38. Ivy
38
IVY
It’s been more than a week alone with Salvatore in this big house, battling a war between common sense and desire that has tilted dangerously out of favor.
Every time I’m alone, my thoughts keep drifting back to his demand— have my child —and how the dictate was reminiscent of a childhood full of authoritarianism. So why did it make me feel warm and fuzzy instead of outraged and homicidal?
I had to pretend I was angry just to bide time to figure out why my emotions were in simp territory when they should’ve been firmly affixed behind hostile lines. And here I am, still tangled up in confusion and a messy web of misplaced affection nine days later, unable to figure out why.
His early morning swims don’t help—the way the rising sun glistens over his muscled arms and back as he cuts through the water with infuriating ease.
I’m sure he knows I watch him through the kitchen window. Why else would he make the climb from the pool so painfully deliberate? The slow, powerful ascent up the steps, his boxer briefs clinging to a package so outrageously proportioned it feels like a personal attack. And the way he’s nurtured me back to some semblance of health after being stabbed only makes it harder to distance myself from the nauseating infatuation.
I curse a blue streak as I retreat from the kitchen counter, grab a glass of juice from the fridge, then sit at the dining table in silence as he enters the house.
“You’re awake.” He secures a towel around his waist, his hair dripping, muscles taut and flexing with each step as if daring me to keep my thoughts in check.
“Your observational skills know no bounds, Sally.”
He gives me a wicked look, a visual warning to behave. “It sounds like someone needs to go back to bed. I suggest you quit the attitude before I force the issue.” He walks for the hall and out of view.
I ditch my glass of juice and follow, definitely not because I plan on listening to his off-base suggestion, but merely because I’m growing bored of being in this house, and the man-candy show is free entertainment.
I approach his bedroom a few feet behind him, my body moving with more ease than it did a week ago. My bandages have been removed, leaving behind scars that mark the journey of my recovery, still fresh but no longer raw.
I stop in his doorway, my heart, soul, and parts farther south tightening with a near-painful urgency as he drops his towel and peels off his soaked boxer briefs.
I should be used to seeing him naked by now, yet my body refuses to accept it as routine. Butterflies still erupt in my stomach. My pulse continues to trip over itself.
He has no business being as devastatingly fine as he is, and I’m running out of ways to pretend I’m not completely attached—to his body, yes, but more dangerously, to the man who comes with it.
We’ve gotten good at pretending life doesn’t exist outside the walls of Lorenzo’s property. That the threats and complications aren’t actually as dire as what waits for us when we’re finally allowed to leave.
But it’s time to stop living in a fairy tale. I have to make a move.
“I can’t stay here forever.” I was tempted to say we . To pair us as one, like a dimwitted damsel. “Has Lorenzo answered any of your calls?”
“He has.” He glides a restrained hand over a part of his anatomy that’s equally as hard as the rest of his muscled body. “Shower with me while we talk.”
It’s a trap. A honey one, just like the CIA use.
“Not this time.” That sneaky son of a bitch knows that once he lures me into the warm water and mesmerizes me with his hands, mouth, and other far more rigid assets, poof —all logical thought of the future will be gone. “I don’t want to get distracted.” I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the doorjamb, entirely, one hundred percent not showering with him.
“Suit yourself.” He walks his perfectly muscled ass into the bathroom, leaving the door open so I have an unrestricted sound bite of him starting said shower.
“Bastard.” I remain in place. Steadfast. Committed… Then the fall of the water’s spray changes and I picture him glistening and wet, all sudsed up, cleaning parts of himself that I’ve grown accustomed to orgasming over and?—
“ Fine . But no touching.” I traipse to the bathroom, cursing my pitiful restraint, and strip out of my pajama shirt to join him.
His smirk is subtle as I walk into the open-ended shower, his cock jolting to betray his calm facade.
I ignore it. All fifty fucking inches and then some. “What did Lorenzo say?”
Strong hands close around my shoulders, his touch branding my skin with the kind of control that makes my breath hitch. He turns me, guiding me backward under the water. Without a word, he grabs the shampoo, squeezes some into his palm, then glides those manipulative fingers over my scalp, each stroke a shock that sends tremors through my body, igniting nerves I didn’t know were asleep.
I moan, giving up on restraint and falling headfirst into self-indulgence. “Tell me what he said.”
He drags his hands to the base of my scalp, gently scrubbing, lathering. “He’s still livid and unwilling to discuss my plans.”
“You have plans?” I turn to him, wildly swiping away the shampoo trailing down my forehead.
“I do.” He reclaims my shoulders, turning me back around and guiding my head under the water. He washes the suds from the heavy lengths, continuing to butter me up like he has all week.
I may have pitiful self-discipline where he’s concerned, but I’m well aware his acts of service have been for the sake of succession. He wants me to keep the child I carry and the more time I spend with him, the more set I am in the decision I’ve made.
“You’re stalling.” I attempt to glance at him over my shoulder, only endeavoring to get a face full of water. “Why?”
“Maybe I don’t want things to change.” He tugs on my hair, forcing me to comply to his will. “But you’re right; we can’t stay here forever.”
We . The distinction packs a punch I hadn’t had the guts to deliver.
“How much do you love Baltimore?” He continues to play with my hair, adding conditioner to the ends. “Could you live without it?”
“I assumed I’d have to.” That I’d lose Liv and Allison. My job. My apartment. The memories. The familiarity. My past. “If it makes living an option, I’ll do whatever’s necessary.”
“Living is the only option I’m interested in working on. I’ll find a way for you to feel safe.”
My heart pangs. I’m sure he’ll at least try. The problem is, I can’t imagine feeling safe without him, and a future together isn’t something I should fantasize about.
