Page 141 of Remy

OLIVIA

“Don’t defy me, Ollie,” Remy calls down the hall. “Give me two more minutes.”

The thought of leaving him at a time like this makes me ill. But it’s nothing when pitted against the shame and humiliation that spurs my legs across the living room. I focus my sights on the elevator, the gentle whir of mechanics confusing me as the doors open before my eyes.

Salvatore strides into the penthouse, pausing in the entry to look back at Lorenzo who shuffles after him with the aid of a walking stick.

I freeze, clutching tight to my cell as I scan my surroundings in panic, for what I’m not sure—a weapon? An alternate escape route? An open window to yeet myself out of?

“Ollie?” Remy yells in the distance.

Salvatore swings toward me, a conniving smirk slowly tilting his lips. “Well, well, well. Look what we have here.”

My breath clogs in my throat.

“Mind your manners, figlio,” Lorenzo chastises in accented English, his eyes scrutinizing me. “Are you okay, mia cara?”

My mouth dries.

Everything inside me feels like it’s racing, yet my mind is entirely devoid of strategy.

He continues hobbling toward me. “I wasn’t told you were with Remy when the shooting?—”

“I wasn’t.” I swallow. “I ran into him at work. He was injured and refused to go to a hospital so I offered to tend to his wounds. I was just leave?—”

“That’s quite some work uniform you’ve got.” Salvatore gives me a leering once-over. “You might want to readjust those silken boxers. Your lack of morals is showing.”

My cheeks heat.

I can only imagine what I look like. The disheveled hair. The pleasure-stained pajamas. Oh, God, and Remy’s ring. It sits in the crest of my cleavage like a glaring red flag of broken rules.

“Ignore him.” Lorenzo whacks his nephew with the handle of his cane, then jabs it farther into Salvo’s chest. “Hold this for me.”

Salvatore takes the walking aid, still smirking while Lorenzo shuffles toward me.

I turn rigid waiting for the elderly man to threaten me for defying his orders. To hurt me. Maybe kill me.

He stops a few inches in front of me and shucks his jacket. “Here. Take this.” He pauses for a moment of silent permission, then cautiously drapes the tailored material over my shoulders. “Please tell me you’re not leaving on your own at this time of night.”

“I—” My words vanish at Remy’s uneven gait echoing down the hall.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“I, um. Thank you for the jacket.” I force a smile. “But I really need to go. I have work tomorrow…” I hesitate, unsure if I need permission, a permit, or a blood bond to get out of here.

But all Lorenzo does is peer at me with gentle consideration.

“Okay.” He inclines his head and retreats a step. “I assume you have a car waiting.”

My lips part, a lie poised on the tip of my tongue.

He raises a brow as if waiting for me to increase the defiance.

I snap my mouth shut.

“You will use my driver.” He pulls a cell from his pants pocket. “He’s already in the parking garage. It’s safer than walking onto the street.”

“Especially looking like that,” Salvatore drawls.

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