Page 157 of Salvatore

“Can someone please tell me what happened?” Olivia crouches before Ivy, her doe-eyed innocence reaching a whole new level. When the silence stretches she turns that weak, unbecoming attention to Remy, then me.

“She was stabbed.” I lean forward and reclaim my coffee mug. Without something to occupy my hands I’m far too inclined to wrap them around her throat.

“Stabbed?” she gasps.

“I’m fine.” Ivy grabs Olivia’s fingers. “Totally fine.”

“Totally fine?” Olivia’s voice rises to a falsetto. “Are you high?”

“Probably a little bit.” Ivy shrugs. “Hospital drugs.”

Abri chuckles and Layla remains quietly pensive, while Bishop, Remy and Matthew commit to being stone-faced.

“It wasn’t like I was stabbed with a butcher’s knife.” Ivy squeezes her friend’s hand reassuringly. “They were only knitting needles. The puncture wounds are tiny.”

“Waitwhat?” Abri pins me with a trauma-filled gaze. “Knitting needles?”

“Fucking knitting needles?” Matthew scowls at Bishop, relaying a silent message.

“Our mother did this?” Remy moves closer.

The raucous verbal onslaught reclaims the room—Olivia asking for clarity, Ivy placating her best friend, Abri demanding confirmation that Adena is still imprisoned, while my brothers sneer amongst themselves.

I’m over the theatrics. Wrung dry of the drama. I’m too fucking tired for this shit.

“It’s been handled.” I raise my voice over the noise.

“Handled how?” Abri asks in accusation.

Spitting facts isn’t something I’m prepared to do in front of Ivy. Not when I can’t predict how she’ll react.

“You’d better open your fucking mouth, Salvatore.” Abri lunges off the sofa. “Or do you expect me to find out for myself?”

I keep my mouth shut as Ivy’s expression turns from unsettled to anxious. She doesn’t need this added stress.

“You’re such a dick.” Abri turns on her heel and power-walks for the hall.

Remy follows.

Soon they’re stalking from the room toward the basement—Bishop, Matthew, Layla—all except Olivia, who remains knelt onthe floor in front of Ivy, who stares at me with such pleading desperation it peels layers of armor from my charcoaled soul.

“What did you do?” she whispers.

“I managed a threat.”

“Managed?” Her eyes glisten with moisture as Olivia glances between us, watching our interaction as if it’s a tennis match.

“That’s what I said,mi reina.”

Ivy lowers her gaze to her lap. “Should I be making plans to flee?”

“No matter what he’s done, I think the response to that is a resoundingyes.” Olivia climbs to her feet. “Let me get you out of here.” She grabs Ivy’s arm. “Come on. I’ll help you up.”

“She’s not going anywhere. But you will if you don’t take your hands off her.” I root my feet in place before I can make good on my threat.

Ivy sighs. “Calm down.Bothof you.”

“Ive…” Olivia pleads.

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