Page 33 of Salvatore

She’s in trouble. I can feel it.

She’s a proud introvert who only frequents two places—her house and the funeral home. She doesn’t have any close friends outside of me and Allison. She doesn’t humor hobbies or interests besides work. She’s an automaton and the most predictable person I know. Yet she hasn’t been seen in almost twenty-four hours.

“Ivy.” The barista slides my takeaway cup across the counter, not breaking her gaze from her commercial gurgling coffee machine.

I stagger forward to claim my prize—“Thanks”—and take a sip, hoping the caffeine will fuel me with enough energy to drive the block home, shower, change, then return back to my one-woman search party.

But neither the first, second, or third sip of the bitter drink brings any sort of pep to my step.

I’m still dead on my feet and poised to push through the glass door onto the sidewalk when my cell vibrates in my hand. I pause inside the cafe, relief punching through me.

I haven’t received a call all night. Not from Liv. Not from the police. Not from anyone. It has to be her. But when I glance down at the screen an unfamiliar number stares back at me.

I juggle my coffee and swipe to connect the call. “Hello?”

“Good morning, troublemaker.” A shiver runs down my spine at the smug smirk in Salvatore Costa’s tone. “You’re a hard woman to find.”

I stumble backward as someone nudges past me to get to the door.

“I thought I told you not to go to the police,” he continues in that effortless drawl. “Do I seem like the type to make demands without expecting compliance?”

I swallow over the dryness taking over my throat. I spent my youth surrounded by murderous, threatening scumbags. It was enough insight to learn there’s no stopping Salvatore if he wants to hurt me.

It was an informed decision to defy him. I weighed the risk against the potential reward, and Liv’s life is worth more to me than whatever Salvatore can dish out. Even if his retaliation results in my death.

“No,” I add censure to my voice. “But you do seem the type to practice your threats in front of a mirror. I bet you convinced yourself you looked like a force to be reckoned with while dribbling those words at your reflection.”

I cringe, cursing my idiotic lack of restraint. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me… well, apart from the usual childhood trauma. I was never like this in my youth. I obeyed orders. Heeded warnings. Had self-preservation.

“You’ve got a smart mouth.” His tone deepens an octave. So devilishly low and sinister. “Don’t tempt me to silence it.”

“I’d like to see you try.” I stride for the cafe doors, eager to get home, and flick down my sunglasses as I push into the midday sun. It’s warm out. Far too warm to be managing the heat along with exhaustion.

“Is that a challenge?” he asks.

“No, but I’m sure anyone with a fragile ego might think it—” The taunt dies on my lips as I raise my gaze, my footsteps faltering at the sight of my car. Or more specifically, the man leaned against the hood.

Salvatore stares at me, one brow raised, his cell at his ear as he says, “You were saying?”

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The dryness in my throat intensifies.

I attempt to ignore it. To shut it down. To remain composed.

That night at the club—before I’d bothered to cast my gaze over the guy I’d been rabid for—I’d sensed he had killer energy. I wish I’d realized my intuition meant it in a literal sense.

I lower my phone and raise my chin, refusing to appear daunted.

He’s no more of a threat than the long list of men I’ve successfully navigated for years. He’s not special. He doesn’t get a prize.

I walk toward him, determined, delusional. “Where’s Olivia?”

“I assume she’s still with my brother.”

“And where might that be?”

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