Salvatore

34. Ivy

34

IVY

Lorenzo walks for the hall, turning toward the front door. Three of his guards follow behind, the other three who came from the backyard wait until he’s out of view before they retreat through where they came.

Everyone is quiet as the footsteps withdraw. The front door opens then closes. Then a sense of relief seems to take over the room. Over everyone. Except for me and my dread-filled stomach and Salvatore, who remains stock still in front of me.

“You knew she was fucking pregnant?” Abri slaps Bishop’s chest. “And didn’t tell me?”

He pulls her against him. “It wasn’t my place to share the happy couple’s news.”

“Ivy?” A low, elderly grumble echoes faintly, making Salvatore’s head snap toward the hall.

I lean sideways, away from the protection of his broad frame to find the doctor standing in the archway, a stern look on his face.

“You should be resting.” He hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Get back to bed so I can monitor your vitals.”

I don’t move. It’s safe here, hidden behind my muscled wall of protection.

“He’s right.” Salvatore turns toward me, not meeting my gaze as he jerks his chin toward the hall. “Go. I’ll check on you later.”

The banishment stings. The thought of being alone does, too.

“Don’t worry.” His jaw ticks as if he’s fighting internal demons. “Lorenzo won’t come back.”

“Are you sure?” I tilt my head, edging into his line of sight.

“Positive.” He walks away, heading for the kitchen.

“Can I come join you when the doctor’s finished?” Liv asks.

I nod absently at her as I stare after Salvatore. The urge to follow him and fix whatever’s wrong claws my chest. If only we didn’t have an audience.

Instead I accept defeat and shuffle into the hall, continuing to my room where the doctor is waiting by the bed.

He rummages through his medical bag. “You need to spend more time lying down and not galivanting around the house.”

“That was the plan until a life-or-death situation came calling.”

“Everything is life and death here.” He flings back the covers. “Now come.” He pats the mattress and I obey, cautiously climbing onto the soft sheets while grasping the lapels tight at my chest to save from flashing him.

He runs through the same to-do list he performed earlier—temperature, blood pressure, bandage checks etcetera, etcetera. Then he packs up his things, grabs his bag, and pauses to peer down at me.

“I obtained your hospital report.” His expression is chastising. “Your health is no longer just your own. Think about that every time you want to leave this bed if you plan to keep the child.”

I settle farther under the covers, wishing I had a choice in focusing on anything other than that. The only reprieve I get is when my thoughts divert to the memory of Liv’s shocked face when she heard about the fuck trophy news.

There’d been fear in her expression. Pity, too.

Both leave me hollow.

A light tap sounds at the door.

I raise my head from the pillow, and there she is, standing in the doorway, smile forced, eyes pained.

I don’t know what to say to her, and that’s unsettling enough. Words always come easily with me and Liv, and shame is something I can usually brush off with a witty one-liner. But not now.

I throw back the covers on the other side of the bed and she takes the silent invitation, making her way across the room, kicking off her shoes, then sliding onto the mattress beside me.

We remain quiet. Contemplative.

From the outside looking in one might assume we’re comfortably silent, allowing the news space to settle. But that’s not it.

I bet Liv doesn’t know what to say because this situation is so far removed from how she sees me. And I don’t want to talk about it because this whole mess feels like a cruel inevitability—like no matter how hard I try, my past is always lurking, waiting for the right moment to pull me back in.

“I know you pride yourself on it,” she finally murmurs, “but I have to admit, I’m not a fan of your new fashion sense.”

I wish I could laugh at her attempted humor. The best I can muster is a breath of a chuckle as I clutch the lapels of Salvatore’s jacket tighter around my chest.

“It’s not often we’re lost for words, right?” She stares at the ceiling while I do the same. “What the hell has happened to our lives?”

“I don’t know.” A pained throb pulses beneath my sternum, the pace quickening.

She rolls toward me, her eyes sorrowful as she rests her cheek against her pillow. “I know your childhood was far more difficult than most, and obviously you’ve got a lot of trauma that I’m still not aware of… but you know you’re stunning, right? You could literally get any guy. Why slum it with Salvatore Costa?”

