Salvatore

42. Salvatore

42

SALVATORE

I spend the first thirty minutes of the helicopter flight barking orders into my phone at men who underestimate the importance of the woman I’m determined to keep safe.

When I ask for an airport escort, they dare to question the necessity.

When I demand more guards at my townhouse, they assure me the current detail is sufficient.

They don’t get it.

Nothing ’s sufficient. Everything’s necessary.

I won’t let anyone else get to her.

We hit the tarmac ahead of schedule, the overcast sky hiding the midday sun.

Ivy unclasps her seatbelt and makes to move, but I stop her with a staying hand as I scan our surroundings, searching for threats.

A flight crew walks toward a nearby jet, sleek cars sit beside hangers, and airport staff go about their business. It all seems normal.

“Who are they?” Ivy focuses on the Suburban parked on the tarmac a few yards away, the driver and his companion leaning against the front of the vehicle as they stare at us.

“That’s Russo and Valenti.” I reach for the door, satisfied we’re in the clear.

“Are they?—”

“Remy’s men,” I cut her off, hating the anxiety clinging to her. She fidgeted all flight, her usual ball-buster attitude stowed with the luggage. “My brother trusts them with his life.”

She swallows, perhaps mulling over my words before nodding.

I guide her from the helicopter, keeping her close until she’s settled in the waiting vehicle.

“Your brother got caught up at the funeral home,” Russo says as we’re driven from the airport. “He’ll meet you at Lorenzo’s.”

I jerk my chin in acknowledgement, my sights set on passing traffic, on potential threats.

“Are you worried?” Ivy’s hand settles over mine, bare inches from the gun at my side.

I’m always fucking worried when it comes to her—worried about her safety, about her walking away, about the possibility she doesn’t reciprocate the same maddening feelings that burn through my veins. “Just being vigilant.”

Her demeanor grows more meek as she focuses on our joined hands, a fingertip homing in on the tiny remnants of dried blood clinging to the crevices of my knuckles.

“You should try taking a nap.” I drag my palm away, not wanting her to fixate on the death I inflicted. “It’s at least a twenty-minute drive to Lorenzo’s.”

Her eyes meet mine as she withdraws. “I don’t need sleep. I’m fine.”

She’s far from it, her chin a little too high, her apprehension blinking back at me.

I fucking despise seeing her like this. So I look away, casting my attention out my side window, determined to keep my focus on her safety, not her emotions. But every minute of the drawn-out drive is painstaking.

I have to fight the instinct to take her back to Virginia Beach. Back to isolation.

“Boss,” Valenti murmurs from up front, his focus on the side mirror out his passenger door. “I think we’ve got a tail.”

“I agree.” Russo glares at his rear-view. “They’re a few cars back. White sedan. I can make out three passengers.”

I turn to the back window, pinpointing the issue. The sedan sits in the opposite lane, tailgating a minivan. “Get us out of here.”

The Suburban accelerates incrementally.

“I said get us the fuck out of here now ,” I sneer.

“I’m on it.” Russo punches the gas, shifting into the second lane to bypass another vehicle, then darting back at speed.

The sedan mirrors our moves, following us from lane to lane, making the chase obvious as Ivy watches on with trepidation.

“I need you to get down.” I guide her head toward my lap. “Just in case.”

She obeys without hesitation, crossing her hands over her stomach, her cheek moving to rest against my thigh as the concern in her eyes blinks up at me.

“Fucking move , Russo.” I pull out my gun, aiming at the sedan’s tinted windshield.

“Hold on.” He swerves onto the shoulder and slams on the brakes. The sedan flies past us, its taillights flickering in hesitation.

With a screech of tires, Russo jerks the steering wheel, driving us back into traffic, cutting hard across both lanes and launching over the median.

Shit. I hold Ivy down as the Suburban bucks over holes and mounds before lurching into the opposite lanes of traffic.

Cars swerve. Horns blare. Headlights flash.

“Exit ramp,” Valenti barks.

