arranged that stylist. So he’s not a complete Hannibal Lecter… right?”

She glances away, clearly unwilling to acknowledge the potential good in him.

“Don’t get me wrong.” I hold up my hands in defense. “I’m not saying he’s God’s gift to women—well, not other than physically… and definitely sexually—but I can’t be the only one who sees the redeeming qualities.”

He’s taken his time with me, every touch deliberate, every moment stretched thin with intensity while his eyes sought out the vulnerable emotions I tried to hide.

Liv crosses her arms over her chest and stares at the hallway wall, taking long seconds before she hikes a shoulder in a defensive shrug. “Okay, so he might not be complete trash.” She sighs. “He did arrange for your apartment to be packed up and your items placed in storage to stop your family from destroying them.”

He did?

My traitorous stomach flutters.

Liv pivots back to me. “But that’s probably because he wanted to go through your pantie drawer. You should probably check to see if he’s wearing your underwear.”

“I guess it’s the thought that counts… and it’s not like he doesn’t have the ass to pull off a purple G-string.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Come on, Liv.” I step closer, playfully bumping my shoulder against hers. “It’s just chemistry and hormones. Mine have been all out of whack since the abduction. It’ll wear off soon.”

“It will wear off right now .”

“But he really knows his way around a woman’s?—”

“ Do not finish that sentence,” she warns. “I will hurt you.”

“No you won’t.” I drag her into my arms, squishing her with a hug. “You love me too much.”

“I loved you a hell of a lot more before I had sordid visions of Salvatore forced into my frontal lobe.” She slumps her shoulders, begrudgingly taking my affection. “Oh my god, you should’ve seen the look on his face. There’s no way that man isn’t infatuated with you.”

“He thinks I’m a challenge.”

“From my vantage point, you didn’t seem all that challenging.” She wiggles from my grip. “But I did appreciate the fact he was dishing out the goods and not just expecting to receive them.”

I nod. “He’s actually quite selfless in that regard.”

“I did not need to know that.” She fakes a gag. “I have to go floss my brain with barbed wire and get a stiff drink.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

“Thanks for the impending nightmares.” She walks away from me, continuing down the hall toward Remy who moves into the living room archway scrutinizing her approach.

“Don’t ask,” she says as he opens his mouth. “I need wine.”

I chuckle on my way back to my room, needing to freshen up and reclaim my sanity, but the blonde model-esque stylist is still there, going through the rack of expensive clothes she’s wheeled in.

From the short glimpses I’ve seen, the garments are stunning, their labels bearing names like Burberry, Altuzarra, and The Row.

“There you are.” She glances up from her perusal of the rack and beams at me, pulling an olive-green floral midi dress from her stash. “Why don’t we start with this? The coloring will complement your skin tone perfectly.”

It’s a cute dress, the dark base color contrasting with bright yellow and white flowers. She holds it out to me, the statement piece undoubtedly worth more than my car.

I allow myself one touch of the incredibly soft material—a brief glimpse into the world of grotesque wealth—before letting my hand fall to my side. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m actually going to have to ask you to leave.”

Her ruby-painted lips part in shock. “Why? Did I do something wrong?”

“No. Not at all. I’m sure you’ve done exactly as Salvatore requested, but this is an extravagant gesture I can’t accept.”

She stammers, her mouth working with no actual words coming out.

“I’m so sorry.” I wince.

“I don’t understand.” She glances at the clothes then back at me, her gaze then diverting to the door over my left shoulder. “Sir, you already paid for my time.”

I tense at Salvatore’s intrusion.

“She doesn’t want to be indebted to me,” he states, all confident and composed while I’m still literally sodden and disheveled from the rec room festivities. “She thinks I’ll use the leverage against her.”

I stand taller, the hair on the back of my neck tingling from his presence while the stylist glances between us.

“She can trust me with her life,” he drawls. “But it seems she can’t when it comes to matters of finance. Isn’t that right, mi reina ?”

I clear my throat, preferring when we were at opposite sides of the mansion. “I don’t require clothes that cost ten grand a pop.”

“Oh, no.” The stylist’s eyes brighten with optimism as she shakes her head. “None of these pieces are more than five thousand dollars. The entire collection is only ninety grand.”

I cough to smother what might potentially be a heart attack.

“Leave the clothes.” Salvatore enters the room, thankfully maintaining a few feet of space. “I’ll transfer the payment?—”

“No.” I gape. “I’m serious, I don’t want this?—

“ Gift ,” he cuts me off, his expression pure authority. “It isn’t a debt or leverage. The clothes hold no meaning and come with no financial implication. So either accept them or don’t, but the clothes remain.” He pulls a cell from inside his suit jacket and taps at the screen.

