Page 101 of Salvatore

Catarina is concerned you haven’t left your room, so from now on meals will be served at the dining table.

I wake to his message on day three and glower at his words as I read them for a second time. I haven’t left my room because there’s no need. I have everything I require within these four walls—amenities, bed, food…his gun.

Okay, so maybe I’m slightly acclimatized to isolation given my previous captivity, but I’m also living in enemy territory.

Ivy

Thanks for the concern. But I prefer my room.

Salvatore

It’s non-negotiable.

I wish I could throw the heavy-handedness back in his face. To tell him I’ll walk and find more hospitable accommodation. Problem is, we both know I don’t have that flexibility.

Ivy

I bet you feel like a big boy for revoking my room service privileges, but bossing around a full-grown woman is a major ick.

Salvatore

Not only is it a feeling, it’s a reality. Do I need to send you a pic to jog your memory?

Ivy

I guess ‘big’ is a relative term.

I thrust my cell away again, hating that I not only lack the necessity of a picture to jog my memory, but that I also agree with his insinuation.

I shower while in a mood, dry my hair as I scowl at my bruised and battered reflection in the mirror, then make my way into the open living area where the snitch busily hustles around the kitchen.

She pauses as I pull out a seat and take my place at the dining table, the sad smile she levels on me eating away at my annoyance.

“I’m sorry,dolcezza.” She approaches, her brow creased with remorse. “I was worried about you.”

“I understand, and the worry is appreciated, but you don’t need to go to Salvatore with your concerns. Just talk to me instead.”

Her pained smile deepens. “It is habit. My duty is to report to Lorenzo, but he has stated that I answer to Salvatore in regards to your well-being.”

I roll my eyes. “It must be tough working with men who haven’t evolved from primitive ways.”

She chuckles. “You would be surprised.” She makes her way back to the kitchen and pulls open the fridge. “Salvatore can be quite attentive and generous.”

“Are we talking about the same guy—roughly six-foot, dark features, smug smirk, arrogant personality?”

Her laughter continues as she places a carton of eggs on the counter.

“How often does he stay here?” I ask.

“At least once a month. Sometimes more if I’m lucky.”

“And why does he come? What does he do in Virginia Beach?”

She pauses in the middle of opening the egg carton, her lips parting on silent words, the awkwardness lasting a few seconds before she pastes on a sweet smile—aforcedsweet smile. “I’m not sure.” She returns to the fridge, rummaging aimlessly through the shelves as if the task is an excuse to keep her face hidden from me. “Business I assume. But I don’t pry.”

Bullshit.

She knows exactly why he comes here and I bet it’s for something shady.

---