That throb increases. “It doesn’t feel like slumming.”

She cringes. “That’s the trauma talking. I bet I’d be in denial too. Then again, I wouldn’t be surprised if he has piranha sperm. Those little bastards are probably cannibalizing your brain cells.”

I roll my eyes. “Liv?—”

“I’m serious. Who knows what his swim squad are currently doing to your motherboard? Salvatore is reckless, vindictive, and downright savage. You realize condoms don’t protect against that, right?”

“Liv—”

“Could you imagine him fathering a child? Giving it semi-automatics as a Christening gift, or?—”

“ Liv , I like him.”

Her eyes sadden. “Are you sure that’s not the pain meds talking?”

“I felt this way before I was stabbed.”

“Yeah, but even then you’d already been through a lot… It’s only natural your common sense would be messed up.”

I release the heavy air in my lungs and return my attention to the ceiling. “Is that the same reason you slept with his brother?”

She recoils a little. “What’s happening between me and Remy has been built over months. And he’s not like Salvatore, who’s?—”

“Before you continue, please understand I haven’t decided what my future holds, and although some things can be ignored they can never be unheard.”

She goes still, her scrutiny heating the side of my face. “You aren’t considering having the baby, are you?”

My vision unfocuses on the white paint, my imagination conjuring up images of a sweet, innocent child who heals my broken heart and shatters it in equal measure. “It’s complicated.”

“Believe me, that’s one part of this situation you don’t need to point out.”

“Actually, it is. I’ve lived without a family for more than a decade. I had nobody and no one until I found you and your dad. I can’t have boyfriends because the last one disappeared, thanks to the cartel. I can’t even have pets because Gabriel tends to kill those, too.” I turn my watery eyes to hers. “Children have never been an option, Liv, despite how I’d give anything to have a family.”

“Oh, Ive, I’m sorry.” She nestles closer, sliding her body against mine and wrapping her arm around my ribs, offering physical comfort even though I know she hates it.

“He’s put his life on the line for me,” I whisper. “He killed his own mother .”

She forces an awkward smile. “And they say romance is dead.”

My chuckle is short-lived. Because, yeah, I suppose I did kinda paint his actions in a romantic hue.

It seems delulu is the new solulu.

“I guess you’ve got a lot to think about,” she whispers.

I sigh and blink through the heat seeping into my eyes. “And I’m already thinking this could be the only opportunity I get to have a baby… to become a mom… I’m meant to disappear, so why not keep it once I start over somewhere safe?”

“Fuck.” Liv flops onto her back and rakes a hand over her braided hair. “This is so messed?—”

A shuffle carries from the hall in close proximity to my room.

I tense and cock my ear toward the door. “Did you hear that?”

Liv snaps upright, zoning in on the hall. “ Is someone listening ?” she mouths.

“It might be the doctor.”

She slides from the bed as another footstep carries forward, then Salvatore strides into view, his face a mask of indifference, not a flicker of guilt betraying him for his blatant snooping.

“I need the two of you to remain in here for a few more minutes.” He slides his hands into his pants pockets, all casual and confident. “We’re dealing with what’s in the basement.”

“You don’t have to downplay it.” Liv rolls her eyes. “You can say you’re disposing of your mother’s dead body.”

His jaw ticks as his gaze fixes on mine. “Don’t leave this room.”

“Okay.” I nod, my stomach tied in knots at the thought of him overhearing my desperate need for children. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He shoots a warning glower at Liv, then leaves.

“He’s one scary son of a bitch.” She strolls to the door and closes it behind him, then returns to the bed. “And you know he was definitely listening, right?”

I cringe. “Why is it that I keep finding out, even though I swear to God I haven’t been doing the obligatory fucking around?”

“Oh, please. You’ve been out here earning the crown for Queen of Fuck Around and Find Out for years. The stakes have just never been this high.” She climbs back onto the mattress, her pretty brown eyes full of pity as she sits cross-legged beside me and grabs my hand. “Please don’t get upset with me, but I feel like I have to point something out.”

