Page 229 of Salvatore

“I’m his escort.” Ivy shoos him away.

“In your condition?” He scoffs. “You shouldn’t be lugging around heavy weight.”

“Pregnancy isn’t a condition that forfeits someone from functioning,” she cuts back.

My brother leans down to me sitting in my fucking wheelchair, relegated to the bleachers under doctor’s orders after getting a temporary pass from my hospital sentence. “You hear how stubborn she is?”

“All I hear is her putting you in your place,” I drawl. “I suggest you don’t waste time arguing. She always gets what she wants.”

“Not always.” Ivy cocks a hip. “Do you forget that I didn’t want you leaving the hospital?”

“Shealmostalwaysgets what she wants,” I correct.

She smirks, carving another little piece of herself into my soul as Remy slinks away in a huff.

“Can you believe him?” She watches my brother go, absentmindedly running a hand over her flat belly. “As far as the underworld hierarchy goes, he’s beneath me, right?”

My lips curve. “You’remi reina. Everyone is beneath you.”

“Even you?” The sunlight hits her hair just right, making it glisten like polished obsidian.

“My favorite place is beneath you, troublemaker.”

Her smile deepens, a sinful glint narrowing her eyes. “Behave. It’s still a few weeks before you can get beneath anything.”

“It’s a preference, not a necessity. I can make you come in other?—”

“Salvatore?” My name is grated behind me, drawing Ivy’s attention over my shoulder.

She blinks. Blinks some more. Then snaps out of whatever daydream she’s in to grab the handles of my wheelchair and turn me to face the three men towering before me.

Dark hair. Dark eyes. Olive skin.

No need for AncestryDNA to confirm they’re Lorenzo’s offspring, but I’d known that the moment we arrived at the service.

“I’m Raffa.” The one in the middle holds out a hand.

I take the offering, returning the strong, cold handshake despite my slowly healing knuckles.

“Michelo.” The guy to his left introduces himself to Ivy. “And you are?”

“The cause of your death if you dare touch her.” I drop Raffa’s hand and narrow my gaze on the man looking at my fiancée like a meal he tends to devour.

Ivy clears her throat. “I, um, might leave you guys to it.” She squeezes my shoulder, the good one not confined to a fucking sling, then walks around my wheelchair, passing my brothers and Bishop, who make a beeline toward me.

“Let me guess.” I offer my hand to the third brother—the one with the permanent scowl. “We already have Raffa and Michelo, so you must be Donatello.”

His scowl deepens as he clasps my hand in a punishing grip. “You’re funny for a guy who’s one gentle shove away from becoming roadkill. The name’s Leonardo.”

I suppress a laugh. “Figures.”

“It was a joke, asshole. I’m Eliseo.” He drops my hand like it’s a dead fish.

“Eli,” Michelo warns under his breath. “Be nice.”

“It’s been a long morning,” Raffa adds in apology. “We appreciate you attending our father’s service.”

Remy scoffs as he stops at my side. “I’d believe that if you didn’t start the proceedings before we were seated.”

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