Page 162 of Salvatore

“Bishop,” Abri demands.

“Fine. I’ll do it my-fucking-self.” He turns to my sister. “Ivy’s got herself a fuck trophy.”

“A what?” Layla tugs on Matthew’s hand while he mutters a curse.

“A fuck trophy,” Bishop repeats. “She’s pregnant.”

Olivia pales, eyes wide, mouth agape.

Ivy presses her forehead to my shoulder. “This isn’t the way I wanted my best friend finding out.”

“Who’s the father?” Abri says in a rush, the men outside almost at the doors.

“Me,” I growl, the ownership escaping before I can think better of it.

There are muttered curses and dramatic indrawn breaths as the sound of the front door opening carries through the house, the thud of innumerable feet following close behind.

“You best believe we’re going to discuss this later.” Remy guides Olivia behind him.

“We’re going to be discussing a lot of fucking things.” Matthew jerks his chin at Layla. “Stay on the sofa. Try and relax.”

The men from the backyard enter through the glass doors seconds before Lorenzo advances from the hall, walking cane in use at his side, a team of three men in tow.

“His guards only enter the house under threatening circumstances.” Ivy stares up at me, gaze bleak. “That’s what you said weeks ago…”

Her fear enrages me, makes me fucking livid. “Nothing’s going to happen.” I move to shield her, exchanging places so she stands at my back.

“I didn’t realize a party had been planned.” Lorenzo stops in the middle of the room, his gaze coming to rest on Bishop. “I wasn’t even aware you were making plans to come to Virginia Beach after our earlier conversation.”

Bishop remains stone-faced. “The kid messed up. I thought Matthew deserved to know. Things escalated from there.”

“Things escalated?” Lorenzo muses. “How fitting. Seems like escalation is the only direction our lives have taken since I started preparing someone to take over the family—someone who’s turning out to be more of a threat than an asset.” His eyesmeet mine, cold and contemptuous. “Did I not tell you to lay low, Salvatore?”

“We did.” I grind my teeth and tighten my grip on my gun. “We’re not to blame for this.”

He approaches, his steps slow, his cane thudding. “Didn’t I make it abundantly clear that the woman you’re so eager to hide behind your back needed to act as if she had disappeared?” He raises his voice. “Not taken to my estate to be stabbed by my own sister?”

My nostrils flare, my molars aching under the pressure of my jaw.

“I didn’t want to be involved in this,” he spits.

“You’re not?—”

“Myname.Myfamily. Myhouse,” he roars, his cheeks darkening. “And what of my sister?”

Hissister. Notmymother.

He always considers his connection before mine—as if a sibling relationship is more important than that of mother and child.

“You killed her, didn’t you?” He stops before me, the knuckles on his right hand whitening under the tightening grip on his cane. “Do you know what we do with those who murder family? Do you understand the repercussions?”

His guards shift, a few of them claiming a tighter hold on their weapons, others standing taller.

If he kills me, he kills Ivy,andmy child.

I can’t let that happen.

I won’t.

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