Salvatore

49. Salvatore

Words are spoken about a man who taught me lessons a father should. A man who shaped me to be a leader. Who strengthened me. Who guided me toward a life with meaning without me realizing it.

Bishop and Matthew sit tall and rigid in the second row of the intimate outdoor burial service. No emotion. No show of grief.

Remy is different, hunched forward, elbows on knees, head hung beside Olivia.

I’m somewhere in between, the regret eating at me and making my chest tight while gratitude fills me with pride.

Lorenzo wasn’t a good man, but it turns out he was good to me. To my brothers. To Olivia and Bishop and God knows who else.

The casket is lowered. A random older woman sobs. People sniffle. Ivy squeezes my hand and offers a forlorn smile.

Somehow it makes everything better.

I kiss her knuckles and guide her hand back to her lap as mourners stand and begin chatting amongst themselves.

“Want to do the rounds?” Remy stands and moves behind me.

“I’m his escort.” Ivy shoos him away.

“In your condition?” He scoffs. “You shouldn’t be lugging around heavy weight.”

“Pregnancy isn’t a condition that forfeits someone from functioning,” she cuts back.

My brother leans down to me sitting in my fucking wheelchair, relegated to the bleachers under doctor’s orders after getting a temporary pass from my hospital sentence. “You hear how stubborn she is?”

“All I hear is her putting you in your place,” I drawl. “I suggest you don’t waste time arguing. She always gets what she wants.”

“Not always.” Ivy cocks a hip. “Do you forget that I didn’t want you leaving the hospital?”

“She almost always gets what she wants,” I correct.

She smirks, carving another little piece of herself into my soul as Remy slinks away in a huff.

“Can you believe him?” She watches my brother go, absentmindedly running a hand over her flat belly. “As far as the underworld hierarchy goes, he’s beneath me, right?”

My lips curve. “You’re mi reina . Everyone is beneath you.”

“Even you?” The sunlight hits her hair just right, making it glisten like polished obsidian.

“My favorite place is beneath you, troublemaker.”

Her smile deepens, a sinful glint narrowing her eyes. “Behave. It’s still a few weeks before you can get beneath anything.”

“It’s a preference, not a necessity. I can make you come in other?—”

“Salvatore?” My name is grated behind me, drawing Ivy’s attention over my shoulder.

She blinks. Blinks some more. Then snaps out of whatever daydream she’s in to grab the handles of my wheelchair and turn me to face the three men towering before me.

Dark hair. Dark eyes. Olive skin.

No need for AncestryDNA to confirm they’re Lorenzo’s offspring, but I’d known that the moment we arrived at the service.

“I’m Raffa.” The one in the middle holds out a hand.

I take the offering, returning the strong, cold handshake despite my slowly healing knuckles.

“Michelo.” The guy to his left introduces himself to Ivy. “And you are?”

“The cause of your death if you dare touch her.” I drop Raffa’s hand and narrow my gaze on the man looking at my fiancée like a meal he tends to devour.

Ivy clears her throat. “I, um, might leave you guys to it.” She squeezes my shoulder, the good one not confined to a fucking sling, then walks around my wheelchair, passing my brothers and Bishop, who make a beeline toward me.

“Let me guess.” I offer my hand to the third brother—the one with the permanent scowl. “We already have Raffa and Michelo, so you must be Donatello.”

His scowl deepens as he clasps my hand in a punishing grip. “You’re funny for a guy who’s one gentle shove away from becoming roadkill. The name’s Leonardo.”

I suppress a laugh. “Figures.”

“It was a joke, asshole. I’m Eliseo.” He drops my hand like it’s a dead fish.

“Eli,” Michelo warns under his breath. “Be nice.”

“It’s been a long morning,” Raffa adds in apology. “We appreciate you attending our father’s service.”

Remy scoffs as he stops at my side. “I’d believe that if you didn’t start the proceedings before we were seated.”

“My apologies.” Raffa inclines his head as handshakes are shared between my brothers and the men. “We have urgent business in New York and still have issues to deal with from our father’s will.”

“Just to make it clear, none of you were mentioned,” Eliseo sneers.

If it didn’t hurt to laugh, I’d chuckle at this guy’s zest for life. “He was our uncle, not our father. The lack of inheritance was assumed.”

He grunts in response.

“That might be true, but he spoke of you often,” Michelo offers. “He said you were a born leader.”

“With suicidal tendencies.” Eliseo scowls into the distance.

“Both descriptions are valid.” Matthew shrugs.

I ignore them. “I appreciate the information, and I mean no disrespect when I say this, but Lorenzo never spoke of you at all.”

“I mean no disrespect?” Bishop snorts. “Who are you and what have you done with the train wreck who previously inhabited your body?”

I glare at him. “I’m currently stuck in a wheelchair. If I were you, I’d be prepared for the day I’m not.”

“Are you two done?” Eliseo crosses his arms over his chest. “We’ve got places to be.”

Michelo sighs and reaches inside his jacket. “Although you weren’t mentioned in the will, Lorenzo did leave something for you.” He retrieves a folded piece of paper. “There was an online folder of information that was unlocked on his death. This document was inside it, with instructions to give it to you.”

