36. Ivy
36
IVY
I come undone in a frantic mess of gripping hands and throaty moans.
He’s right there with me, his guttural praise rasped in my ear before I’m left limp and boneless, nothing but a puddle of endorphins against his chest.
I don’t know how long we stay there, entwined and sated, before he slides a gentle hand down my back and braces to move.
“Hold tight,” he murmurs.
I obey, mustering the strength to cling to his shoulders.
He lifts me, climbing off the bed and placing me on the mattress.
I wait for him to get a cloth but all he does is gaze down at me, his hungry eyes roaming the length of my body before coming to a stop between my legs.
I struggle not to shy away from the intimate exposure as my cheeks heat, but there’s something about the way he stares, the fascination and awe adding to that heightened sense of power.
He palms my inner thighs, tenderly spreading me wider, increasing my blush.
“I wish I could articulate what it feels like to see my cum seeping out of you.” His touch creeps higher, two fingers stroking through the mess of moisture escaping my body. “But it’s even better knowing it’s inside.”
He corrals the liquid on his fingertips, then slides them back into my pussy. “I don’t want you to lose a drop.”
I moan, my once sated and sore muscles now reawakening with the tease of more.
He returns his gaze to mine, his eyes tracing the rise and fall of my chest as I pant. But the fire has dimmed in his features, the weight of his somber mood creeping back in, reclaiming him as if it never left.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing.” He steps back, the heat of his touch evaporating while he focuses on hiking up his zipper.
“Don’t lie to me.”
He stiffens, his shoulders rigid.
“Tell me, Salvatore.” I rise onto my elbows and close my thighs, trying to beat back the resurgent vulnerability.
He grinds his jaw, a muscle in his neck straining as he swallows. “When I rescued you from Gabriel’s apartment, it was a joke to demand your firstborn. But with the way I want you, mi reina , I’m not sure I’d survive if I found out you were carrying another man’s child. And I sure as hell wouldn’t let him live.”
I blink at him, my lips parting in preparation for what, I’m not sure, because I’m clueless at how to respond.
Not that it matters. He walks for the bathroom, leaving me to lay in the aftermath of his violent admission.
The confession isn’t dreamy.
It’s not.
It’s toxic, and bloodthirsty, and goddamn problematic how easily my insides turn to mush over it.
Fucking hormones.
He returns a moment later, a damp cloth in hand that he offers without a word.
My eyes follow him, studying the quiet precision of his movements, the tension in his shoulders as he strips down to his boxer briefs, then climbs onto the bed behind me and settles close at my back.
Today rattled him, and I don’t know how to comfort him in a way that isn’t self-serving to my own guilt. How can I possibly fix what I’ve done after my mistakes drove him to kill his own mother, while he had to face the prospect of becoming a father, at the same time his siblings were unfairly judging and literally attacking him?
He’s quiet for a long time—seconds, minutes.
Eventually his touch finds my hip, his fingers sweeping a path around the bandages on my injured flank, the silence stretching, the emotional distance between us increasing.
“Should I assume you’re in post-coital bliss?” I whisper. “Or are you laying there questioning whether the baby is yours?”
His barely audible sigh peppers my shoulder before the tingling skin is anointed with a kiss. “I’m not questioning it.”
“So it is post-coital bliss?” I fake a grin. “Who knew a few Kegels was enough to flabbergast such a notorious man?”
His teeth graze my flesh, sharp and deep. “It’s not the Kegels. It’s just you.”
I melt a little more, but the baby comment has brought a necessary segue to a much-needed conversation. “You were snooping this morning when Liv and I were talking, weren’t you?”
His fingers continue their mindless dance. “I may have eavesdropped in an effort to ensure your safety.”
“Liv isn’t a threat to me.”
“Everything is a threat when you carry my child.”
My child.
I shiver at the ownership, my heart fluttering an obnoxious beat. “Do you have any expectations of how I should proceed with the pregnancy?”
“No. That’s not my choice.”
“I agree, but that’s not what I asked.”
His hand stills as the quiet stretches.
I’m losing him again. I can feel the emotional withdrawal.
“Please, Salvatore. Just tell me what you’re thinking.”
“What I’m thinking now is the same thing I’ve been thinking all goddamn day—that I spent most of my life trapped under the dictatorship of two people who claimed to be parents but lacked the compassion to back up the title. I grew up without agency. Or autonomy. And I won’t become a facilitator to that sort of environment, despite feeling like it’s fucking instinctual around you. Your choices are your own.”