Seconds later a phone vibration sounds from the stylist’s vicinity, followed by her sharp intake of breath.

“Your costs are covered, Ms. Ellsworth,” he mutters.

“Yes. Absolutely,” the woman gushes. “Thank you, Mr. Costa, but you’ve overpaid.”

“The excess funds are for your discretion, as previously discussed. Now leave.” He keeps his attention locked on me as he speaks, his effortless confidence tickling parts of me I wish he couldn’t touch.

She hustles and grabs an armful of clothing off her rack. “Would you like me to find a place for all these in the wardrobe or?—”

“Dump them on the bed,” Salvatore growls with impatience.

“Right. No problem.” She does as instructed, grabbing chunk upon chunk of expensive clothing while me and Sally continue our stare-off until she finally wheels her empty clothes rack into the hall. “Thank you again. I’ll see myself out.”

Salvatore remains silent as I murmur my appreciation, then we’re left alone, Liv and Remy’s quiet conversation carrying from another part of the house while I try to determine why being indebted feels so freaking awful.

I scrub a hand through my hair and turn toward the clothes. “I didn’t want this.”

“Is it such a bad thing to be dressed in outfits that complement your beauty?”

I close my eyes, appreciating the compliment way too much, especially after the orgasm appetizer. “It is when the clothes are gifted from someone who is soon to be taking control of a criminal empire. I had no idea of your role in the organization. I would’ve done a lot of things differently if I’d known.”

He strolls closer, commanding every nerve in my body when he stops mere inches behind me. “What would you have changed?”

He knows exactly what—the flirtation, the sex, the stupidity.

He stops behind me— right behind me—his proximity making the skin on the back of my neck tingle with goosebumps. “When God forsakes you, why not dance with the devil?”

I drag in a strengthening breath, agreeing with his logic a little too much. “I’d prefer to dance alone.”

“I don’t believe you.” He maneuvers around me and meets my eyes, the unholy confidence in his making me weaken.

“I don’t want the clothes, Salvatore.” The words come out far more flimsy than I’d like.

“You don’t want the debt,” he corrects, gliding a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

“Same thing.” I pull away. “As it is, I want you to tally up everything I owe you to date so I can repay you as soon as I’m able.”

His lips gain a taunting curve. “I don’t think my accountant would appreciate that tedious request.”

“I’m serious. I don’t want this hanging over my head to be used at a later date.”

His gaze hardens, the incremental shift from playful to pissed dousing me with regret. “I’m above financial manipulation, Ivy. There’s no debt from the clothes. And your time here is offered under Lorenzo’s hospitality. So take the win for what it is, and maybe instead, act a little grateful.”

He cuts his gaze away, denying me the pleasure of those beautiful eyes as he strolls for the hall.

I can admit I sulk after his cutting departure, lingering in the heady scent of his intoxicating aftershave.

Liv sends me a photo text an hour later, the image of a cocktail in hand with crystal blue water in the background.

Liv

I’m poolside, trying to bleach my memory with alcohol. Come join me.

Intoxication would be a blessing right now, but I can’t.

I’m not stable enough for inebriation. I don’t want to lower my already flimsy guard.

Instead I spend the afternoon sifting through garments I adore and will never wear.

Not only am I uncertain of my ability to step foot in public for fear for my safety, but even if I could, I lack the finances to care for high-end fashion. Dry cleaning isn’t in my budget. I’m living a cold-wash, cheap-laundry-detergent lifestyle.

Liv

Catarina sur knows how to make a margajeta. I almost cant remmber the tramua u forcd upon me.

I laugh at the text that comes hours later.

Ivy

Would you like me to remind you?

…because I, unfortunately, can’t forget.

Liv

Ew. STOP IT… But FYI you did look suuper hot whil in the throws. I’m srsly jealous.

Are you comin to join me or what?!

Ivy

Maybe later. I’ve got a wardrobe to sort through.

In reality I’ve already placed the ninety thousand dollars’ worth of clothes into the walk-in closet. I just don’t want to leave the sanctuary of my room and run into Salvatore… Or, more accurately, I’m afraid I’ll see him and trip over my libido, stumbling back toward the fine craftsmanship between his thighs.

Instead I stretch out on my bed, resting my head against the pillow, and stare out my open window.

