Page 84 of Salvatore

“Exactly,” Bishop sneers, then leans sideways to glower at Salvatore through the rear-view. “I swear to God, one day I’m going to do us all a favor and hold your head under water until the bubbles stop.”

Salvatore rolls his eyes—imperious, untouchable—then retrieves a dated cell phone from his jacket and types a text.

I don’t understand why he isn’t concerned or at least a little unsettled by pissing off men as influential as the Butcher Boys of Baltimore. But his demeanor doesn’t change as we drive past stretching warehouses, graffiti-covered walls, and empty loading docks, until we come to a stop at a deserted cul-de-sac.

His brothers climb out, still muttering and snapping insults, while Salvatore helps me to follow.

Bishop grabs a jerry can from the trunk. Fuel is poured through the car’s interior. Then the vehicle is set alight.

Bandanas, baseball caps, gloves, and cell phones are thrown into the flames, all while scowls and glares remain leveled on my savior.

“Ignore them,” Salvatore mutters. “God knows I always do.”

I’m led away, along the desolate street to the towering concrete columns of a highway overpass and a waiting SUV with dark-tinted windows. This time when Bishop gets behind the wheel he accelerates slowly, sticking to the signposted speed limit, not attracting attention as we travel back toward the city.

I don’t know what’s worse—the aggressive accusations or this new tense silence that consumes the car.

Nobody speaks.

The radio isn’t even on.

There’s only the occasionalclick, click, clickof the turn signal.

Salvatore’s knuckles find the outside of my thigh again as he stares out his window, the slow back and forth sweep of contact easing some of the chaos breeding beneath my ribs.

“Is she at least okay?” Bishop grates, his gaze snapping to me through the rear-view. “She looks messed up.”

I lower my eyes, humiliation adding to the cesspool of emotions drowning my system. I shouldn’t be embarrassed thatI was abducted and abused. But I’ve prided myself on being strong and steadfast since well before an age when I should’ve needed to be, only to have those highly cultivated attributes cower too easily under the influence of Gabriel and his men.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Remy nudges my elbow. “Ain’t that right, Ive?”

I glare, detesting the way he says my name so casually. He wouldn’t have dared if he hadn’t wormed his way into my best friend’s life. “I’ll be just perfect as soon as you stop sleeping with Olivia.”

Bishop scoffs a laugh and Matthew flashes me a half-hearted grin, but Salvatore continues to sit statuesque, his expression pensive as he stares outside.

Something is wrong.

Something I don’t want to contemplate when I’m sure I’m the cause.

“Unfortunately—” Remy crosses his arms over his chest “—Olivia and I are the least of your problems.”

Great. Exactly what I need—confirmation of my dire status.

There’s no denying it though.

Where once my life was difficult because I had to navigate the complexity of living in the same city as Gabriel while on my best behavior, now I’m supposed to figure out how to survive in the same space after humiliating him and having his men killed.

We enter the parking garage of a tall residential building where Bishop claims a reserved parking space right next to a silver Rolls Royce a few feet from an elevator.

Remy is the first to climb out, then offers a hand for me to take. “Come on. Let’s get this over and done?—”

“No,” Salvatore warns. “She stays with me. We’ll meet you in the penthouse.”

I pause in the middle of taking off my seatbelt, foreboding prickling the hairs on my arms.

Matthew’s eyes narrow, leveling a hard stare on Salvatore. “What are you planning now?”

Remy leans back into the car. “Lorenzo will only be more pissed if you keep him waiting.”

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