Page 151 of Salvatore

I huff a faint laugh. “So this is territorial.”

“Exactly. I can’t have her digging her claws into my favorite son.”

That title has always left a bitter taste in my mouth. It’s a taunt. A biting one. The favorite implies better treatment. More privileges. A hint of respect.

I’ve received none of those things.

I smirk, playing the game. “Tell me what you didn’t like about her.”

She bites the toast, chews, then washes it down with a gulp of coffee. “The fact she’s with child, for starters.”

My blood turns cold. “Did she tell you that?”

“Do you think I don’t recognize a pregnant woman when she’s standing right in front of me? That whore glows, Salvatore.”

“Bullshit. You didn’t figure it out from a mere fucking glow.”

Adena shrugs. “Catarina may have mentioned the lack of alcohol and caffeine consumption. And Ivy tends to touch her stomach absentmindedly. The signs are blindingly obvious when you have little else to focus on.”

I hadn’t seen them. Hadn’t had a clue.

“Were you aware the child is mine?” I grit out.

“Of course.” She raises the coffee to her mouth, a glimpse of a cunning smile forming right before she places the mug to her lips. “Why do you think I aimed my needles at her stomach?”

It takes all my restraint to remain seated. To not push to my feet and grab her through the bars. I need to feel the cartilage of her throat give way beneath the vise of my hands. To hear her rasped final breaths.

“That child will only ever be another blight on this family, Salvatore. Just like your sister’s abomination. If I didn’t succeed in terminating the pregnancy, you’d be smart to finish what I started.”

“You didn’t succeed,” I snarl. “In fact, Ivy is upstairs resting in one of Lorenzo’s guest rooms while you continue to rot in the basement.”

She grins. “Well, there’s always next time.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath waiting for another opportunity.”

“No?” She pouts. “Where’s the fun in that? I’m sure Ivy would come visit me if I asked. I’d just tug on those pathetic heartstrings of hers and beg forgiveness. She’s delusional enough to fall victim a second time.”

“I thought you wanted freedom.”

“I do.” She throws back the remainder of her coffee.

“And you still expect me to facilitate it after this?”

“Oh, no,figlio. I never expected it in the first place. But you work so hard to pretend you’re going to that I feel obliged to play along. Isn’t that part of the game—the one where you pussyfoot around, trying to get your hands on my money, while I act as if there’s any chance I’ll sive it to you?”

“Sive it to me?” I raise a brow.

She places her cup down, the crockery clattering against the saucer. “Don’t worry. You will be compenshated accorsingly if you get around to fashibit—” She pauses. Frowns.“Fashibitating. Fashibi—” Her frown deepens, and she shakes her head. “I’ll pay you if you help me escape… just as long as you’re not aligned with that Latina wh?—”

“Don’t call her that again,” I sneer. “This will get a lot harder if you do.”

“You need a goos, strong, Italian woman.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, her tone growing tired. “And with the money I have hidden, you could also have everysing you ever dreamed of. You would no longer have to apshease your siblings or live in your uncle’s shadow. You could disappear with me. We could start over.”

“Is that how you see this playing out?”

Her hand flops to her side, her gaze sightless as she stares at the tray before her, the silence stretching.

“Something wrong?” I ask.

---