Page 203 of Salvatore

“Are you okay?” I demand in greeting.

His breathing is ragged, as if he’s running. “Yeah, but I was just fucking shot at on the street. Not exactly the welcome back to Baltimore I expected.”

“Where’s Layla?”

“My men are with her. She’s safe for now. But something is going down. You need to lay low.”

No. Laying low is the last thing I want to do. That’s not how I’ll lead this family. Not the message I’ll send to our enemies.

“Get to Lorenzo’s penthouse.” I stare at Ivy, trying to reassure her I’m still committed to my vow. “The cartel may have got the jump on the war, but I’m going to end it.”

43

SALVATORE

I moveto Ivy’s side, typing a text to the building manager. “I’ll have this place put on lockdown.”

Lorenzo pushes to his feet, moving to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city below. “There will be bloodshed,figlio. And loss.” There’s resignation in his voice. “You need to prepare yourself.”

Ivy stares up at me. “What’s happening?”

“We’re under attack.” I glide a soothing hand over her back and type another message, the blanket text sent to everyone of importance, only one word necessary.

Salvatore

Red.

“The cartel are either desperate to make the first move or New York sent reinforcements.” I pocket my cell and palm her cheek. “But we’re stronger regardless. You don’t need to worry.”

She swallows, her face leaning in to my touch.

“It won’t be easy.” Lorenzo stares down at the streets below. “We have more to lose. But I have faith in you, Salvatore. I know you will make me proud.”

The praise lands like a punch, but not the bruising kind—one that knocks the breath from my lungs to leave me reeling with something I don’t know how to hold.

I haven’t heard those words before. Not directed at me anyway.

My father didn’t give praise. My mother thrived on criticism.

I’m about to mutter an awkward response when a hollowtinksplits the air.

I frown. Ivy flinches. There’s a half-second of silence—then the window before Lorenzo shatters, cascading to the carpet in a chaotic sheet of jagged shards.

“Get down.” I drag Ivy to the floor, shielding her with my body as wind howls through the room, whipping her hair about her face. “Are you hurt?” I scan her from head to toe, running frantic hands over her limbs.

“No. I’m good.” She gives a frenzied shake of her head.

“Lorenzo?” I glance over my shoulder, finding my uncle shell-shocked, a hand grasping the side of his neck as he teeters on his feet.

“Shit. Stay down,” I order Ivy and rush to him. “How bad is it?”

He drops to his knees, eyes stark, face pale, blood oozing around the fingers clasped to his neck.

I go down with him, catching him before he collapses on all fours. “Let me see.” I tug at his wrist, his palm peeling from his skin to reveal a small, perfectly circular hole leaking claret.

Fuck.

I lean around him, finding the exit wound two inches behind—jagged and weeping. “It’s through and through, old man. Barely a graze on the outside of your neck.” I shove his hand back in place, pressing hard. “Not even close to your jugular. You’ll be fine.”

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