I’m tired. And it’s not the I-had-a-bad-night’s-sleep-and-have-to-catch-up-on-a-few-Zs type of lethargy.

I’m exhausted to my core. Emotionally drained.

I used to be a social butterfly. Surrounding myself with people was my jam. Now all I want to do is crawl into a hole and hibernate.

To my surprise, being around Liv feels a little overwhelming. I’d thought, while talking to Adena, that I craved company—but turns out I only crave it on my terms. Apart from Liv’s indignation about the whole Salvatore thing, she spent most of the morning scrutinizing me with pitying concern. Now the hollow ache of it lingers, along with the rest of the unpacked trauma boxes in the back of my mind that can’t continue to be ignored.

My life is going to be messed up for a very long time.

I have to place Baltimore in my rear-view. My job. My apartment. My friends.

At least when I’d won the emancipation case, I’d had my cousin to support me, and also my mother when she knew Gabriel wouldn’t find out. But both relationships have long since petered from my life.

Tears sting the back of my eyes.

Goddamnit. I hate being emotional.

I hug my pillow and snuggle my face deeper into its softness. I’m more traumatized than I’d thought.

Maybe having sex with Salvatore and making friends with an imprisoned woman is all because I’m in the middle of a mental snafu. I haven’t even been able to bring myself to call Allison. It’s been more than a month since I heard her voice yet I can’t dial her number because I know she’ll have questions that will require me to relive what I went through.

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing those mental boxes back to the farthest reaches of my mind.

I’m not ready. Not yet.

But what I do want is more time with Salvatore. It’s moronic, and reckless, yet I can’t ignore that I like being around him. He makes me feel less alone in a way I’ve never quite felt before, and I think it’s because my life and his have parallels. I understand his world because I’ve lived it. And maybe that’s why he can look at me without pity. Without turning my trauma into something fragile.

A light tapping has my eyes snapping open.

Catarina stands at my open door, the air now smelling of cooked meat and spices. “Sorry to wake you , dolcezza , but dinner is ready and everyone is seated. I thought you might want to join them while it’s still warm.”

I shove upright and swipe the hair from my face. “I fell asleep?”

Her smile turns gentle. “You missed out on the bruschetta I served an hour ago. Salvatore came to get you but said you were sleeping and insisted we let you rest.”

I clench my stomach, refusing to allow unwanted butterflies to awaken.

“I’m just concerned you haven’t eaten much today.” Her brow creases in apology. “I didn’t want you to miss out on dinner too.”

“No, it’s okay. I appreciate it.” I slide from the bed. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

She nods and leaves while I continue to the bathroom to freshen up.

A few minutes later I’m slightly presentable, still dressed in my stonewashed jeans and cheap blouse, my head pounding in time with my pulse—because afternoon naps were invented by the devil—as I make my walk of shame toward a dining table filled with serving platters artfully arranged with food.

There’s crispy roasted chicken, golden risotto, and a fresh salad full of vibrant greens and drizzled with a yellow dressing. It’d be enough to make my mouth water… if I wasn’t so concerned about the four place settings.

The only one remaining vacant is right next to Salvatore, who sits with his back to me, directly across from a drowsy-eyed Liv and her besotted lover who watches my approach with a subdued but welcoming smile.

“Sorry.” I pull out my allocated chair, subtly dragging it an inch away from the domineering man beside me who’s typing a message into his phone, either ignoring or indifferent to my arrival. “You shouldn’t have waited for me.”

The room is quiet, Catarina having made herself scarce, but it feels like there’s a whole hell of a lot of unspoken conversation revolving around me and my unfortunate taste in men.

“We haven’t been waiting long.” Liv peers up at me with an intoxicated glaze softening her features. “Enjoy your nap?”

“Yeah. I guess.” I take my seat. “You look well and truly liquored.”

She grins. “I’ve used the time wisely. Life’s too short, right?”

“Yours definitely will be if you don’t find a filter,” Salvatore mutters under his breath as he places his cell down on the table.

Remy glares at his brother and grabs a serving spoon, placing a heaping pile of risotto onto Liv’s plate. “Be warned—” He meets my gaze. “—Someone is in a bad mood.”

I clasp a theatrical hand to my chest. “Surely it’s not you, Sally.”

It’s as if the entire room freezes—Remy pausing mid food service, Liv seeming to hold her breath—as Salvatore turns that gorgeously stone-faced expression to me with the raise of a condemning brow.

Shit .

