Page 150 of Salvatore

“Catarina is taking the day off. You’ll have to make do with what I’ve prepared.”

“Then prepare something better. I’m not eating this.”

“You’re hangry, Mother, and I’m tired. So eat it or don’t. I don’t care. I haven’t slept. I’ve been too busy cleaning up your mistakes.”

She huffs, not acknowledging the carnage-splattered floor, pretending as if it doesn’t exist while it taunts my periphery.

I’ve learned so much from her. The apathy. The manipulation. But she has to know my blood is boiling.

“We need to talk.” I cross my feet at the ankles and my arms over my chest.

She settles herself on her bed with an annoyed sigh and butters her toast, the stainless-steel knife glinting under the fluorescents. “About?”

“Tell me what happened last night.”

“What’s to tell?” She adds jam to her bread, seeming disinterested, no hint of guilt.

“Why don’t you start with how you met Ivy and obviously didn’t care for her company.”

She takes a dainty bite of toast. “She was somewhat of a distraction from life’s tedium. At least at first.”

“And then?”

She pauses, the crust poised a few inches from her mouth. “Then I discovered things I didn’t like about her.”

I itch to ask. To demand quicker answers. But exposing vested interest won’t work in my favor.

“Why would someone like that be in my brother’s house, Salvatore?”

“Someone like what?”

She smiles. “A Latina whore.”

The slur crawls under my skin, scratching at my loosely bottled rage.

“Her mother’s Greek,” I say blandly.

“And her father?” She takes another bite.

“He’s Gabriel Rodriguez. A rival mine, and the current leader of the Mexican cartel in Baltimore. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Surprise doesn’t enter her features. The same smile remains in place.

“Was it Catarina who told you?” I ask.

“You’ve always known that woman is a font of knowledge for me. For almost two years, you’ve fed her information knowing she will relay it to me somehow. Information used to manipulate me.” Her eyes twinkle with delight. “But I’m always one step ahead,figlio. Even when trapped in a basement with limited contact with the outside world.”

I measure my breathing. Maintain my calm posture. “Is that why you stabbed Ivy? Because of the connection to Rodriguez?”

“No.” She loops a finger through the coffee cup handle and raises it to take a sip.

I hold her gaze with practiced indifference, my composed exterior betraying none of the storm brewing beneath. “Then why?”

“She’s not the woman for you.”

“I never mentioned that she was. In fact, I never mentioned her at all.”

“No.” She takes another sip before lowering the cup to refocus on her toast. “But she was awfully chatty about you. That woman has feelings I don’t appreciate.”

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