Page 57 of Salvatore

I lead the way to the Aston Martin and climb in without a word, dumping my shoes in the footwell. Liv is a few beats behind me, taking her position at the wheel and readjusting the seat.

We remain quiet as she pulls from the curb, the car filling with an awkwardness that’s never cloaked us before. She drives us from the classy harbor suburb and away from the city, the quiet pop playlist humming from the stereo becoming the backing track for the discomfort.

“You’re right,” she finally murmurs. “He’s the guy I met at the dive bar.”

My heart crumples. Shreds. “Please tell me you haven’t been sleeping with a career criminal for almost a year without telling me.”

“No.” She scrunches her nose, her gaze remaining locked on traffic. “Things between us didn’t transition into anything physical until recently.”

“Oh, good.” I roll my eyes. “I’m glad you took the time to weigh the pros and cons of opening your thighs to a murderer.”

Pot. Kettle. The hypocrisy isn’t lost on me, but Liv and I are different. She grew up in a loving home, with equally loving parents. She had stability. Guidance. A lack of trauma. At least until her mother died.

She shouldn’t be slumming it with a guy capable of killing her in her sleep.

She sighs. “You have no idea what’s been going?—”

“Oh, I’ve got a fair idea.”

She hasn’t been with a guy in forever, then Remy came along, dripping in riches, good looks, and bad-boy vibes. I bet he has hypnotizing pheromones like his brother, too.

Those bastards.

“No.” Her voice turns serious. “You really don’t.”

“Believe me, I already got the CliffsNotes from Salvatore.”

She shoots me a bug-eyed look. “What did he tell you?”

I take a beat to formulate a response, unsure how to share my wisdom while also seamlessly redacting the part where I climb the Washington Monument with my vagina.

“Ivy,” she prods. “What did he say?”

“He told me you and Remy are together. That you’re one of them now. Do you even know what that means?”

She cuts her attention back to the quiet suburban street. “Yes. I made an informed choice.”

I scoff. “Your dad would be devastated.”

“Excuse me?” She hits the brakes, the car lurching to a halt. “Don’t do that. Don’t lash out at me and throw my dad’s death in my face just because you’re scared. Heknew, Ivy. He treated Remy like a son and gave his blessing before he passed.”

I blink in disbelief.

“I know Remy,” she states with conviction. “I understand him. And I get that this is wild because obviously you know the rumors surrounding his family?—”

“They’re not rumors?—”

“—But my heart is still lost to him. I truly, emphatically feel things for that man despite my best intentions. And being with him is what I need at the moment. So please support me in this?”

Feel things? Support?

Dear fucking Lord.

“You’re right.” I focus out my side window, shell-shocked. “You’re my best friend and I’ll always want to support you, so let me be the first to say—I’m sure you’re going to look absolutely fabulous tied up in his basement.”

That sounded meaner than I’d intended. Total grade-A bitch material.

“Joke’s on you,” she drawls. “He lives in a penthouse. There is no basement.”

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