Remy takes the page and unfolds it, leaving us waiting as he scans the paper.

“Use your words, Rem.” I reach up and snatch it from him, Matthew eagle-eying the details over my shoulder.

All that stares back at me are my parents’ names above a few lines of numbers.

“What’s this?” I narrow my gaze on Michelo.

“Account name and number, routing, SWIFT code, password, and PIN.” Raffa inclines his head toward the offering. “You don’t want to misplace that information. There’s a healthy sum of cash in that account.”

“From Lorenzo?” Matthew frowns. “Didn’t you just say?—”

“No, not from him. Apparently this has something to do with money your parents owed you.”

Abri perks up from her conversation with Layla a few feet away, her heels sinking into the cemetery lawn as she makes her way to us. “What’s going on?”

“Lorenzo found our parents’ money before he died.” I hand her the paper.

She glances at the information, skeptical. “He found it? Or did he have it all along?”

“This was a recent development.” Raffa readjusts the lapels of his suit jacket. “One of my contacts has been working to locate the account for over a year. The discovery only came last month.”

“Then I assume it’s pocket change.” Abri shoves the page at my chest. “Adena would’ve made sure there was nothing left behind for us.”

Michelo raises his brows. “Seven hundred and ninety-eight million is a lot of pocket change.”

Abri snaps her gaze to him, dumbfounded. Matthew curses under his breath. Remy stands stunned, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. And I stare, my pulse increasing, the future I had planned for my soon-to-be wife looking a whole lot brighter with the protection that money will bring.

“How the hell is there that much?” Abri whispers.

“You come from mafia royalty.” Eliseo scrunches his nose in disapproval. “What did you expect?”

“What did I expect?” She bristles. “You’d want to watch your tone. This is Baltimore, not New York.”

His smile is slight and slow to form. “Is that right?”

Bishop grabs her waist, dragging my sister behind him. “Do we have a problem?

“No. Not at all. We’re leaving.” Michelo claps the asshole on the back. “Go get the car.” He pauses a beat while Eliseo remains in place. “Congratulations on your windfall and good luck with your future endeavors.”

“What he meant to say is don’t fuck up our family legacy.” Eliseo shoves his hands into his pockets, his expression stormy as he turns and walks away.

“Well, isn’t he fucking delightful,” Abri grits out.

Raffa exhales a weary breath. “Our father’s death has hit Eli hardest. Please forgive him for his lack of manners.”

“So that tent peg isn’t always fastened up his ass?” Bishop asks.

“No, it definitely is. It’s just usually more subtle.” Michelo smirks and reaches for my hand again, starting a conga line of shakes and farewells before him and Raffa follow after their brother.

“Seven hundred and ninety-eight million,” Matthew breathes, the stunned money conversation gaining traction between my siblings as I search for the only thing of value that matters to me—the dark eyes of the most mesmerizing woman. They find mine from across the other side of the white wooden rows of seats.

She holds my attention as she clasps Olivia’s shoulder and says something before returning to my side.

Dressed to mourn but glowing with life, she completes me, smoothing the jagged parts of my soul and warming the sections once frozen to the world.

She stops in front of me, her eyes searching mine. “What’s wrong?”

I grab her hand, entwine our fingers, and drag her onto my lap, ignoring the sting from my healing bullet wound. “I want to get married.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m aware. You mention it daily.”

“I mean now. Right away. I don’t want to wait.”

Her gaze narrows with skepticism. “Please tell me you’re not the only person on the face of the planet who gets in the mood for holy matrimony at a funeral?”

“I’m the only man on the face of the planet that’s allowed to be obsessively consumed with spending the rest of my life with you at any event, at any time.” I slide a slow hand over her collarbone, up her neck, to her chin. “I want my ring on your finger before our baby is born.”

“Is this because that handsome guy was undressing me with his eyes?”

“ Handsome ?” I growl.

“Well, it’s not like I’m going to admit he was thigh-spreadingly gorgeous when you’re in a wheelchair looking like roadkill. Give me a little credit.”

I tighten my hold on her chin. “You’re not making me feel better, mi reina .”

She chuckles. “Aww. I’m sorry. I will endeavor to make you feel all the things once you get back into the hospital bed where you belong.”

“I’ll forgo the sponge bath and special treatment if you promise not to delay our nuptials.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re not the best negotiator, are you? Considering your sponge baths are the best part of my day.”

Mine fucking too.

“Ivy,” I warn. “I’m serious.”

The playfulness gently seeps from her features. “This is important to you.”

“It is.”

“Why?”

“I grew up in houses, not homes. I was raised by monsters, not family.” I graze my fingertips along her jaw, no longer caring about exposing vulnerabilities when she’s become the only one I have. “You’re the first place I’ve belonged, Ivy. And I don’t just want to wake up knowing you’re mine—I want it carved in stone, my commitment noted in history for the world to see.”

Her eyes glaze, those pregnancy hormones kicking in as she gives a hard swallow. “I adore you.”

“Is that a yes?”

She pauses, her beautiful lips holding me hostage until she finally whispers, “Make me your queen, Salvatore.”