“The way I see it, we’ve got two options.” He combs his fingers through my lengths. “I can attempt to arrange a sit-down with the cartel and negotiate a way for you to be free from?—”
“That would never work. Gabriel wouldn’t allow it.”
“ Or I could do what I should’ve done after they kidnapped you, and kill them all.”
I stiffen, waiting for him to snicker, to laugh, to show any sense of satire, but the only thing that greets me is the delicate fall of the shower’s spray.
I turn to him. “Are you serious?”
His expression is cold. Calculated. “I am.”
My pulse kicks up a notch as I envisage exactly who them all would include—obviously Gabriel and Alonso. But who else? My remaining uncles? The slew of male cousins? All dead?
Salvatore must sense my panic because he slowly withdraws, lowering his hands to his sides. “I thought you’d be relieved.”
Maybe I am. I don’t know. There’s hope with the prospect. Optimism when I imagine a world free of those who want to hurt me. But what about those who remain aligned with Gabriel who I still care for? Would my mother be on the hit list? My aunts? My female cousins?
What’s worse, though, is that the likelihood of success without our own casualties seems nonexistent. And what would it take for Salvatore to kill my family? Would that type of violence change him? Change us ?
“ Mi reina ?” He reaches out, guiding my soaked hair behind my shoulders.
This time the contact isn’t welcomed. It makes my heart ache and my lungs heavy.
I retreat a step, not willing to value my freedom above the risk to his life.
“I need a minute.” I flee the shower, yank my towel off the rack, and rush to dry myself.
This is getting too complicated. He wasn’t supposed to be like this—devoted, dedicated. I wasn’t meant to fall in love.
I escape into his bedroom, wrapping the towel around me, my pulse pounding in my temples as I descend in a heap on the end of his bed.
I fought tooth and nail for freedom from my family, for the right to make my own choices. Yet here I am, wishing Salvatore would take the burden from me. Desperate for him to make the hard call.
It’s pathetic. Weak. Who am I if I can’t stand on my own?
“Your minute is up.” He pads from the bathroom, tightening a towel around his waist, his wet feet soaking the carpet. “Do you want to return to your life in Baltimore?”
“Of course I do. Everything I know is there. But the price is too high.”
“Your peace shouldn’t be a fucking luxury, Ivy.”
“No, but it also can’t come at a cost of what you might become after having to slaughter so many people.”
His expression softens, the harsh lines of his face seeming to form into something that resembles pity. “I can promise it won’t change me.”
“How do you know?”
He lowers to his knees before me, like I’m an altar he’s choosing to worship. “I’ve done far worse than murder men deserving of death. Do you remember those vacations my siblings thought our parents were taking me on?”
I nod, wordlessly begging him to continue.
“They were hunting expeditions and not of the animal variety.” Sterility stares up at me—the proof of a man who can compartmentalize better than I can. “They wanted to create the perfect soldier, and I did everything I was asked because non-compliance meant my siblings would suffer. So I’m already the monster you fear the situation with Gabriel will make me.”
I grapple for understanding, for a way to comprehend how his parents could do that to him while I guide gentle fingertips over the rough stubble of his jaw. “You’re not a monster.”
“I am.” He grabs my wrist, firm yet tender. “But it’s inaction that threatens to turn me into something worse. I need to do this, mi reina .”
“I don’t want you anywhere near them.” Even more so now than before. He deserves peace. Not more bloodshed.
“And I don’t want them anywhere near you, which is what they’ll constantly be striving to achieve as long as they keep breathing. Let me have this. Give me your blessing.”
A pained breath clogs my lungs. “I need to think this through.”
“No, you don’t.” He releases me and stands. “You want time to grow comfortable with making the wrong decision. And I get it. But what you have to understand is that the delay in action is fucking killing me. I’ve spent every day here, biting my tongue while Lorenzo rejects my calls. But the more time we give the cartel to take action, the more my head fills with fucking chaos. I need momentum, Ivy. I need structure. But above all, I need control. Something I can command and bend to my will. Otherwise I’ll end up making that something you.”
Red flags are raised to full mast, the bright color billowing in the breeze. But I don’t see them.
All I know is yearning. Pining. The temptation to let him bear this cross for me. And if his life wasn’t on the line I’d probably give him what he’s asking for.
“Let me handle them.” He cups my cheeks, his gaze beseeching. “Let me deal with the people stopping you from living the life you want. The ones who are holding you back from making a decision about the child you crave.”
I square my shoulders, not willing to let him use the little nugget in my uterus against me. “I’ve already made my decision about the baby.”
He stills, stares, while my throat slowly closes over.
“I’m not getting an abortion, Salvatore.” I swallow down the fear that comes with the euphoric choice. “I’ll figure out a way to protect our child. But I can’t do that on my own. I won’t risk you dying at the hands of the cartel just so I can reclaim my life in Baltimore when it would be far safer for me to go into hiding.”
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move.
“Say something,” I beg, not sure how to read him.
“You’re having our child?” He stares at me, those earthy eyes transfixed, the shock in his gaze burning through me like a fever.
“Yes.”
He holds me captive with the intensity of his awe, the sight of it punishingly brutal in its savagery. He shoves a rough hand through his hair, his attention traveling to my abdomen. “Say it again.”
I bite back a smile. “We’re going to have a baby.”
His eyes snap to mine. “ We ?”
I swallow, hard, my pulse chugging like a freight train, my entire body in upheaval over what has to be the most monumental decision of my existence.
I want to say something stupid. Something sassy and outrageous to steal some of the weight from the moment and make this a whole lot less terrifying. But I’m also irrevocably drawn to reciprocate the vulnerability peering down at me. I want to meet him where he stands. To be just as unguarded. Equally exposed.
“Yes.” I nod, reaching for his fingers. “I don’t want to do this alone.”