“That’s the fucking plan.” Russo yanks the wheel toward the exit, the back tires fishtailing as Ivy squeals, her nails biting into my thigh.

“We’re almost in the clear.” I grip her tighter, my eyes locked on the rear window.

We take a sharp turn onto a residential road. Blow through an amber light. Nearly get T-boned passing through a stop sign.

Still no white Sedan.

“I think we lost ’em.” Valenti continues to eyeball his side mirror.

“Yeah, we did a great job,” Russo mutters, laying off the gas.

I run my fingers through Ivy’s hair, attempting to quell the fury simmering under my skin at how someone else dared to come at me—at her.

“Can I sit up?” she whispers, her brow furrowed from fear, but now there’s something more, something that’s confirmed as pain as she places a palm to her abdomen.

“Is it your stomach?” I grab her arm, helping her to sit.

“I’m good. It’s just that my wounds don’t appreciate being hunched over.” She shoots a tense glance at the rear window. “They’re definitely gone?”

My anger intensifies. Building. Morphing. “For now.” I grit my teeth through it, vowing vengeance, but not at the expense of what I promised.

She wants me to remain safe and I want to honor that request, not only because she begged, but because she’s the only one who’s ever cared enough to ask.

“I’ll put an end to this, mi reina .” I slide a possessive arm around her shoulders.

I’ll do as she asks. I’ll take my time. But I won’t plan a war.

What I have in store for the cartel is a bloodbath. A fucking slaughter.

I’ve already instructed Matthew and Bishop to get their asses to Baltimore. Layla has asked the same of her brother and any men he can spare. And between them, our lieutenants, soldiers, and associates, everyone is on standby, ready to move.

The rest of the drive is tense, my thirst for blood clawing at my throat.

By the time Russo enters the private parking garage of Lorenzo’s building I’m ready to put my gun in someone’s mouth and pull the trigger just to take the edge off.

“Do you want an escort upstairs?” Valenti asks as he opens Ivy’s door.

“No. Take our bags to my townhouse and keep your ears to the ground.” I slide across the seat behind her and climb out. “Let me know if word starts to spread that we’re back in town.”

“No problem.” He lingers beside the Suburban, watching as we walk into Lorenzo’s private elevator, the thick metal doors closing between us.

Then there’s nothing but silence.

Ivy stands rigid in the corner, biting at a fingernail, her unease thick enough to choke on.

“What’s on your mind?” I murmur, already aware her answer will increase the anger consuming me.

Her discomfort affects me too fucking much. I need her smiling, teasing, calling me ninito just to piss me off. I want her making my life a goddamn nightmare because this —her quiet fear— this is worse than anything she could throw at me.

“Do you want me to placate you with a vapid discussion about the weather?” she asks. “Or should we get real and talk about my rapidly shrinking life expectancy and how we’re about to reunite with your uncle who—last time I checked—wanted me dead?”

I bridge the space between us as the elevator ascends. “He knows you carry my child. He won’t dare threaten you again.”

“I carry a child that also shares a bloodline with the head of the Baltimore cartel.”

“You’re safe here. I can assure you of that.” I grab her waist, tugging her closer. “But if you want unholy reassurances, accept my proposal. Become my wife. He would never dare to even offend you if we were to be married.”

She sighs and shifts out of my hold, turning to the doors. “Marriage isn’t an option, and you know it. And even if it was I’d only ever do it for the right reasons.”

“And what are those?”

“I don’t know.” She swings around to face me. “But it isn’t for protection.”

“Then don’t do it for that reason. Do it because you want to. Because you’re a queen worthy of the throne I’ll eventually inherit.”

She raises her chin and crosses her arms over her chest. “I won’t do it for that either.”

“Then what will you do it for? Name the price. Tell me your terms.” I fucking need her to be mine.

“I’ve been shortchanged in life so many times, Salvatore. I won’t marry unless I’m loved.”

“You are.” The words spill out before I can stop them, the admission grating against raw nerves and possessive thoughts.

