Page 124 of Salvatore

Remy leads a pleading Olivia from the open living area, murmuring words of placation as I stride for the glass door Ivy escaped through. The birds continue to squawk, the caw and prattle dying down while I walk toward her standing rigid at the far corner of the building.

The moonlight kisses her hair, making the dark strands glossy as she takes in the expansive gardens bathed in moonlight.

She wants to run. I assume the two guards surveying her are stopping that from happening—one camouflaged in the shrubbery, the other in plain view a few yards away with a rifle at ease by his side.

I jerk my chin, instructing them to leave.

They follow my silent command, turning on military heels to march in opposite directions.

Her posture relaxes a little as she crosses her arms over her chest, not bothering to turn and greet me.

I clear my throat. “If you’re expecting an apology for ordering the deaths of your uncle and cousin, I’m going to break it to you gently when I say that’s never going to?—”

“That’s not an expectation.” She pivots farther away, a silent shun while the pain in her voice sickens me. “In fact, I’d be surprised if you understood the concept of an apology, let alone the ability to articulate one.”

“That’s a little harsh. But I’m willing to prove you wrong.” I slide my hands into my pockets, still a slave to the constant need to touch her. “I can wholeheartedly apologize for the effect my charm and dashing good looks have on your lust.”

She sighs, still staring out into the bleak night.

“You didn’t like that one, huh?” I stroll around her, stopping to stand a few feet in front of her. “How about, I’m sorry you enjoy my company more than you’d like to admit?”

Her expression is deadpan. Devoid of expression. Yet still annoyingly exquisite.

“I’m sorry you probably find it hard to come to terms with how easily I make you come,” I deliver with a forced grin. “And that I’ve ruined the memory of every other man who came before me because of my infallible prowess.”

She scowls. “Are you done?”

“I don’t have to be if you need more convincing of my apologetic expertise…”

She looks away, staring over my shoulder with eyes that shimmer with an emotion I despise. The men she mourns were rapists. Traffickers. They don’t deserve her thoughts, let alone her tears.

“How’s the fresh air?” I move to the wall, resting my back against the warm brick.

“It was substantially better without your scent tainting it.”

I glance down at my shoes, hiding a smirk. “I thought you were going to run.”

“I wanted to.” She speaks to the moon. “Even if just to feel free for a few seconds. But I didn’t realize how hard it would be to step outside for the first time since arriving here.”

“You haven’t been outside?” Why didn’t Catarina mention that? She’d told me Ivy had been doing well. That she’d been leaving her room. Smiling. Eating. Chatting. I kept my goddamn distance because I didn’t want to risk interrupting her momentum.

“Those guards with their shiny rifles don’t make the outdoors seem all that inviting.” She sniffs, her left leg jittering.

She doesn’t feel safe, and I don’t fucking appreciate her having to feel that way.

I push from the wall to invade her line of sight, cutting off her view to the men with guns. “Why would you grieve men like Javier and Miguel?”

She turns her head away, denying me the chance to read her expression. “Who says I’m grieving?”

“Clearly, you’re upset.” Her confidence has been eroded, her sass lacking its usual luster. I don’t like her like this. “Your grief is?—”

“I’mnotgrieving.” She snaps pleading eyes to me. “Don’t pretend to know what I’m feeling. You have no idea.”

“Then clear up the misconception, because to me it seems as though you’re heartbroken that I ordered the death of rapists.”

She winces, her posture losing its rigidity. “I’m not heartbroken, Salvatore.”

Yes, she fucking is. She’s almost at the point of tears.

---