Page 152 of Salvatore

She blinks, dazed, confused. “I…” Her attention turns to me, her expression deadpan. “I feel… strange.”

I pause a moment to enjoy her bewilderment, taking in the growing slump of her posture, the confused flutter of her lashes. “This situation has definitely encouraged strange feelings. I wouldn’t have believed it myself, but when I found Ivy bloodied and terrified, I got this unholy ache in my chest. I would’ve moved heaven and Earth to help her.” I push to my feet—cold, callous, detached—just the way my mother made me. “Turns out I’ll do the same to avenge her.”

Adena mimics my movement, but her rush to her feet is addled and shaky. “Did you do something to my food?”

“Let’s call it a course correction.” I casually swipe my palms down the front of my shirt, leveling out the wrinkles. “One that’s been a long time coming.”

Her face bleaches of color. “Tell me what you did.” She stumbles to the bars, snatching at them with aged hands. “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing you don’t deserve.” It’s my turn to smile, the curve of lips just as vindictive as hers had been.

“Does Lorenzo know about this?” she demands. “Let me talk to my brother.”

“Don’t worry. The symptoms won’t last long. This is merely a lesson to teach you not to touch what’s mine.”

“Lorenzo will punish you for this. He’ll kill you.”

“Or he’ll finally acknowledge there’s nothing to stop me taking over.”

She retreats, stumbling back to her bed. “Don’t do this.”

“You’re looking at the situation from the wrong perspective.” I scoop Ivy’s cell off the floor and place my chair back in the corner. “You were once so proud of the darkness you nurtured in me. How you destroyed my humanity and replaced it with brutality.” I start for the passage, meeting her gaze over my shoulder. “You should feel accomplished in knowing those lessons are what guided me to my actions today.”

“Don’t shoe dis,” she begs, slumping onto the flimsy mattress.

“I leave this room devoid of any emotional attachment to you. There’s no remorse or sadness.” Apprehension and possession claw the inside of my chest, but those feelings aren’t for her. They attack me with ruthless force for a woman I barely know. “You’ll never see me again, Adena.”

She stretches across her tiny mattress, weaving an arm between the bars, her fingers outstretched. “Please. Shalvatore. I’ll tell you where the money is.”

I pause, imagining the future I could’ve had with those finances. The generational wealth instead of the paltry millions sitting in my bank account.

For almost two years I’ve chased that information. Have strategized. Failed. Then strategized some more. And it isn’tuntil now, when I’m certain her fear is the key to unlocking my inheritance, that the wealth means nothing to me.

“Keep my money.” I continue into the passage. “I don’t fucking need it.”

32

SALVATORE

It’stwenty minutes later when the guard escorts Lorenzo’s silver-haired physician—a man well into his seventies—into Ivy’s room where I wake from dozing in the wingback chair in the corner.

The old guy takes one look at me, then her, and walks forward to dump his leather medical bag on the floor beside the bed, the clatter of noise making her startle in her sleep.

“Watch it.” I speak through clenched teeth. “She needs rest.”

“I specialize in health, not stealth.” He takes her in with emotionless eyes, further baiting my annoyance. “Tell me what I’m looking at.”

“She has multiple stab wounds. Small in size, but six in total—two in her left arm, another two on the side of her ass, with the most concerning being in the abdominal area. She’s been stitched up at hospital and the surgeon said there was no perforation. Only a minor intestinal graze. But I need her monitored to ensure there are no complications.”

He inclines his head, needing no further instruction before he digs into his medical bag.

Ivy remains asleep as he holds an infrared thermometer to her head, slightly whimpers when he places a pulse-readingdevice on her finger, then opens her eyes with a groan when he raises her uninjured wrist and attempts to guide it from the suit-jacket.

“Please,” she begs, holding the sheet to her bare chest as she retracts her arm from the sleeve. “I’m exhausted.”

“What’s her name?” The ignorant asshole stares down at her as he addresses me.

“Ivy.” It’s a chore to keep the snarl from my voice.

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