Page 39 of Salvatore

“Ivy,” I warn, my impatience intensifying.

She keeps her focus on the counter, her eyes hardening.

“Does Olivia know your secret?” I ask. “Did Carlo?”

Still, there’s no response.

I picture myself stalking around the counter, palming her chin, and coaxing my thumb over her plump bottom lip until words spill out. Her mouth would be so fucking soft. Her tongue no match against my own. I’d leave her gasping for air. Clawing for grounding. Screaming from?—

Jesus Christ.

“I need a drink.” I shove from the counter and disappear into the butler’s pantry, grabbing a bottle of Jack from an overhead shelf.

I need to pull my shit together. To figure out what Ivy knows. What thecartelknows. If they have insight, it’s the perfect excuse to convince Lorenzo war is necessary. I’ll make sure they think more than twice next time they contemplate the assassination of one of my siblings.

“Are you drinking in the pantry like an alcoholic?” Ivy calls out. “Or can I expect you to extend the slightest courtesy and share your stash?”

I smirk at the tinned goods lining my shelves. I don’t even know why. This situation has become beyond complicated. The loose ends. The increasing liabilities. Yet somehow I continue to crave this exchange with her.

I grab an unopened bottle of Belvedere too and return to the kitchen, enjoying the way her dark eyes track me with indifference back to the opposite side of the counter.

“Vodka or Jack?” I dump the liquor on the marble.

She screws up her face, scowling at the whiskey. “Definitely vodka.”

I slide the bottle toward her and keep my fascination in check as she claims her prize, pops the cork lid, then proceeds to drink the alcohol straight from the bottle. “Classy.”

She winces her way through a hard swallow. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She chokes a little. “I didn’t realize class was a prerequisite. When will yours be joining the chat?”

I will not fucking laugh. Not at her infallible tenacity, or the fact she’s got bigger balls than any man I’ve met. I lock that shit down, my gaze intent on her lips as she licks away the moisture, seeming oblivious to how goddamn mesmerizing she is.

“You never answered my question.” I crack the whiskey lid, my limbs alive with how good it feels to spar. How fucking invigorating it is to experience anything other than anger and sickening animosity. “Why are you working at a funeral home?”

“Because it’s a job.” She holds my gaze. “A good one at that. Carlo paid me well, and believe it or not, I didn’t have a lot of job offers before that.”

“Because you’re uneducated?”

“Iameducated.” She glowers. “I left Bryn Mawr at the end of tenth grade, but I still received my high school diploma.”

“How?”

“I finished my education online.” She reaches for the glass of water and takes a sip. “Why are you so concerned about my position at the funeral home?”

I break eye contact and grab two scotch glasses from a drawer below the counter. “Concern is too strong a word. I’m merely trying to get to know you.”

I want to confirm my suspicions that Gabriel arranged Ivy’s emancipation as some sort of safety measure for his daughter. To hide her in plain sight. Why else would she remain in Baltimore?

She chuckles, all fake and fucking melodic. “Bullshit.”

“You think my interest in you is a lie?” I pour a finger of alcohol into my glass. “I thought we had a connection at the club. I can’t be the only one who felt it,mi bella reina.”

The charm slowly fades from her features, her faux delight no longer in sight. She stands taller. More cautious. A serious woman who’s seriously intoxicating. “I’m not naive, Salvatore. I’m well aware of the threat you pose to my life. But if you’re looking for information on the people who raised me, I promise I can’t help you. The emancipation is real. I’ve fought hard not to have anything to do with Gabriel Rodriguez since I was sixteen.”

I raise my glass, eying her over the rim as I take a sip. “You have nothing to do with him, yet you seem to have kept up-to-date with the workings of the underworld. How else would you know about me when I’m relatively new to the area? I haven’t even made waves in public circles yet.”

She indulges in another gulp of vodka. “Just because I escaped doesn’t mean I’m free. I keep track of the monsters that surround me. And you were added to that list months ago.” She walks for the open living area, past my dining table, and then the sofa.

I drag another taste of whiskey through my teeth, determined not to acknowledge the monster barb as she stops before the wood-framed glass doors leading outside. “How did you find out about me?”

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