Page 55 of Salvatore

Are you okay?

Why are you with Salvatore Costa?

I’m freaking out, Ivy. Call me.

I raise my brows, surprised she’s concerned about my choice in company when hers has apparently been far more questionable. At least I have a history with underhanded men.

Ivy

Can’t call right now. I’m fine. Will talk soon.

We’re going to be having one hell of a conversation. Gloves off. Hearts on sleeves. Secrets exposed. The type of chat that needs to happen face-to-face.

I lock my cell, determined to get out of here—preferably with air still in my lungs—and tiptoe to the open door to peer into the hall.

When the coast is clear, I continue the journey downstairs like a sordid assassin. The male conversation is more decipherable from the bottom step, Salvatore’s grated tone coming through loud and clear as he says, “I’ve got the situation under control.”

“I find that hard to believe,” another guy drawls.

Then a third mutters, “Does Lorenzo know?”

Odds are they’re talking about me.I’mthe situation, which doesn’t bode well for my longevity.

I descend the final step, my bare toes plastering against the cold tile. I walk backward toward the entry, my pulse manic, my gaze fixed on the living room at the end of the hall.

Still I don’t see anyone, and the lack of visual has me in a chokehold of gratitude.

I reach the front door and twist the handle, then silently drag the heavy wood open. Cold blue eyes snap to mine from outside, the devil’s royal guard still standing in the same exact place as earlier inside the brick-enclosed stoop.

I startle. Panic.

The guy merely looks away, not acknowledging my escape attempt or sparing a second glance at the makings of my mid-afternoon walk of shame. He doesn’t acknowledge me at all as he turns his attention to stare at those closed metal gates, the courtyard now housing an additional car.

“Hi…” I whisper, carefully creeping outside and closing the door behind me. “How’s things?”

He ignores me, remaining enviably statuesque, only the occasional blink confirming he’s alive and breathing.

“I’m just getting some fresh air.” I eye the gate, not enjoying the thought of scaling the towering height in a dress sans underwear. “Can you let me out?” I flash him a pleading smile. “Salvatore is talking with guests, and I don’t want to cramp his style.”

He scoffs. “You’d be foolish to think he’s unaware of your departure.” He presses a green button on the brick wall to his right. “Nothing happens in that house without him knowing.”

His confidence hollows my insides, but the heavenly subtle squeal of metallic hinges fills me with confidence as the large gates begin to part.

“Thanks for the tip.” I hustle from the stoop, eager to get the hell out of there, and power-walk between the moving gates, then onto the neighbor’s lawn.

I’m twenty yards down the long-stretching block, feeling the entire weight of an unwarranted hangover, and poised to confirm an Uber on my cell with the little battery I have left when a black Aston Martin pulls to a screeching stop at the curb beside me.

I brace, ready to run from an attempted abduction as the door flings open, then Liv rushes from the vehicle, her eyes crazed with relief.

“Oh my god.” She races forward and engulfs me in a hug, the impact threatening to topple me. “I’ve been worried sick.”

I slump with relief and return the embrace. “It’s been a crazy day.”

“What the hell happened?” She pulls back, her hands moving to grip my upper arms. “Where’s Salvatore? Why were you with him?”

I probably should’ve spared a few seconds’ thought to work out a game plan for this conversation, but here I stand, completely clueless.

“He, um…” I glance to the car idling at the curb, the man behind the wheel none other than Remy Costa—the murderous criminal Salvatore claims she’s exchanging bodily fluids with.

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