Page 200 of Salvatore

For now, it’s enough.

A throat clears nearby, the predictable interruption tearing a growl from my throat while Ivy turns rigid.

“I assume you don’t value your life.” I raise my voice to Lorenzo’s guard, who no doubt watches us from my uncle’s front door.

“He’s, uh, waiting for you, sir,” the guy responds.

I tighten my hold on Ivy, sensing the return of her unease. “Are you ready?”

“Do I have a choice?” she asks.

It’s a loaded question. One that I know better than to mess up this time. “Always.”

She raises her chin, her mask of determination sliding into place. “You weren’t so hard to train after all.” She pushes off the wall, spine straight, owning the confidence she’d lost as she strides toward the two linebacker-built men flanking Lorenzo’s door—every bit the goddess of war she was born to be.

They open the penthouse for her, allowing her to walk right in while I follow a step behind.

“Which way do we go?” She pauses in the massive living area, the space a testament to excess with its floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city skyline, polished marble underfoot, and a cream-colored sofa so plush it looks more decorative than functional.

“Down here.” I take the lead, pacing out the distance to the open office door, my hunger growing for the permission to kill I came for.

Lorenzo looks up from the papers scattered across his desk as we enter the room. “Ivy.” He greets her with detachment before turning his weary stare to me. “Salvatore. I trust your flight was uneventful.”

“The flight was,” I mutter. “The drive here, on the other hand, ended up being slightly more adventurous. I assume the cartel were the ones tailing us.”

He drags in a tired breath, the accompanying exhale more of a silent sigh. “This is getting out of hand.”

“We did as you requested. We laid low. We’re not to blame.”

“No, I suppose not.” He stares at me, exhaustion etched into his wrinkled features. “But I’ve grown tired of pondering violence and upheaval. Update me on the pregnancy.”

Ivy stiffens.

I follow suit. “I’m not here to discuss my child. It’s the cartel?—”

“Humor me,” he cuts me off, turning his attention to Ivy, indicating to one of the seats in front of his desk. “Are you well?”

She hesitates, shooting me a glance before claiming the chair with a nod. “Yes.”

“There’s been no complications from your injuries? No risk to the viability of?—”

“She’s keeping the baby.” I move to stand behind her, placing possessive hands on her shoulders while she leans back into the chair. “And if you have anyconcernsI suggest we discuss it at a later date.”

“There are no concerns.” He gives her a faux smile. “At least none that will be my responsibility after today.”

“After today?” I tighten my hold on her shoulders, sensing a dramatic shift in the relationship I’ve had with a man who’s acted as my mentor for almost two years. He’s been angry at me before. He’s been livid. This resigned detachment is different. “Are you kicking me out of the family?”

There’s another deep inhale. Another tired sigh. “No,figlio.”

“Then what is this?” I demand. “Are you still holding a grudge about Adena? I thought you’d welcomed us back to discuss my plans.”

“Youarewelcome. But not to discuss the cartel. You are here for other reasons.”

A shiver of warning crawls up my spine. “I didn’t risk bringing Ivy back to Baltimore to be fucked around. Why the hell was my mother so goddamn important to you?”

He raises his brows, his disappointment in my attitude etched into his features. “Because I kept her alive for a reason?—”

“What motherfucking reason?” I step between the chairs, approaching his desk. “What use was she to any of us apart from being a constant reminder of the damage she inflicted?”

---