Salvatore

33. Salvatore

33

SALVATORE

The hairs on the back of my neck rise. “What does Lorenzo know?”

“About the stabbing and the knitting needles.” Bishop sits atop the armrest of the sofa. “I think we can safely assume he also anticipates you’ve killed his sister.”

Fuck .

I turn away from them and head to the kitchen, needing space, forcing calm. But I still have to dump my coffee mug in the sink before I’m tempted to throw it.

“Should I leave?” Ivy’s strained voice fills the stretching quiet. “He wanted me gone before these added… complications.”

“There’s no running from him,” Matthew mutters.

“Not when I’d be the one tasked with finding you,” Bishop adds.

I grip the kitchen counter and hang my head. “I’ll talk my way out of this. Adena’s death was a long time coming.”

“I’m loving the outrageously optimistic attitude,” Remy drawls, “but what about the problems surrounding the cartel finding out Gabriel’s daughter was stabbed? They’re just as likely to have been tracking government databases for her as we were, which seem like the more pressing reason for Lorenzo to slit your throat.”

“I should leave.” This time Ivy’s not asking.

There’s a squeak of the leather sofa and the shuffle of moving feet.

“You’re not going anywhere.” I keep clinging to the counter, clutching onto stability.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Layla cuts in. “I can call my brother. Cole will get her on a private flight to Portland. He’ll look after her.”

“I said no .” I raise my gaze and glare out the kitchen window, trying to envisage a plan that won’t formulate.

There has to be a way to diffuse this situation. Better yet, I could put it all on the line and stage a coup… but given the verbal and physical beatings my siblings have given me this morning, it’s unlikely I’ll have their backing. Just because some misconceptions have been cleared up doesn’t mean we’re about to sit around the family dinner table and start singing Kumbaya.

“Salvatore…” Ivy murmurs. “You said I wasn’t a prisoner here. You said this place wasn’t another cage.”

I did.

I meant it, too.

But that was before she got stabbed. Before she conceived my child. And before my fucking actions were overrun by emotion and every breath in my lungs served no purpose but to breathe her in.

“Layla’s idea might have merit,” Abri adds quietly. “If we can get her on a private plane?—”

“ I said no.” I slam my palms against the counter. “ Just let me fucking think .” I shove my hands behind my head, knitting my fingers.

Fucking think, you son of a bitch.

I stare blindly out the window, forcing myself to imagine an end game that won’t get Ivy killed, yet I can’t fucking see it. Gabriel won’t ignore the insult of our actions. Lorenzo can’t stand unnecessary complications. It’s far too easy for them to order her death and too fucking hard for me to keep her alive.

Padded footsteps approach, their progression slow and shuffled until they stop right behind me.

“Sally,” Ivy whispers, placing a barely there hand on my back. “I’m not safe here.”

She isn’t safe anywhere.

I’m about to turn and tell her that when the pristine, serene backyard spread out before me becomes tainted with the movement of one of Lorenzo’s guards. He stalks from between the bushes toward the house, rifle double-fisted across his chest, face written with determination.

The gentle quiet fills with bird chatter, the chirps and trills escalating into squawks and screeches.

I scan the yard, along the manicured lawns, beyond the pristine pool. Two more men approach from the far side of the building, focused, purposeful.

“He’s here.” I shoot a warning glance to my brothers over my shoulder. “He’s called his men to the house.”

Hard glances are exchanged. Concerned ones come from the women.

“Give me my gun,” I demand of Matthew, backtracking Ivy slowly away from the glass. “I need my fucking gun.”

He retrieves it from his waistband and places it on the floor, sliding it across the tile to stop at my feet. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

I palm the weapon. Check the magazine. Hold it by my side at the ready.

“I don’t like this,” Ivy rasps under her breath, her panic-filled cadence stabbing through my chest.

I back her toward the rest of the group, my eyes remaining on the encroaching men as the shriek of birds increases. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“How?”

“However necessary.”

We reach the sofas and I turn to her, pulling her against me as I focus on my family. “Will you protect her?”

“Yes.” Remy palms his gun in one hand and helps Olivia from her knelt position on the floor with the other.

I divert my attention to Matthew. “What about you?”

He pauses, the dig of his eyebrows creating a deep furrow. “Stealing her from Gabriel was one thing. But you’re asking me to go against the only father figure I know for the enemy’s daughter.”

No, I’m asking him to go against the only father figure he knows for me.

“Shit,” Ivy whispers, gnawing on her bottom lip. “I should’ve run while I could.”

