Page 34 of Salvatore

He crosses his feet at the ankles, increasing my animosity with his nonchalance. “At his penthouse.”

“An address would be helpful.”

“So would your lack of interference,” he counters. “Did you not receive my text last night? I don’t appreciate being ignored.”

“That was you who threatened me during the early hours?” I feign ignorance. “I didn’t recognize the number.”

“You get those sort of texts often?”

I shrug. “What can I say? If popularity was a sport I’d have Olympic gold.”

His mouth quirks, and I hate to admit it’s fucking sublime. It’s the perfect teeth and generous lips set against the backdrop of flawlessly tanned Italian skin.

Still a wolf in wolf’s clothing, but a delectable one.

“You told me to wait until morning yet I’ve still heard nothing from Liv.” I approach my car, keeping a wide berth. “So can you quit the pretense and just tell me what your brother is doing to her?”

His nose scrunches with distaste. “That’s not something either of us want to visualize.” He pushes from my car, standing to his full domineering height. “But I’m happy to elaborate if that’s what you want. I just won’t do it here. I’ll drive you to my place where we can discuss it further.”

I bark a laugh and take a sip of coffee for good undaunted measure. “I’m going to have to take a hard pass on the willing abduction. I only have a few hours left before the police have to take my missing person’s report seriously.”

Not that my confidence in the cops is top tier. After my earlier arguments with the authorities about Liv, I’m pretty sure Salvatore’s family has them on the payroll, but storming my ass back into the station beats climbing into a car with a psychopath.

He strolls toward me, all broad shoulders and menacing grace. It’s such a goddamn plight on the human race that he looks good while doing it.

“Forgive me. Let me ask more nicely.” He stops a foot in front of me, the humor in his eyes seeming almost genuine as he weaves a hand beneath his suit jacket, sliding it aside and revealing a gun holstered in his waistband. “My car’s the black Porsche parked across the street. You can either ride shotgun or in the trunk. Which would you prefer?”

His confidence is infuriating. Sickening. And yes, okay, I’m slightly envious at how he fucking owns it, but that’s an unhinged fascination I’ll have to unpack with a trained professional at a later date.

“Why can’t we talk here?” I take another sip of coffee, the bitter taste not registering over my scrambling need to maintain control. “There are free tables in the cafe.”

“As cozy as that sounds, I haven’t slept in days, my patience is thin, and what we need to discuss isn’t fit for public consumption.”

Well, at least we have insomnia in common.

“Come on, Ivy. Let’s do this the easy way. The alternative is that you run, I chase. You scream, I silence. Do you really have the energy for all that when what I’m offering you is what you’ve been begging for?”

“Color me ungrateful, but I’d prefer my order to come without a side of rape and murder.” I sidestep him to make for my car.

A strong arm weaves around my waist, halting my escape. “Do I look like a man who needs to take women unwillingly?”

I loathe his constant need to manhandle me.

I drag in a deep breath, my insides tingling. I amnotturned on right now. Not at all… Okay, I totally am, but it’s not like I’m unaware I have issues. I’ve spent a pretty penny attempting to unravel my cognitive quirks. Especially the ones that revolve around men and sex. But being aware is half the problem. Or so my shrink says.

“Get in my car,bella.”

My libido taps out at his endearment. My blood runs cold.

It’s a common compliment. Even more so when spoken by someone with Italian lineage. But the syllables stab through me like a knife.

“That’s right, troublemaker.” He nuzzles the back of my ear, his heated breath awakening my skin in goose bumps. “This game is about to get more interesting.”

9

IVY

Even if Iwas tripping on acid while stuck in aGodfathermovie marathon, never would I have imagined that I’d be spending the middle of a delightful June day in the sports car of a drug lord less than twenty-four hours after my boss’s funeral where my best friend was abducted.

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