“I know they are.” I glance over my shoulder, meeting his stern expression. “That’s why I asked about your expectations—not your demands. I want your opinion. If you could choose how this plays out, what would that future look like?”
His lips thin. “You don’t want a glimpse at that picture.”
“Why not?”
“Because it would consist of you spending the next nine months in my bed, in my arms, riding my dick, while you carried our child to term,” he growls. “You’d give birth with me by your side, and recover in my home, under my care, where I could control every variable that keeps you safe.”
My skin prickles, my unhinged fascination with his dominance letting me know it isn’t just alive—it thrives.
“You no longer see me as a threat, Ivy. But you should. Because although I’ve made a vow not to become my father, I’ve found myself having to cling tight to that promise with a two-fisted grip whenever you’re around.”
I shuffle farther away, making room to roll onto my back to see him better. “Why?”
“Because the thought of you having the freedom to leave me is like a noose around my neck. You deserve better, but knowing that doesn’t make it any easier. I already slipped today when you said you wanted to run and I forbid it.”
“Because my choice would’ve been a mistake.” I place a palm to his chest, not really knowing how to make him understand his lack of threat. “Everyone agreed. I would’ve fled straight into the path of your uncle and I’d already be dead.”
His hand slides atop mine. “But would I have allowed you to leave if it’d been more dangerous for you to stay?”
“If there’d been any doubt I wouldn’t have let you make the choice.”
He brings our joined fingers to his lips, placing a haunted kiss to my knuckles. “ Mi reina , I fear your preferences would have been of little consequence.”
My pulse flutters.
Stupid fucking pulse .
“What are you saying?” I frown. “That you’re worried you’re going to start ruling over me like a possession?”
The word choice is flamboyant at best, so I’m caught off-guard when he simply says, “Yes.”
“I don’t believe that. You’ve done nothing but protect me.”
“Don’t give me allowances. I promise I’m fighting the devil trying to keep you free from me. If only you understood what it felt like to know you carry my child. I’ve never been so mindlessly possessive of anything in my entire life.”
I tense, refusing to let my body continue its giddy responses to toxicity. “Why don’t we talk about your craving for dictatorial authoritarianism once you’ve had some sleep?”
“Sleep won’t change anything.” He reaches behind him, switching off the bedside lamp. “But I guess it’s necessary if I have to deal with my siblings again tomorrow.” He presses another kiss to my knuckles before returning our joined hands to the crook between my breasts. “Good night, mi reina. ”
“Good night.” I shift onto my side, wincing—partly at the finality, mostly at the resonating throb of my abdominal injuries that make it known my choice to ride Thor’s hammer wasn’t exactly doctor approved.
I bide my time, my thoughts drifting from one complication to another as I cling to the comfort of his hold until it’s clear he’s asleep. Then I gently inch off the bed, careful not to wake him, or tweak my injuries further, before finally escaping his room.
I could use a few Tylenol and a million mozzarella sticks, but I settle on the leftover club sandwich in the fridge and the knowledge that the doctor will come searching for me soon enough.
I eat at the shadowed dining table in the darkened house, contemplating all the feels choking my insides as the rippling glow from the underwater pool lights reflect off the ceiling.
I’m not an idiot. I know I should listen to Salvatore’s warnings. But there’s so much of him that doesn’t align with his concerns. And so much of me that refuses to acknowledge I might be wearing rose-tinted glasses.
The most restraint I can muster is returning to my own room and my own bed instead of succumbing to the allure of his.
I’m woken by the doctor shortly after. Then every two hours on repeat.
When I wake for the last time it’s to a bright room and the sound of chatter humming through the house.
I groan, not knowing what’s worse—the constant dull throb in my belly or the mental torment of knowing a new day is likely to bring new drama.
I reach for my cell on the nightstand and read the summary of notifications on my locked screen?—
Liv: Buzz me when you wake up.
Instagram message from Allison: I miss you.
AHT Bank Transaction: $1,000,000 has been deposited into your ? —
I rise onto my elbows in a rush, my aching stomach wounds morphing into a full blown cramp. I curse through the pain as I unlock my screen and navigate to my banking app, certain the text is a phishing scam until the measly $1,345.78 that’s meant to be in my bank account now resembles $1,001,345.78.
I barely breathe as I click the transaction details.
The deposit came from SAMC Fiducia Servizi—a name I don’t recognize. I don’t even know what country it’s from. Fiducia means trust in Spanish, but Servizi is something else entirely.