“Is it absolutely necessary?”

“Yeah. It’ll eat away at me if I don’t.”

“Fine.” I sigh. “Rip the Band-Aid off and just say it.”

Heavy footsteps carry from the hall as she sits taller. Grunts and groans follow, along with a cursed insult about Adena’s weight while Liv drags in a deep breath. “I saw the way he looked at you while the pool table was being desecrated. I also had a front-row seat to the psycho in his eyes while Lorenzo was here. And I’m stating for the record that there’s no way he will let you disappear with his child. I’d be surprised if he lets you disappear at all.”

My body flushes, the heated reaction a blinding red flag.

Salvatore’s potential to be controlling shouldn’t work like catnip. And it definitely shouldn’t compute as a dreamy form of protection.

Nope.

Not at all.

“Do you understand where I’m coming from?” she asks.

I do, but I want this conversation to be over. For all of it to, poof, disappear.

“I get it.” I burrow farther under the covers, faking a yawn while a cell vibrates in my vicinity.

Liv digs into her jeans to retrieve it, a smile curving her lips as she reads her screen.

“Remy?” I ask.

She nods. “He said we can come out. They’re ordering food… straight after manhandling a dead body. And people say my morbid lifestyle is weird.”

“Maybe you two are a match made in heaven after all.”

She snickers. “Do you feel like club sandwiches?”

“Not right now.” I cuddle my pillow to my chest. “I need to get some more sleep first.”

“Of course.” She scoots off the bed. “I promise I won’t wake you. I’ll be on my best behavior.” She squeezes my ankle from atop the covers and then strides to the door. “I’ll come back later.”

I roll onto my side with the reclasping of the door latch and try to claim the sleep I lied about needing. What I really want is to speak to Salvatore. To make sure everything between us is solid. To make sure he’s solid.

But he distances himself, not once fulfilling his promise to look in on me throughout the day. Instead it’s just a whole heap of annoying interruptions from the doctor and the occasional check-in from Liv who brings food I can’t stomach.

By midafternoon, my abdomen gets achy.

By nightfall, my legs are heavy and throbbing from lack of movement.

I decline Liv’s invitation to join everyone at the dining table for dinner, the guilt at unravelling their Italian family keeping me in bed along with the blatant snub from Salvatore, who still hasn’t come to see me.

The next time I wake the house is quiet and dark, the shadowed figure looming over me making me startle.

“It’s only me.” Doctor Flores wraps the blood pressure cuff around my upper arm. “You can go back to sleep.”

I nod and try to do as instructed, but it’s no use. My legs throb from lack of movement and my skin feels like I haven’t bathed in a month.

After he leaves, I shower, sitting on the tiled floor for far too long as I let the hot water chase away the stiffness clinging to my muscles. By the time I step out, the fog in my head has lifted slightly, and I feel lighter, if only physically.

Freshly cleaned and dressed in an oversized soft cotton sleep tee, I cautiously pad into the darkened hall with a one-track mind for food until the soft light spilling from Salvatore’s open doorway pulls me to a stop mere inches from his threshold.

His bedside lamp is on, the warm illumination casting a gentle glow over him lying on the bed, propped up against the headboard, his brow furrowed as he focuses on his cell screen.

I linger longer than I should, silent in the shadows, a breath from the doorway. Caught between the urge to keep watching and the need to walk away, I try—and fail—to talk myself out of an attraction that only seems to tighten its grip.

He’s not even my type. Not really.

I mean, I don’t like really dark, hypnotic eyes that see into the heart of me or a jawline so sharp it could double as a weapon. And that subtle smirk of his—the one that wraps around my chest and squeezes the air out of my lungs—isn’t all that special.

Then there’s his personality. Masculine to the point of maddening, brimming with so much arrogance he’d be considered a walking red flag in most cultures.

Okay, all cultures.

“Are you going to keep staring at me in silence or do you plan to speak?” His voice is cold as his gaze remains fixed on his cell screen.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I murmur.

“Everything about you disturbs me, Ivy.”