She stiffens. Stills. “You don’t…”

“Don’t what?” I grate, already too far down this hellscape of a rabbit hole. “Don’t love you? Don’t want to spend the rest of my godforsaken life with you? Is that what you think?”

Her eyes scour mine, her head slowly shaking back and forth. “Salvatore…”

“Do you want me to say it? To announce words I’ve never spoken, not even to family? Is that all you need?”

“No.” Her throat works over a heavy swallow. “I don’t want that at all.” She keeps shaking her head. “I just… can’t.”

I. Just. Can’t .

The rejection bites through skin and bone as the elevator doors open behind her.

“I’m sorry.” Her face falls. “But until Gabriel is dead, I won’t risk placing a bigger target on our backs. If he finds out I have feelings for you—if he’s told about our child—he’ll take both of you away from me.”

Not a rejection. A fucking sacrifice.

God, this woman.

“Nobody is taking anything from you. Least of all me.” I close the space between us.

“Don’t.” She places a hand to my chest as she retreats into the hall.

I don’t give her an inch, stalking her until she’s backed into the corridor wall.

“Salvatore…” She blinks up at me, solemn, steadfast.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” I rest my hips against hers, pressing her into the plaster. “I’ll prove it to you.” I lean in, my mouth a breath from hers before I hesitate, giving her the opportunity to pull away. “I’ll make you mine and nobody will stop me.”

“Bold words for a man who hasn’t convinced me of his love.”

I smirk, thriving on the returned glimpse of her sass as I snake my hand into her hair. “You won’t just know my love, mi reina —you’ll drown in it. You’ll fight it, resent it, maybe even hate it. But you’ll never escape my obsession. I won’t let you.” I claim her lips with my own, swallowing her protest, stealing any doubt until all that’s left is heat.

She shudders, her fingers fisting in my shirt as if she’s torn between pushing me away and pulling me close.

But the fact I’m still here, my body molded against hers, is enough for me.

For now , it’s enough.

A throat clears nearby, the predictable interruption tearing a growl from my throat while Ivy turns rigid.

“I assume you don’t value your life.” I raise my voice to Lorenzo’s guard, who no doubt watches us from my uncle’s front door.

“He’s, uh, waiting for you, sir,” the guy responds.

I tighten my hold on Ivy, sensing the return of her unease. “Are you ready?”

“Do I have a choice?” she asks.

It’s a loaded question. One that I know better than to mess up this time. “Always.”

She raises her chin, her mask of determination sliding into place. “You weren’t so hard to train after all.” She pushes off the wall, spine straight, owning the confidence she’d lost as she strides toward the two linebacker-built men flanking Lorenzo’s door—every bit the goddess of war she was born to be.

They open the penthouse for her, allowing her to walk right in while I follow a step behind.

“Which way do we go?” She pauses in the massive living area, the space a testament to excess with its floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city skyline, polished marble underfoot, and a cream-colored sofa so plush it looks more decorative than functional.

“Down here.” I take the lead, pacing out the distance to the open office door, my hunger growing for the permission to kill I came for.

Lorenzo looks up from the papers scattered across his desk as we enter the room. “Ivy.” He greets her with detachment before turning his weary stare to me. “Salvatore. I trust your flight was uneventful.”

“The flight was,” I mutter. “The drive here, on the other hand, ended up being slightly more adventurous. I assume the cartel were the ones tailing us.”

He drags in a tired breath, the accompanying exhale more of a silent sigh. “This is getting out of hand.”

“We did as you requested. We laid low. We’re not to blame.”

“No, I suppose not.” He stares at me, exhaustion etched into his wrinkled features. “But I’ve grown tired of pondering violence and upheaval. Update me on the pregnancy.”

Ivy stiffens.

I follow suit. “I’m not here to discuss my child. It’s the cartel?—”

“Humor me,” he cuts me off, turning his attention to Ivy, indicating to one of the seats in front of his desk. “Are you well?”

She hesitates, shooting me a glance before claiming the chair with a nod. “Yes.”

