Page 195 of Salvatore

I sit on the floor in the corner of my bedroom, that gruffly spoken title ringing in my ears as I stare at the gun in my hands.

The house is deathly quiet, only the occasional faint thud carrying from the basement.

It’s at least thirty-five minutes before there’s a knock on my door and Salvatore’s barely muttered, “You can come out,” echoes from the hall.

I rush to my feet and yank open the door just in time to see him disappear into the open living area. I follow, reaching the archway to find him in the kitchen drying his hands with paper towel.

“Have you eaten?” he asks.

Have I eaten?

Two guards approach down the hall, carrying a human-sized object covered in black plastic, and he’s asking me about my eating habits?

“We’re getting out of here.” He throws the paper into the trash and strides to the fridge. “I’m taking you back to Baltimore. You need to eat before we leave.”

I approach the kitchen. “And you need to pause a minute and talk to me before you start in on the dictatorial plans.”

He raises his right hand, focusing on his bloodied, swelling knuckles, his lack of eye contact clearly deliberate.

“Salvatore?” I stop on the opposite side of the island counter. “Are you okay?”

He scowls at his knuckles. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Because he’s thrumming with the aftershocks of destruction.

I circle the counter, moving to his side to cautiously slide my palm beneath his and entwine our fingers. “You don’t look okay.”

“Well, I am. So quit asking.” He makes to pull away, but I hold tight.

“I’ll quit after you talk to me.”

He snarls, his aggression going unchecked. “I don’t know if you expected harmonious fucking composure, but that ship has sailed.” He draws our entwined hands to his chest, pulling me closer. “That guard wasn’t just compromised—he was bought by the cartel. And if Gabriel can get to Lorenzo’s men, there’s no saying who else he can get to.”

I swallow and raise my chin. “He can’t get to you.”

He scoffs. “It’s a dangerous fucking world if you’ve only got me to rely on.”

“I had a whole lot less before you came into my life.” I stroke my thumb over the muscled plain of his chest, gently coaxing, patiently waiting. “Why do you want to return to Baltimore?”

He holds my gaze, the stretching silence making way for a calm surrender. “Because it isn’t safe here anymore, and Remy has men he trusts back there.”

“So you’reaskingme if I want to leave?”

His jaw ticks as his mouth forms a thin, closed line.

Red flags billow in front of me, snapping in the breeze. I might be out of my depth enough to want him to make the hard decisions. But I won’t let him take away my choice.

“Are you asking, Salvatore, or telling?” My pulse pounds, every beat a silent plea for him not to ruin this.

“You can’t expect me to tiptoe around your feelings when your life is on the line.”

“I can and I will.” My voice remains steady despite the underlying frailty behind it. “And if you’re unable to respect me enough to give me freedom to make my own decisions then I’ll be forced to face this on my own.”

“You have my respect,” he bites out. “You have everything. All I’ve ever done is keep you safe.”

“So are you asking or telling?”

His eyes narrow, his anger a slow burn that tightens every muscle in his body.

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