Page 164 of Salvatore

“You most certainly deserve to.” He jerks his chin at his men.

On cue they approach, all six of them closing in.

“Grab her,” Lorenzo mutters.

Remy approaches. Matthew, too.

I begin to raise my weapon.

“Stop.” Abri storms forward, glaring at me before turning her full attention on our uncle. “This is ridiculous. You’re not taking her, and Salvo isn’t going to bedumbenough to raise his gun. What heisgoing to do is inform you of the compelling reason why Ivy can’t be taken back to the cartel.”

“Don’t,” I warn. I don’t know these men of his. Not well enough to trust them with the knowledge of my child.

“He has good reason for you not to take her,” she continues. “Just listen."

Lorenzo scoffs. “What reason would be good enough to lead us into war?”

His men stand rigid while he continues to visually tear strips from me, his chest rising and falling with maddened breaths.

“Salvatore…” Remy mutters. “Just tell him.”

Ivy’s fingers grip tighter to mine, her warm skin turning clammy.

“I’m waiting,” Lorenzo grits out. “This is your last chance before I take her.”

“Do it,” Bishop mutters. “The information is on her medical file. It’s practically common fucking knowledge at this point.”

Lorenzo stiffens as if reading between the very vague lines. “Tell me.”

No. My first fatherly act won’t be to expose my innocent child.

“Just fucking tell him, Salvatore,” Abri demands.

Ivy slides her fingers from mine. “Do it,” she whispers. “Tell him.”

I don’t want to fucking tell him. Not only because it exposes a vulnerability but because the announcement of my impending fatherhood should be done without contempt. It’s a statement that should only be shared with pride. Elation. Fucking reverence.

But before I can find a way to divert this conversation, Lorenzo grates, “She is pregnant with your child?”

I raise my chin, clench my molars, and increase my strangled grip on my gun.

His face falls with the non-answer, his anger morphing to unwitting surprise, then what looks to be bitter disillusionment. “Accidenti a te.”

The Italian curse is a sharp reprimand that cuts through the room before silence sets in.

I expected a lot more yelling or violence—something like the volatile outbursts my father was known for. Instead, Lorenzo’s restraint is far more damning. His quiet disappointment settles over me like a noose, tightening with every second of his wordless judgment.

“You,figlio, are becoming the bane of my existence.” He moves toward me, his steps measured, the weight of his cane adding a quiet authority to each step. He stops in front of me and reaches out, curling a threatening hand around the back of my neck. “I hope you know what you’re doing. Because I have a feeling our empire is going to burn for your mistakes.”

I keep my mouth shut because maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m the sum of all evil and to blame for all the world’s wrongdoing.

My parents would be proud.

“You will stay here. You will not leave this property. You won’t even approach the gates and show your face to anyone who might pass. You will do as I’ve asked previously, and stay out of trouble.” He releases his hold and steps back. “Or so help me God, I will kill you both with my bare hands, your child included.”

34

IVY

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