“There’s been no complications from your injuries? No risk to the viability of?—”

“She’s keeping the baby.” I move to stand behind her, placing possessive hands on her shoulders while she leans back into the chair. “And if you have any concerns I suggest we discuss it at a later date.”

“There are no concerns.” He gives her a faux smile. “At least none that will be my responsibility after today.”

“After today?” I tighten my hold on her shoulders, sensing a dramatic shift in the relationship I’ve had with a man who’s acted as my mentor for almost two years. He’s been angry at me before. He’s been livid. This resigned detachment is different. “Are you kicking me out of the family?”

There’s another deep inhale. Another tired sigh. “No, figlio. ”

“Then what is this?” I demand. “Are you still holding a grudge about Adena? I thought you’d welcomed us back to discuss my plans.”

“You are welcome. But not to discuss the cartel. You are here for other reasons.”

A shiver of warning crawls up my spine. “I didn’t risk bringing Ivy back to Baltimore to be fucked around. Why the hell was my mother so goddamn important to you?”

He raises his brows, his disappointment in my attitude etched into his features. “Because I kept her alive for a reason?—”

“What motherfucking reason?” I step between the chairs, approaching his desk. “What use was she to any of us apart from being a constant reminder of the damage she inflicted?”

He squares his shoulders. “She was the gauge to tell me when, or if, you were ready to take over this family.”

I recoil. “You were letting her be the judge?—”

“No.” He adds steel to his tone. “I was waiting to see if you would be bold enough to take matters into your own hands. A worthy leader doesn’t wait for permission on issues of Adena’s magnitude. They claim what they’re owed.”

“You kept her alive as a fucking test? ”

He levels me with a sad smile. “I would’ve preferred a less chaotic catalyst, without anyone else getting hurt, but yes, keeping my sister alive was a gauge on your ability to claim my role.”

“Bullshit.” I step back, not believing him. “You were livid when you found out.”

“I admit, I was caught off-guard. The complications that surrounded Ivy’s involvement and the guilt associated with her injuries didn’t sit well with me?—”

Didn’t sit well? Didn’t fucking sit well ?

“—But the issue that dictated my unjust actions was due to something else entirely.” His forehead creases. “I hadn’t anticipated the loss I would feel when my time at the helm was up. Despite being ready to step down for years, it was a shock to learn I’d grown desperate to cling to the lifestyle I’d built with you and Remy. So yes, I handled the situation poorly, and for that, I ask your forgiveness.” He glances to Ivy. “Yours, too.”

I clench my fists, struggling to understand what the fuck he’s saying. “You threatened her life.”

“I did.” He nods. “But are you that surprised, figlio ? Don’t you remember I placed Remy in a similar situation to determine if he was invested in the woman he wanted to bring into this family?”

My nostrils flare as I bite out through gritted teeth, “Are you now aware of the level of my investment, old man?”

A gentle hand presses against my waist, Ivy’s softly spoken “Salvatore” pulling me back from the brink.

“You scared the shit out of her,” I seethe.

He inclines his head. “But she is a woman of strength. I didn’t attack with more than she could handle.”

Ivy doesn’t say a word—doesn’t react to his admission with anything other than patient consideration.

“You’re okay with this?” I ask of her.

“I’m not okay. I’m just…” Her eyes lift to mine, a sadness buried in the dark depths. “He’s standing down, Salvatore. He’s handing over his entire family and entrusting them with you. I can’t think of a more acceptable excuse for his reaction.”

I temper my anger. My shock.

Is that what he’s doing?

“You’re ready,” Lorenzo’s Italian accent thickens.

No . This is a trap. Some form of manipulation.

He would never give his position to me. Not willingly. I’d prepared myself to take it when the time came. To steal it, because despite being promised the role I knew the assurance of power was merely bait to force me into compliance, just like my parents had always done.

“This comes as a surprise, I know.” The solemn sincerity staring back at me feels wrong. Fucking brutal. “You’ve always struggled to trust me, Salvatore. And I’ve never pushed the issue because skepticism is a good trait to have in this lifestyle. But everything I’ve done during our time together has been to make you stronger. To turn you into the leader you’ve become.”