The only thing I’m sure of is the memory of Gabriel’s financial bribery attempts when I filed for emancipation all those years ago.
He could be trying to get me back. To convince me to return.
“Morning.”
I gasp, my gaze snapping to the door where Salvatore’s sister stands, stunning in a charcoal pantsuit, her loose blonde hair draped over her shoulders.
“Sorry for the jump scare.” She smiles and raises two large shopping bags. “I come bearing gifts.”
“Gifts?” I reluctantly drop my phone on the bed and sit up with a wince.
“Salvo sent me on a shopping spree.” She approaches and dumps the bags on the mattress. “I’m sorry we haven’t been properly introduced. But for formalities sake, I’m Abri, sister to the malicious ogre who has unwittingly impregnated you.” She pauses a moment, her eyes narrowing. “It was unwittingly, right?”
“This isn’t something I would’ve planned.”
“Yeah. I thought so. This situation has my brother stamped all over it.” She nods as if to herself. “How are you holding up?”
“Pretty good. Although at times I do wonder if I should stick a fork in an outlet and call it a day.”
She snorts. “That good, huh? Want to talk about it? You were giving off panicked vibes while you were staring at your phone.”
I contemplate her offer.
She seems nice enough. Genuine. And the urge to info dump is top tier, but Abri’s not the right audience for the million-dollar complication reveal, so I lie. “It’s nothing, really. I just sent an important message to Salvatore earlier and I’m surprised I haven’t heard back.”
“He’s already up and about. But don’t fret. I’m pretty sure he only reads at a third-grade level. Give him time. He’s not ignoring you—he’s probably still sounding it out.”
A laugh bursts from me, followed by a gasp as I place a hand over the stabbing pain in my stomach.
“Shit. Sorry.” She cringes. “Are you all right?”
I hold my breath and nod for the few seconds it takes for the pain to subside.
“Hopefully this might make you feel better.” She upends the contents of the bags onto the bed—pre-natal vitamins, anti-nausea bands, a pregnancy journal, herbal teas, belly oil, a pregnancy book. There’s more too, but they’re smothered under everything else. “Salvo asked me to get these for you. I did warn him it was over the top, but he insisted.”
I blink blindly at the mountainous pile.
What the absolute fuck?
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Abri asks.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to suppress the approach of anxiety. “I can’t tell if I need an extra-large coffee, five shots of vodka, six hundred and twenty-five chicken nuggets, or two straight months of sleep.”
“Oh, sweetie.” She sighs. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but those first two options are off the table now due to the fetal collaboration. I could help with the chicken nuggets though. Want me to pick some up for you?”
“No.” I drop my hand back to my side. “I’m good. I promise. I’d be better though if your brother hadn’t ordered the purchase of a whole store full of pregnancy supplies when I haven’t even decided if I’m going to have the baby.”
“Are you serious?” She deadpans. “That fucking moron . He told me you wanted to keep it. He was acting as if it was a done deal.”
“I’m undecided at best.”
Her eyes widen to seething saucers. “I swear to God, my brothers are proof that evolution isn’t always progressive. Who the hell asks someone to buy thousands of dollars’ worth of pregnancy supplies when the longevity of the pregnancy hasn’t been agreed upon?”
Salvatore Costa, that’s who— the man who warned me of his impending mental derailment while I naively convinced myself it was a cute, overexaggerated character flaw.
“I’m going to assume he meant well.” I lower my gaze to the carpet, solemn and still so bone-wearingly tired. “He wants me to keep it, which wasn’t expected… He’s not who I thought he was.”
When she doesn’t respond, I glance sideways to find sadness peering back at me.
“I understand that feeling.” She drags in a tired breath. “Until yesterday I had him pegged as an award-winning asshole. Now it seems I’m the family’s designated villain.”
“I don’t think that’s the case.”
She shrugs. “I’ve wished him dead on multiple occasions.”
“That’s normal sibling rivalry, right?”
“Not when those wishes involve actual plans of homicide. He’s lucky I didn’t let PMS take the wheel on some of my darkest days because he’d be buried in a ditch by now.”
Is she joking?
“In my defense,” she continues, “he truly did go above and beyond to convince everyone he was a piece of shit. And by all accounts he’s an Oscar-winning performer. But given what our parents put me through I should’ve known better.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I sink into the silence, hoping she appreciates how I don’t attempt to fill it with a careless placation.
