Page 14 of Salvatore

In fact, all the broad strokes of her life are sitting in a neatly composed folder in my filing cabinet. I should’ve paid more attention when doing a background check on her employer.

What a fucking small world.

She takes a retreating step, ignoring me as her attention snaps to her friend. “Allison, I’m leaving.” She doesn’t wait for a response before striding toward the club entry.

Interesting.

It’s obvious she knows I’m bad news. But why?

The contract I orchestrated with the Pelosi Funeral Home was meant to be a secret. All the bodies I’ve arranged to be disposed of in their cremator aren’t supposed to be common knowledge to staff.

It’s bad enough that my brother fucked up and Carlo Pelosi’s daughter found out. But if anyone else knows…

Fucking hell, Remy.

I’d come to his club tonight to keep an eye on him.

It’s only been days since the Mexican cartel had a hit out on my baby brother, and although they agreed to back the fuck off, I don’t trust that they will.

Yet instead of a cartel threat, I’ve found a funeral home employee with far too much familiarity to be ignorant to my family’s crimes, and a venomous scowl that implies she’s mentally hexing me as I stand before her.

Olivia Pelosi must have opened her fucking mouth and let my private business slip out.

“I’m leaving.” The flawless beauty turns on her heel, her wild hair swinging, and starts across the dance floor.

I bridge the space between us, wrap my arm around her waist, and yank her backward into my chest. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

Her body stiffens against mine, all soft and warm while entirely rigid at the same time.

“Fleeing a predator usually triggers their hunting response.”

I don’t hear her scoff—I feel it. The light jerk of her frame before her hand slides over mine, her talons digging into the meaty part of my palm.

She turns and levels me with her venom as those nails dig deeper. “I’m nobody’s prey.”

Her words are far from flirty. They’re downright vicious. Yet my dick responds as if she’s just moaned in my ear and begged me to make her come.

“I’m going to forget we ever met.” She raises her chin, confident in her defiance. “And so are you.”

Then she walks away for a second time, disappearing into the growing crowd of patrons while the mousy receptionist rushes to follow. “Ivy, wait.”

Ivy.

That’s her fucking name.

I scrounge through my liquor-addled brain for more details from her background check and come up empty. From memory, the information on both female funeral home employees had been so nauseatingly boring that it took a toll on my mental health just to skim the bullet points of their dull existence.

But it’s time to take another look to see what I might have missed.

“Salvo, sir?”

I glance over my shoulder, finding my brother’s two right-hand men—Valenti and Russo—with grim expressions. “What is it?” My thoughts shift to the cartel. To my brother. To his safety.

“Carlo Pelosi,” Valenti announces as if the name is a complete explanation.

“What about him?” I snap, turning my attention back to the entry. I need to go after the woman. I have to find out what she knows.

“He’s dead,” Russo states.

---