“Tell them,” Bishop grates, his gaze lasering into me. “You know what side he’ll be on once he’s got the full picture.”

I grind my teeth, not wanting that full fucking picture available for everyone’s viewing.

“Tell him what?” Abri asks.

Bishop’s eyes narrow. “Tell them.”

“Oh, God, don’t tell them,” Ivy mutters. “Liv will kill me before Lorenzo gets the chance.”

“Bishop,” Abri demands.

“Fine. I’ll do it my-fucking-self.” He turns to my sister. “Ivy’s got herself a fuck trophy.”

“A what?” Layla tugs on Matthew’s hand while he mutters a curse.

“A fuck trophy,” Bishop repeats. “She’s pregnant.”

Olivia pales, eyes wide, mouth agape.

Ivy presses her forehead to my shoulder. “This isn’t the way I wanted my best friend finding out.”

“Who’s the father?” Abri says in a rush, the men outside almost at the doors.

“Me,” I growl, the ownership escaping before I can think better of it.

There are muttered curses and dramatic indrawn breaths as the sound of the front door opening carries through the house, the thud of innumerable feet following close behind.

“You best believe we’re going to discuss this later.” Remy guides Olivia behind him.

“We’re going to be discussing a lot of fucking things.” Matthew jerks his chin at Layla. “Stay on the sofa. Try and relax.”

The men from the backyard enter through the glass doors seconds before Lorenzo advances from the hall, walking cane in use at his side, a team of three men in tow.

“His guards only enter the house under threatening circumstances.” Ivy stares up at me, gaze bleak. “That’s what you said weeks ago…”

Her fear enrages me, makes me fucking livid. “Nothing’s going to happen.” I move to shield her, exchanging places so she stands at my back.

“I didn’t realize a party had been planned.” Lorenzo stops in the middle of the room, his gaze coming to rest on Bishop. “I wasn’t even aware you were making plans to come to Virginia Beach after our earlier conversation.”

Bishop remains stone-faced. “The kid messed up. I thought Matthew deserved to know. Things escalated from there.”

“Things escalated?” Lorenzo muses. “How fitting. Seems like escalation is the only direction our lives have taken since I started preparing someone to take over the family—someone who’s turning out to be more of a threat than an asset.” His eyes meet mine, cold and contemptuous. “Did I not tell you to lay low, Salvatore?”

“We did.” I grind my teeth and tighten my grip on my gun. “We’re not to blame for this.”

He approaches, his steps slow, his cane thudding. “Didn’t I make it abundantly clear that the woman you’re so eager to hide behind your back needed to act as if she had disappeared?” He raises his voice. “ Not taken to my estate to be stabbed by my own sister? ”

My nostrils flare, my molars aching under the pressure of my jaw.

“I didn’t want to be involved in this,” he spits.

“You’re not?—”

“My name. My family . My house ,” he roars, his cheeks darkening. “ And what of my sister ?”

His sister. Not my mother.

He always considers his connection before mine—as if a sibling relationship is more important than that of mother and child.

“You killed her, didn’t you?” He stops before me, the knuckles on his right hand whitening under the tightening grip on his cane. “Do you know what we do with those who murder family? Do you understand the repercussions?”

His guards shift, a few of them claiming a tighter hold on their weapons, others standing taller.

If he kills me, he kills Ivy, and my child.

I can’t let that happen.

I won’t.

I fight a sneer. “If a bloodbath is what you?—”

“He didn’t do it,” Matthew cuts me off. “I did.”

I snap my gaze to him in warning.

“We both did,” Remy adds. “Together.”

Lorenzo keeps staring at me, vibrating with fury, not acknowledging the false admissions.

“He’s never going to believe that.” Abri approaches, moving to stand at my side. “It was me. I finally paid her back for everything she put us through, and I don’t regret it in the slightest.”

“Sit down, belladonna .” Bishop strides after her. “Lorenzo knows that bitch has been in my sights for a fucking long time. I killed her. If there’s going to be repercussions, level them on me.”

The thud of my pulse quickens, their solidarity sinking into me like a lead fucking weight. Sibling support has been rare. I even have the scars to prove how easily Matthew can turn his back on me—mentally and physically. So this is hard to fathom.

Hard to digest.

Hard to fucking ignore.

Thankfully Lorenzo doesn’t believe them if the scathing gaze that remains leveled on me is any indication.

