Page 77 of Salvatore

I blink back to consciousness with an unforgiving gasp, the influx of oxygen rushing down my throat like burning oil.

But the world has been tipped on its axis.

José no longer sits atop me. He’s on his feet.

No. He’s being held upright, his back to the chest of a shadowed figure, a gloved hand clawed around his mouth.

The intruder holds my gaze beneath his baseball cap, the familiar skull bandana hiding his features but not his identity as he plunges a blade into José’s neck.

“Salvatore?” I scramble backward, shocked, surely hallucinating.

He delivers one savage blow after another, each strike to the throat ruthless yet deliberate, every motion sterile and controlled.

“Get to the balcony,” he demands as blood spurts and splatters the carpet.

José doesn’t fight back. He’s already gone. Limp. Dead.

“Now, Ivy.” Salvatore flings the lifeless body to the floor and lowers the bandana from his face. “Move.”

I struggle to my knees, my body aching, my cheek burning.

“Come on.” He pockets the knife and stalks forward, towering over me in the darkness, hauling me to my feet with bloodstained gloves around my upper arms. “It’s over. I’m getting you out of here.”

I nod. Numb. Disoriented.

For a moment he just stands there, staring at me, taking me in with shadowed eyes and an aura of destruction that comforts me more than anything wholesome ever could.

“You’re okay.” His thumb strokes my skin as the other hand descends to lower the raised hem of my dress.

Shame sinks in, the weight of it crushing my chest and making my eyes burn.

“You’re okay,” he repeats, stronger this time. Insistent. “He’s dead, Ivy. He can’t hurt you again.”

“But the others…” I shake my head. “They were coming to join him.”

His nostrils flare and those dark eyes harden to venomous slits. He releases me and makes for the bedroom door.

“No.Please.” I grab for him, my trembling fingers slipping over the crook of his arm. “I want to go home.”

His jaw ticks, the usually mischievous Salvatore Costa now a man I don’t recognize. “Balcony.Move.” He jerks his chin toward the glass door. “Before I change my mind.”

I nod, taking the first shaky step.

“Come on.” He wraps the steel cage of his arm around me, his grip unyielding as his long stride forces me to quicken my pace.

He leads me to the glass door, raising his bandana while my mind remains trapped ten paces behind, stuck on the floorbeneath José. I can still sense the weight of him on top of me. Can feel the pressure of his hands around my throat.

The night air brushes my sensitive skin as I step outside, the chill in the breeze leaving me stone cold and shivering.

Salvatore closes the door behind us while two men stand waiting on the neighboring balcony—suit clad, baseball caps and matching bandanas in place.

His brothers.

“You don’t have to jump.” Salvatore ushers me toward what looks to be a wooden door laid flat between my balcony and the next. “You can walk or crawl across.”

Walk or crawl?

I glance from the door to him and back again, my cognitive function lagging.

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