My taunts seem a teeny, tiny bit more troublesome now that I know what he’ll soon become. It should be enough to shrivel my tenacity, but the only thing currently shriveling under the intensity of his stare is my goddamn panties.

“I’ve previously outlined the effect your name-calling has on me.” His voice is a velvety growl. “Test me again and you’ll get a presentation.”

A flush creeps up my neck, the X-rated warning turning my insides to mush.

Apparently the peanut gallery doesn’t understand the threat though because Liv’s drunken glow has vanished, leaving her frozen in horror.

“Can we maybe not threaten women at the dinner table?” Remy serves chicken onto Olivia’s plate. “It would be nice if I could pretend you were civilized for at least one meal.”

“No, it’s my fault.” I clear the tightness from my throat, hoping my sarcasm isn’t distinguishable to anyone but the man it’s directed to. “Salvatore has been very adult in communicating his triggers and establishing clear boundaries. It was my fault for ignoring them.” I grab the tongs and help myself to the salad. “I apologize.”

“Apology accepted.” Salvatore slides his arm over the back of my chair and leans close, murmuring menacingly in my ear, “But if you keep pushing me, mi reina , I’m not opposed to spreading you out across this dining table and making you my meal, our audience be damned.”

I stiffen, no place more adamant than my nipples.

“Leave her alone,” Liv demands. “She’s been through enough.”

“That she has.” Salvatore’s tone is menacing as he removes his arm from the back of my chair only to grab the top of the wooden legs and drag me closer. “But don’t worry, Olivia—I’ve been taking good care of her. My hospitality knows no bounds, as you witnessed earlier.”

Liv glowers while I fight the insurgence of red-hot heat taking over me. He’s always different around others. More rough around the edges. His carefree playfulness gone.

“Can I have the water jug, please?” I hold out a hand, to somebody— anybody —willing to help me cause a distraction.

Liv eyes my trembling fingers, her lips flattening into a straight line as Remy passes the jug.

“Would you like to say grace, Olivia?” Salvatore asks.

Her anger bleeds into apprehension. “Grace? Me? I don’t?—”

“He’s fucking with you,” Remy mutters. “I’m pretty sure him and God gave up on each other long ago.”

“Not true.” Salvatore claims a crystal decanter of red wine and fills the delicate glass goblet in front of me. “We never had a relationship to begin with.”

I ignore the alcohol and keep myself distracted with the water jug—pouring, drinking, pouring again.

Everyone eats in uncomfortable silence, the ambience full of regret and clinking cutlery against expensive porcelain.

“I know Ivy is going to hate me for this,” Liv says around a dainty bite of rice. “But I think we should probably discuss the so-called hospitality that I walked in on this afternoon, and how it’s hazardous for her health.”

I shoot her a shut-the-fuck-up look, however her sights are squarely focused on Salvatore who pauses mid-sawing motion into his chicken and glowers at his brother.

“Don’t look at me,” Remy mutters around a mouthful. “You’re the one who told Catarina to dose Ollie’s drinks.”

“I didn’t realize she was a chatty drunk,” Salvatore snarls.

“Not chatty, per se,” Liv corrects. “It’s best described as a decrease in self-preservation.”

I take another necessary sip of water. “I think silence is a better option.”

“No, seriously.” Liv jabs a fork in Salvatore’s direction. “You can’t deny that fooling around together is problematic for her.”

Salvatore returns his attention to his meal and continues cutting into his chicken. “I suggest you quit talking about things that aren’t your business.”

“Her best friend is her business,” Remy grates.

Salvatore smiles, the curve of lips far from friendly. “Inviting you both here was a generosity. Don’t make me have to send you home.”

I clear my throat. “Can we please talk about something else?”

“We’re here for Ivy’s benefit.” Remy continues to shoot daggers at his brother. “Does she even know you’re the reason her uncle and cousin went missing?”

My heart sputters. Stops.

Liv lowers her attention to her food and murmurs, “I think it’s pretty clear they’re not actually missing.”

I’d already assumed as much when I heard the news months ago. The underworld isn’t something you take a vacay from. If you go missing, it tends to be a permanent arrangement. But Salvatore? He’s the reason behind my Uncle Javier and Miguel’s disappearance?

I wait patiently for him to deny it.

All he does is sit in silence, chin high, nostrils flared, rage locked and loaded.

My stomach fills with jittery flutters. Not butterflies this time. More like raging moths that awaken inescapable nausea.

“Excuse me.” I drag in a stabilizing breath and place my cutlery onto my plate. “I need fresh air.”