Page 93 of Salvatore

It was a necessary part of our ecosystem.

I haven’t suddenly become philanthropic.

I trail my thumb over her bottom lip, pausing on the faint outline of a healing cut. “It wasn’t for Remy. He’s hated me for the majority of his life. Much like I assume you’ve hated your own brother.”

She stills, quitting her feigned attempt at freedom.

“Didn’t you take note of the attributes my brothers labelled upon me?” I ask. “Their love isn’t exactly thicker than water.”

“I did. I just…”

It’s my turn to scrutinize her, trying to decipher the mar in her brow. “You just what?”

She squares her shoulders and raises her chin. “I guess I didn’t understand the insults after you risked so much more than they did to save me.”

Something inside me warms.

It’s fucking pathetic, but given how starved my upbringing was for praise, I have to admit the slightest hint of her appreciation is welcomed.

“If I have a talent, it’s knowing how to piss them off.” I drop my hand from her face.

“So you do it on purpose?”

I smirk, but the curve of lips is forced.

“Why?” she whispers.

“That’s a secret that requires a lifelong commitment. Are you ready to promise your future to me,mi bella reina?”

She cringes.

I’m unsure if it’s due to the future I posed or the nickname that always seems to piss her off. But there’s no escaping either. Sheisa queen.Myqueen. At least until I can get her back on her feet.

“I don’t like this.” She lowers her stare to the front of my button-down. “If you’re setting me up, I’ll…”

Whatever she has in mind, I’m eager to witness her retribution. To feel her fury. To taste her wrath. But no. “There’s no setup. Lorenzo has given his word, and I’m the last person he would lie to.”

“And why is that?” She looks up at me from under dark lashes. “Or is that another secret I need to sell my soul for?”

“Maybe.” It’s no secret I’m destined to take over my uncle’s role. It just isn’t something she needs to hear right now.

The car pauses before the gates of Lorenzo’s property. The rigidity returns to her posture. She stares out the window, her expression pinched, her chest rising and falling under deepening breaths.

“Trust me, Ivy. I didn’t go to the effort of rescuing you just to bring you here to die.”

Her throat works over a heavy swallow, her vulnerability doing shitty things to me.

“This place is a better option than Charlottesville. You’ll have security twenty-four-seven. And there’s a live-in house manager who cooks and cleans.”

She ignores me as the vehicle continues along the stretching driveway, passing Lorenzo’s manicured garden full of shadows and silhouettes until we creep closer, the bright security lightssurrounding the expansive mansion stretching out to illuminate the roses and thick green shrubbery.

Wide columns frame the entrance of my uncle’s home with tall windows that gleam in front of drawn curtains. It’s a perfectly polished facade for a building hiding insidious secrets and more than a crime or two.

We pull to a stop near the entry, the menagerie of birds in the backyard awakening to announce our arrival with high-pitched squawks as a guard walks toward us from the garden, casual, yet armed and stone-faced.

Ivy opens her mouth, then closes it, her expression pensive.

“What is it?” I rub my thumb along her waist.

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