Page 231 of Salvatore

Bishop grabs her waist, dragging my sister behind him. “Do we have a problem?

“No. Not at all. We’re leaving.” Michelo claps the asshole on the back. “Go get the car.” He pauses a beat while Eliseo remains in place. “Congratulations on your windfall and good luck with your future endeavors.”

“What he meant to say is don’t fuck up our family legacy.” Eliseo shoves his hands into his pockets, his expression stormy as he turns and walks away.

“Well, isn’t he fucking delightful,” Abri grits out.

Raffa exhales a weary breath. “Our father’s death has hit Eli hardest. Please forgive him for his lack of manners.”

“So that tent peg isn’t always fastened up his ass?” Bishop asks.

“No, it definitely is. It’s just usually more subtle.” Michelo smirks and reaches for my hand again, starting a conga line of shakes and farewells before him and Raffa follow after their brother.

“Seven hundred and ninety-eight million,” Matthew breathes, the stunned money conversation gaining traction between my siblings as I search for the only thing of value that matters to me—the dark eyes of the most mesmerizing woman. They find mine from across the other side of the white wooden rows of seats.

She holds my attention as she clasps Olivia’s shoulder and says something before returning to my side.

Dressed to mourn but glowing with life, she completes me, smoothing the jagged parts of my soul and warming the sections once frozen to the world.

She stops in front of me, her eyes searching mine. “What’s wrong?”

I grab her hand, entwine our fingers, and drag her onto my lap, ignoring the sting from my healing bullet wound. “I want to get married.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m aware. You mention it daily.”

“I mean now. Right away. I don’t want to wait.”

Her gaze narrows with skepticism. “Please tell me you’re not the only person on the face of the planet who gets in the mood for holy matrimony at a funeral?”

“I’m the only man on the face of the planet that’s allowed to be obsessively consumed with spending the rest of my life with you at any event, at any time.” I slide a slow hand over her collarbone, up her neck, to her chin. “I want my ring on your finger before our baby is born.”

“Is this because that handsome guy was undressing me with his eyes?”

“Handsome?” I growl.

“Well, it’s not like I’m going to admit he was thigh-spreadingly gorgeous when you’re in a wheelchair looking like roadkill. Give me a little credit.”

I tighten my hold on her chin. “You’re not making me feel better,mi reina.”

She chuckles. “Aww. I’m sorry. I will endeavor to make you feelall the thingsonce you get back into the hospital bed where you belong.”

“I’ll forgo the sponge bath and special treatment if you promise not to delay our nuptials.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re not the best negotiator, are you? Considering your sponge baths are the best part of my day.”

Mine fucking too.

“Ivy,” I warn. “I’m serious.”

The playfulness gently seeps from her features. “This is important to you.”

“It is.”

“Why?”

“I grew up in houses, not homes. I was raised by monsters, not family.” I graze my fingertips along her jaw, no longer caring about exposing vulnerabilities when she’s become the only one I have. “You’re the first place I’ve belonged, Ivy. And I don’t just want to wake up knowing you’re mine—I want it carved in stone, my commitment noted in history for the world to see.”

Her eyes glaze, those pregnancy hormones kicking in as she gives a hard swallow. “I adore you.”

“Is that a yes?”

She pauses, her beautiful lips holding me hostage until she finally whispers, “Make me your queen, Salvatore.”

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