Page 119 of Salvatore

“Your costs are covered, Ms. Ellsworth,” he mutters.

“Yes. Absolutely,” the woman gushes. “Thank you, Mr. Costa, but you’ve overpaid.”

“The excess funds are for your discretion, as previously discussed. Now leave.” He keeps his attention locked on me as he speaks, his effortless confidence tickling parts of me I wish he couldn’t touch.

She hustles and grabs an armful of clothing off her rack. “Would you like me to find a place for all these in the wardrobe or?—”

“Dump them on the bed,” Salvatore growls with impatience.

“Right. No problem.” She does as instructed, grabbing chunk upon chunk of expensive clothing while me and Sally continue our stare-off until she finally wheels her empty clothes rack into the hall. “Thank you again. I’ll see myself out.”

Salvatore remains silent as I murmur my appreciation, then we’re left alone, Liv and Remy’s quiet conversation carrying from another part of the house while I try to determine why being indebted feels so freaking awful.

I scrub a hand through my hair and turn toward the clothes. “I didn’t want this.”

“Is it such a bad thing to be dressed in outfits that complement your beauty?”

I close my eyes, appreciating the compliment way too much, especially after the orgasm appetizer. “It is when the clothes aregiftedfrom someone who is soon to be taking control of a criminal empire. I had no idea of your role in the organization. I would’ve donea lotof things differently if I’d known.”

He strolls closer, commanding every nerve in my body when he stops mere inches behind me. “What would you have changed?”

He knows exactly what—the flirtation, the sex, the stupidity.

He stops behind me—rightbehind me—his proximity making the skin on the back of my neck tingle with goosebumps. “When God forsakes you, why not dance with the devil?”

I drag in a strengthening breath, agreeing with his logic a little too much. “I’d prefer to dance alone.”

“I don’t believe you.” He maneuvers around me and meets my eyes, the unholy confidence in his making me weaken.

“I don’t want the clothes, Salvatore.” The words come out far more flimsy than I’d like.

“You don’t want the debt,” he corrects, gliding a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

“Same thing.” I pull away. “As it is, I want you to tally up everything I owe you to date so I can repay you as soon as I’m able.”

His lips gain a taunting curve. “I don’t think my accountant would appreciate that tedious request.”

“I’m serious. I don’t want this hanging over my head to be used at a later date.”

His gaze hardens, the incremental shift from playful to pissed dousing me with regret. “I’m above financial manipulation, Ivy. There’s no debt from the clothes. And your time here is offered under Lorenzo’s hospitality. So take the win for what it is, and maybe instead, act a little grateful.”

He cuts his gaze away, denying me the pleasure of those beautiful eyes as he strolls for the hall.

I can admit I sulk after his cutting departure, lingering in the heady scent of his intoxicating aftershave.

Liv sends me a photo text an hour later, the image of a cocktail in hand with crystal blue water in the background.

Liv

I’m poolside, trying to bleach my memory with alcohol. Come join me.

Intoxication would be a blessing right now, but I can’t.

I’m not stable enough for inebriation. I don’t want to lower my already flimsy guard.

Instead I spend the afternoon sifting through garments I adore and will never wear.

Not only am I uncertain of my ability to step foot in public for fear for my safety, but even if I could, I lack the finances to care for high-end fashion. Dry cleaning isn’t in my budget. I’m living a cold-wash, cheap-laundry-detergent lifestyle.

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