Page 228 of Salvatore

“His sons?” I frown. “Lorenzo mentioned them before he passed, but that was the first I’d heard of them.”

“He deliberately kept their existence quiet.” Remy’s face is impassive. “They were sent away as kids to keep them safe.”

“And now they run New York, as ruthless as their father, but smart enough to keep their dirty legacy out of sight.” Bishop wraps his arms around Abri’s waist from behind and rests his chin on her shoulder. “You’ll have the misfortune of meetingthem if you can get your lazy ass out of hospital for the funeral at the end of the week.”

“Are they a threat?” I hold out a hand, beckoning Ivy forward.

“No.” Matthew’s tone is adamant. “Not to your position or Lorenzo’s legacy, anyway. They want no part in what their father built. But they’re dangerous, smart, and calculated. They’re the kind to slit your throat with a smile. So don’t give them a reason to look your way.”

A slow grin tilts my mouth. “They sound like my kind of people.”

“Yeah, that tracks,” Bishop drawls. “They’re also conceited, authoritative assholes, so y’all could be twinsies.”

Abri chuckles, playfully elbowing him in the ribs. “Go easy on him. You’ve already caused enough trauma with that six-year coma stunt.”

I glare, pissed that he followed through on his threat to share the story.

“Cole agrees that his sons aren’t anything to worry about.” Layla snickers, covering it with a pitiful cough. “Just don’t go making plans to invite them to the wedding.”

Ivy sucks in a breath as she hesitantly places her hand in mine.

Wedding?

“You told them we were getting married,mi reina?” I search her face, my eyes narrowed, my curiosity piqued. “That’s surprising after claiming you didn’t really like me.”

Her lips twitch. “The feeling comes and goes. Blame the hormones.”

“If she doesn’t like you, I’d hate to see how she’d act if she did,” Olivia mutters. “The woman is damn near frothing at the mouth.”

Ivy shoots her best friend a scathing look. “Your wedding invitation is revoked.”

Olivia snorts. “Good luck keeping me away.”

My siblings snicker and mutter amongst themselves about a wedding that will need more security than a prison yard while I stare at Ivy, owning her gaze like she owns my soul, and knowing, without a shadow of a doubt that if I die—today, tomorrow, or even in ten years from now—my love for her will burn just as fiercely on my death bed as it does in this moment.

If not more.

49

SALVATORE

Words are spokenabout a man who taught me lessons a father should. A man who shaped me to be a leader. Who strengthened me. Who guided me toward a life with meaning without me realizing it.

Bishop and Matthew sit tall and rigid in the second row of the intimate outdoor burial service. No emotion. No show of grief.

Remy is different, hunched forward, elbows on knees, head hung beside Olivia.

I’m somewhere in between, the regret eating at me and making my chest tight while gratitude fills me with pride.

Lorenzo wasn’t a good man, but it turns out he was good to me. To my brothers. To Olivia and Bishop and God knows who else.

The casket is lowered. A random older woman sobs. People sniffle. Ivy squeezes my hand and offers a forlorn smile.

Somehow it makes everything better.

I kiss her knuckles and guide her hand back to her lap as mourners stand and begin chatting amongst themselves.

“Want to do the rounds?” Remy stands and moves behind me.

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