“What are you leaning more toward with the baby?” she asks quietly. “Do you want to be a mother?”
Yes . Undeniably. Unequivocally.
But instead of admitting the truth I shimmy my shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. “I don’t know. I still have a lot of concerns.”
“That we’ll eventually figure out.” Salvatore’s voice travels from the hall.
I raise my gaze to his, my body instantly warming.
“And here he is,” Abri drawls, pushing to her feet. “The man who’s living proof that natural selection takes coffee breaks.”
He cocks an unimpressed brow and leans against the doorframe, too damn handsome for his own good.
“Maybe next time don’t send me on an errand run for a pregnancy that hasn’t received the green light.” She strides up to him and gives his chest a condescending pat. “Women prefer patience over pressure, brother.”
His hard eyes don’t leave mine as she brushes past him into the hall.
Silence settles between us, stretching until the sound of her footsteps fades. Only then does he move, pushing from his leaned position to stroll toward me with measured intent.
“I woke up alone,” he states flatly. “Why?”
“I didn’t want you to be disturbed every time the doctor checked my vitals.”
“For future knowledge, disturbed sleep is a preference to waking up without you.”
I swallow down the giddy tingle in my throat. “Understood.”
“How are you feeling?” He stops in front of me, sliding his hands into his pockets.
“Entertained enough to be distracted by the pain.” I grab a hardcover from the pregnancy wasteland beside me and shoot him a questioning look. “A baby name book?”
He squares his shoulders. “I assumed our child would need one.”
Our child .
It hits harder every time.
“Salvator—”
“You want this baby, Ivy. So I’ll be doing everything in my power to ensure you have it. All we need to do is discuss the lengths you’re willing for me to take in an effort to make you feel secure in the decision.”
The exhaustion increases. The yearning for our baby, too.
I glance away, needing a temporary change in topic until I’m firing on all cylinders. “You should know I had a substantial amount of money transferred into my bank account overnight. I think Gabriel is setting me up or planning to bribe?—”
“The money wasn’t from Gabriel.”
I snap my gaze back to his. “Don’t tell me it was from you.” I brace my palms against the mattress, preparing to stand.
“Relax.” He inches closer, placing his hands on my shoulders as he peers down at me. “You have enough concerns for the future without worrying about money.”
Oh my god . He’s such a slow learner.
Like a fucking snail on beta blockers.
I don’t want his money. Being indebted like this feels—I straighten against the prickling shiver running down my spine. It feels… overwhelming. Stifling.
“It’s just money, Ivy. Don’t put an unrealistic value on it.”
“An unrealistic value?” My voice waivers. “Didn’t you force yourself to play nice with your evil mother for years all for the sake of just money ?”
His hands fall to his sides. “You’re thinking too much into it.”
“And maybe you’re not thinking enough. I could start a new life with that amount of cash. I could run and hide.”
“You could,” he bites back. But you know I’d always find you is etched in the confident tilt of his brows.
He takes the baby name book from my hands and flicks through it. “I’ll transfer more once some of my assets have been made liquid.”
“You did not just say that,” I seethe. “I don’t want more. I don’t even want what you’ve already given. At least not when I haven’t made up my mind.”
“You have. And so have I. We’re in agreement.”
“I thought you made a vow not to force me.”
“I’m not forcing. This is support.” He turns and walks for the door. “Encouragement at best.”
I want to tell him where to shove his so-called encouragement, but his continued loyalty acts like a persistent wind, eroding the edges of my independence.
I admire his selflessness.
Adore his devotion.
“You realize I could lose it, right?” I climb to my feet with a wince, the ache in my belly restricting me from going after him. “That even if I decided not to get an abortion, a lot of women miscarry in the early months. And that’s women with stable lives, ones who haven’t been made into human dartboards.”
He pauses in the doorway, meeting my eyes. “I know the statistics.”
God, I hate this—his stoicism in the face of my uncertainty. His confidence. His pure, undaunted composure.
“Well, if I did keep it, you best believe I won’t be sticking to your live-under-my-roof, in-my-bed, on-my-dick wish-list.” I’m trying to pick a fight now, attempting to unsettle him so we’re on the same erratic page.
“I know that, too, mi reina .” He hits me with a somber smile. “That’s why I don’t expect to be a part of your future. I’m not a man any woman would want in the vicinity of their child. My sister is proof of that. So I’ll trust your judgment on parental decisions. Even if that means I have to be kept at a distance.”