Page 198 of Salvatore

With a screech of tires, Russo jerks the steering wheel, driving us back into traffic, cutting hard across both lanes and launching over the median.

Shit.I hold Ivy down as the Suburban bucks over holes and mounds before lurching into the opposite lanes of traffic.

Cars swerve. Horns blare. Headlights flash.

“Exit ramp,” Valenti barks.

“That’s the fucking plan.” Russo yanks the wheel toward the exit, the back tires fishtailing as Ivy squeals, her nails biting into my thigh.

“We’re almost in the clear.” I grip her tighter, my eyes locked on the rear window.

We take a sharp turn onto a residential road. Blow through an amber light. Nearly get T-boned passing through a stop sign.

Still no white Sedan.

“I think we lost ’em.” Valenti continues to eyeball his side mirror.

“Yeah,wedid a great job,” Russo mutters, laying off the gas.

I run my fingers through Ivy’s hair, attempting to quell the fury simmering under my skin at how someone else dared to come at me—ather.

“Can I sit up?” she whispers, her brow furrowed from fear, but now there’s something more, something that’s confirmed as pain as she places a palm to her abdomen.

“Is it your stomach?” I grab her arm, helping her to sit.

“I’m good. It’s just that my wounds don’t appreciate being hunched over.” She shoots a tense glance at the rear window. “They’re definitely gone?”

My anger intensifies. Building. Morphing. “For now.” I grit my teeth through it, vowing vengeance, but not at the expense of what I promised.

She wants me to remain safe and I want to honor that request, not only because she begged, but because she’s the only one who’s ever cared enough to ask.

“I’ll put an end to this,mi reina.” I slide a possessive arm around her shoulders.

I’ll do as she asks. I’ll take my time. But I won’t plan a war.

What I have in store for the cartel is a bloodbath. A fucking slaughter.

I’ve already instructed Matthew and Bishop to get their asses to Baltimore. Layla has asked the same of her brother and any men he can spare. And between them, our lieutenants, soldiers, and associates, everyone is on standby, ready to move.

The rest of the drive is tense, my thirst for blood clawing at my throat.

By the time Russo enters the private parking garage of Lorenzo’s building I’m ready to put my gun in someone’s mouth and pull the trigger just to take the edge off.

“Do you want an escort upstairs?” Valenti asks as he opens Ivy’s door.

“No. Take our bags to my townhouse and keep your ears to the ground.” I slide across the seat behind her and climb out. “Let me know if word starts to spread that we’re back in town.”

“No problem.” He lingers beside the Suburban, watching as we walk into Lorenzo’s private elevator, the thick metal doors closing between us.

Then there’s nothing but silence.

Ivy stands rigid in the corner, biting at a fingernail, her unease thick enough to choke on.

“What’s on your mind?” I murmur, already aware her answer will increase the anger consuming me.

Her discomfort affects me too fucking much. I need her smiling, teasing, calling meniñitojust to piss me off. I want her making my life a goddamn nightmare becausethis—her quiet fear—thisis worse than anything she could throw at me.

“Do you want me to placate you with a vapid discussion about the weather?” she asks. “Or should we get real and talk about my rapidly shrinking life expectancy and how we’re about to reunite with your uncle who—last time I checked—wanted me dead?”

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