The playful statement makes me smile, but there’s none of the same warmth I’ve come to expect in his expression while he continues to deny me eye contact.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I enter his room, slowly stepping my way toward him.

He swipes a finger across his screen. “About what?”

“About today. About what happened. About the revelations you shared with your siblings and the hostility I’ve created between you and your uncle. Along with all the other ways I’ve ruined your life.”

“You haven’t ruined anything.”

No? Then why can’t you look at me?

I stop beside his bed, the silence stretching.

“Why are you still awake?” I glance at his bedside clock, the midnight hour making my stomach churn. Unless he slept today he has to have been awake for more than forty hours.

“Why are you?” he counters.

I’m unfamiliar with this version of him—the one that isn’t flirtatious and doesn’t offer compliments like weapons. He’s distant, closed, and it hurts.

“I can’t sleep.” I shrug.

“And you thought my company might act as a sedative?”

“You’ve been known to be dull…” I aim for lightheartedness but I don’t stick the landing. Things between us are off. He probably wants me gone, and I’ve spent all day missing the signs. “I’m sorry I was the catalyst for the fight with your siblings. And for what happened with Lorenzo, too. I can’t imagine what you’ve?—”

“Both were a long time coming,” he cuts me off, the swipe of his finger across his cell screen sharper now.

“Even so, that doesn’t make it any easier to?—”

“This isn’t something I want to discuss, Ivy.”

The chastisement stings. Burns.

A whisper of a sardonic chuckle escapes me. “Really? A man who doesn’t want to chat about feelings? No way.”

Finally his gaze meets mine, dark, harsh, and full of pain he’s clearly trying to smother.

A fissure forms in my chest, the slight crack deepening into a crevice as we maintain eye contact.

“You should get back to bed. I’m sure Flores will come looking for you soon enough.” He lowers his attention back to his cell, the swipe, swipe, swipe of his finger turning the crevice into a gorge.

I stand tall before him, unwavering in the face of his indifference, but inside, I’m raw, carved open. “You want me gone…”

His nostrils flare. “No. I want you to go to bed.”

I can’t. Not with him acting like I’ve slept with his brother while carrying his child.

Whatever it is, I want to fix it. I need to. I’m just not sure how.

I can’t offer the things he so willingly gives to me because before him I never knew the comfort of protection—never understood trust or what it means to rely on someone when danger is near.

I lack the necessary experience to reciprocate. I don’t have the unshakable confidence needed to stare death in the face without flinching.

All I can give is the one thing I’ve always been confident in offering men. Something that was once empty and self-serving but now carries a weight of sincerity and connection.

“I don’t want to go back to my room.” I inch forward, stopping when my knees brush the wooden bedframe, his body within reach, his presence stifling.

I wish I could artfully articulate how I feel. If only childhood trauma hadn’t made me a sarcasm-reliant, sass-dependent woman stripped of the ability to be vulnerable. I’m foreign to the romantic ways of men and women—the quiet words and softly spoken confessions.

Instead, I drag in a strengthening breath as I cautiously climb onto the bed, my knees against the mattress, my hands upon his waist while I maneuver my skewered body to straddle his thighs.

He watches without a word. Without movement. Without a single sign that he’s even affected. I’d believe it, too, if it weren’t for the bulge straining against his pants zipper.

“I missed you today.” My confession is ignored, his steely attention returning to his cell while he continues to swipe. “You said you’d come check on me.” I slide my hands over his chest, my fingers grazing the top button of his shirt.

“I did.” His gaze lifts, cold and detached, as I release the first button. “You were asleep.”

“You should’ve woken me.” I dare to trail my touch downward, catching the second button.

“There was no need. We had nothing to discuss.” The words hang heavy between us. “What is this, Ivy? The makings of a pity fuck?”

I grin. “Do you get any other kind?”

His eyes harden, the color so dark and deep I want to drown in them. “You’re injured. Now’s not the time.”

“I’m resourceful.” I take one last risk, sliding my fingers lower, gripping his belt. “I’ll figure something out.”

“No.” He grabs my wrists. “We’re not doing this again.”