Page 147 of Salvatore

I let him travel through his memories without pestering him. It’s just silence and contemplation while he glides the washcloth higher to the bandage covering the puncture wound on my waist, the opening of the jacket growing wider, threatening to expose my naked chest.

“How did you find her?” he asks.

“Who?” I swallow, knowing exactly where this conversation is leading but desperate to buy time.

The washcloth pauses on my waist and his eyes meet mine in the mirror.

He doesn’t repeat himself. He simply holds my focus.

I sigh. “By mistake.”

The cloth continues its path, slowly circling my waist bandage, covering my leg in water droplets.

“Give me the details,mi reina.”

I wither. Emotionally, at least. That endearment is my downfall, and when paired with the kind way he cleans me and the gentleness of his voice, I’m a lost cause. “Catarina kept disappearing with a tray of food. At first I thought they were her meals and asked her to eat with me, but she refused, claiming it was bad manners when I was a guest and she was an employee.”

“My mother’s meals, I assume.” He runs the washcloth in figure-eight loops around my waist and hip, circling my bandages.

“Yeah. I thought Catarina was eating in her own room until I found out she has a cottage elsewhere on the property. So I got curious. I didn’t mean to walk in on state secrets. I swear it wasn’t intentional.”

“How did you find the reinforced door, let alone open it?”

I tense against the enjoyment of his touch. “That doesn’t matter.”

“You’re pregnant with my child.” He meets my gaze. “And currently sporting more holes than a shower head, so I assure you it does.”

The velvety caress of his voice skitters down my spine, coaxing, disorientating. “I’m not going to tell you if you’re going to go postal.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. When it comes to things that put you in danger, you don’t get a say. Youwilltell me.”

I’m tempted to ask how he plans to force compliance. Problem is, I’m half-naked and my feminism is already on its knees, dazed and doe-eyed by his toxic masculinity. “You need to promise nobody will be punished for what happened.”

“I can promise you’ll never hear about anyone getting punished,” he counters.

I glower. “Salvatore.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Ivy. Tell me who put you in danger?”

I raise my chin, lips closed, stubbornness on lock.

“Would you prefer if I inflicted punishment and asked questions later? Because I’m more than happy to take aim at everyone that’s been under this roof while you’ve been here, which includes my brother and Olivia.”

Shit. I didn’t even think about Liv being on the suspect list. “You wouldn’t.”

He holds my gaze, not needing to reiterate he most definitely would.

“It was my fault. I was snooping.”

“Someone let you in,” he counters.

“No. When I went to check the room, one of the shelving units was sitting at an odd angle away from the wall and I wanted to know why.”

“And the soundproof door?”

I swallow. “It was open… Your mother called out to me.”

“Then what? You walked in, got too close, and she attacked?”

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