“She should’ve died long ago, and you know it.” I keep my gun palmed, my reflexes at the ready. “There was no rehabilitating her.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make,” he sneers. “You aren’t the head of this family.”

“ Yet ,” I clarify. “I’m not the head of this family yet. ”

He takes my response with a slight widening of his shoulders, perhaps letting my words sink in before he snickers, vindictive and vengeful. “You’re too careless for your own good, figlio . You will be the death of all those you love.”

I breathe through the accusation, the tingle at the back of my neck making it feel like more of a prediction.

“I warned you not to get involved,” he continues. “I told you not to tie this woman’s issues to our family. Her injuries will be seen as an act of war.”

“That’s on Adena—not me.”

He steps closer. “The mark of a true leader is knowing when to admit you’re wrong, when you’ve made a mistake. Will you still not admit what you’ve done?”

The question irks my pride. Fucking strangles it.

I concede with a tilt of my head. “My mistake was not ensuring my mother was placed in the ground a long time ago.”

His nostrils flare, the wrinkles around his eyes growing more depth.

For long seconds he just stands there—his heated fury to my stubborn determination.

“I want to say something,” Ivy whispers.

I reach behind me, find her hand, and squeeze it in a warning to remain quiet.

Lorenzo’s gaze tracks the contact, his pursed lips thinning. “I want her returned to Gabriel.” He raises his voice, making the announcement to the room—not just me.

Ivy drags in a sharp breath, her fingers clenching mine.

“No,” I state flatly.

“No?” he repeats slowly.

“You heard me. I don’t want to raise my gun at you, Lorenzo. But know that I will if necessary. This is a hill I’ll die on.”

“You most certainly deserve to.” He jerks his chin at his men.

On cue they approach, all six of them closing in.

“Grab her,” Lorenzo mutters.

Remy approaches. Matthew, too.

I begin to raise my weapon.

“Stop.” Abri storms forward, glaring at me before turning her full attention on our uncle. “This is ridiculous. You’re not taking her, and Salvo isn’t going to be dumb enough to raise his gun. What he is going to do is inform you of the compelling reason why Ivy can’t be taken back to the cartel.”

“ Don’t ,” I warn. I don’t know these men of his. Not well enough to trust them with the knowledge of my child.

“He has good reason for you not to take her,” she continues. “Just listen."

Lorenzo scoffs. “What reason would be good enough to lead us into war?”

His men stand rigid while he continues to visually tear strips from me, his chest rising and falling with maddened breaths.

“Salvatore…” Remy mutters. “Just tell him.”

Ivy’s fingers grip tighter to mine, her warm skin turning clammy.

“I’m waiting,” Lorenzo grits out. “This is your last chance before I take her.”

“Do it,” Bishop mutters. “The information is on her medical file. It’s practically common fucking knowledge at this point.”

Lorenzo stiffens as if reading between the very vague lines. “Tell me.”

No. My first fatherly act won’t be to expose my innocent child.

“Just fucking tell him, Salvatore,” Abri demands.

Ivy slides her fingers from mine. “Do it,” she whispers. “Tell him.”

I don’t want to fucking tell him. Not only because it exposes a vulnerability but because the announcement of my impending fatherhood should be done without contempt. It’s a statement that should only be shared with pride. Elation. Fucking reverence.

But before I can find a way to divert this conversation, Lorenzo grates, “She is pregnant with your child?”

I raise my chin, clench my molars, and increase my strangled grip on my gun.

His face falls with the non-answer, his anger morphing to unwitting surprise, then what looks to be bitter disillusionment. “ Accidenti a te .”

The Italian curse is a sharp reprimand that cuts through the room before silence sets in.

I expected a lot more yelling or violence—something like the volatile outbursts my father was known for. Instead, Lorenzo’s restraint is far more damning. His quiet disappointment settles over me like a noose, tightening with every second of his wordless judgment.

“You, figlio , are becoming the bane of my existence.” He moves toward me, his steps measured, the weight of his cane adding a quiet authority to each step. He stops in front of me and reaches out, curling a threatening hand around the back of my neck. “I hope you know what you’re doing. Because I have a feeling our empire is going to burn for your mistakes.”

I keep my mouth shut because maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m the sum of all evil and to blame for all the world’s wrongdoing.

My parents would be proud.

“You will stay here. You will not leave this property. You won’t even approach the gates and show your face to anyone who might pass. You will do as I’ve asked previously, and stay out of trouble.” He releases his hold and steps back. “Or so help me God, I will kill you both with my bare hands, your child included.”