“You don’t trust my judgment. You always question my motives.”

His expression remains somber. “I always questioned your conviction to see if you wavered under pressure. And you never did. You are a man who owns his decisions and is prepared to live with the consequences of his choices no matter the stakes.”

“You think I’m too violent. Too fucking cavalier with the lives of our enemies.”

He gives a sly smile. “You are just as bloodthirsty as I was when I inherited this position. And if I would’ve been encouraged back then, the world would’ve crumpled under my tyranny. I kept you in check to ensure the balance of the ecosystem we live in. We need enemies to fuel our ambition and keep us sharp.”

I still don’t fucking believe it.

“Understand this, Salvatore,” he continues. “I’m not handing you a legacy. I’m passing you the mantle of your own making. You wanted to come to Baltimore. It was your suggestion to make a bigger mark here. Now it’s your time to bring your vision to life.”

I scowl. “So you’re just going to walk away?”

“That’s up to you. I can stay on as your consigliere—and would honor the position and the ability to continue guiding you—or you can send me on my way. You get to choose the men who stand by your side.”

Ivy stares up at me. Questioning. Uncertain.

“Of course I want you as my consigliere.” I scrub a hand over my mouth, still fucking blindsided. “I can’t do this without you.”

Pride, resolve, and a whole heap of relief is reflected in his stare. “Good.” He indicates the chair beside Ivy’s. “Then sit, and we will discuss your plans for the cartel.”

I pause, unsure how this transition is meant to work as I claim the seat. “It’s more of a goal than a plan. I just want them all dead.”

He chuckles. “I assumed as much. But I fear you may already be a step behind. There’s word Gabriel has sent away the women in his family and requested some of his New York counterparts to come to town.”

“How many men has he called in?” I ask as a cell vibrates somewhere close by, the sound ignored.

“The request was large but the result is yet to be seen. My relationship with the cartel in New York is civil and has been for some time. They may not send anyone.”

The cell vibrates again… and again.

“I’m sorry,” Ivy murmurs, pulling her phone from a pocket on her sundress. “I’ll turn it to silent.”

She navigates through the screen as I scrub a hand over my mouth, contemplating.

My brothers need to get their asses here. I want their input. Bishop’s expertise, too.

“Once Remy and Matthew arrive we’ll figure this out together. This isn’t something I want to go into lightly.”

Lorenzo inclines his head. “That would be the right move . ”

“Salvatore…” There’s concern in Ivy’s voice as she meets my gaze, her cell still in hand. “I think you need to call your brother.”

“Why? What is it?” The hairs on the back of my neck rise as she holds out her phone, the message on screen drawing my attention.

Liv

Are you still with Lorenzo?

The funeral home was just firebombed. I’m freaking out.

We’re on our way to you, but I’m fucking scared.

“Is there a problem?” Lorenzo’s leather chair creaks as he sits forward, placing his elbows on his desk.

I hand Ivy’s phone back and push to my feet. “The cartel has targeted the funeral home.”

His gaze hardens. “Casualties?”

“I don’t know.” I start pacing, the silence thick with tension until another vibration hums through the room, this one coming from Lorenzo’s desk.

He leans back, opens his top drawer, and answers the call.

“Bishop?” His brow furrows while he listens for a beat. “Where are you? Were Abri and Tilly hurt?”

Fuck .

My phone buzzes in my pocket, inspiring dread.

I pull it out, Matthew’s name flashing across the screen.

“Are you okay?” I demand in greeting.

His breathing is ragged, as if he’s running. “Yeah, but I was just fucking shot at on the street. Not exactly the welcome back to Baltimore I expected.”

“Where’s Layla?”

“My men are with her. She’s safe for now. But something is going down. You need to lay low.”

No. Laying low is the last thing I want to do. That’s not how I’ll lead this family. Not the message I’ll send to our enemies.

“Get to Lorenzo’s penthouse.” I stare at Ivy, trying to reassure her I’m still committed to my vow. “The cartel may have got the jump on the war, but I’m going to end it.”