Page 94 of Salvatore

She eyes the approaching guard who stops beside my door. “Is this another cage?”

Good question. If I didn’t think she had the intelligence to make the right choice maybe it would be. But for now I’m confident fragility will bend her to my will.

“You can leave if you want to take that risk.” I drag her off my lap to sit on the middle seat, then slide from the car. “I’ll give you some time to think about it.”

She needs to make the decision on her own. To feel like her future is in her own hands otherwise she’ll flee just for the sake of tasting freedom. God knows I would, and I have a feeling Ivy’s independence runs just as deep as mine.

“I’ll be waiting inside once you make the right choice.” I turn to the familiar guard standing in wait. “Give her space. If she wants to leave, let her. Understood?”

He inclines his head. “Yes, sir.”

The demand is as much for Ivy’s sake as it is for my own knowledge—to confirm Lorenzo didn’t give the order to hold her prisoner.

Then I stalk for the house and pretend I don’t give a fuck what decision she makes while navigating a truckload of fuckedup adrenaline at the thought of having to chase her down if she flees.

I enter the foyer and leave the front door wide as I continue along the brightly lit hall. The interior is already alive—the lights on, the air smelling of sweet spices.

I reach the expansive open-plan kitchen and living area where Lorenzo’s house manager is dragging a tray of baked goods from the oven.

“Good morning,” the greying woman greets me with way too much enthusiasm coating her Italian accent.

“Most would still consider this night, Catarina.” I pull up a chair at the island counter as she places her tray of cinnamon scrolls before me. “How are you so energetic?”

She smiles, big and bright, further wrinkling the skin around her dark eyes. “I’m always excited to see you. You know I don’t get the chance to entertain guests unless you and Lorenzo are here.”

“It’s three in the morning.”

She chuckles and reaches to turn on the coffee-maker sitting on the counter against the wall. “Yes, even at three in the morning.” She pulls a mug from a drawer and numerous small plates. “Mr. Cappelletti mentioned you would have a woman with you. Was there a change in plans?”

“No.” I eye the hall as the sound of the front door closing carries in the distance. “She’s a little unsettled—that’s all. We need to give her time to adjust.”

The soft pad of footfalls approaches then there Ivy stands, taking up presence in the archway, disheveled and barefoot, her gorgeous face bruised while her shoulders remain broad and strong, denying the vulnerability shrouding her.

I push to my feet and make for the coffee machine, masking the slight disappointment that she didn’t run. “Catarina, this is Ivy, your guest for the unforeseeable future.”

“Oh my.” Catarina gasps in excitement. “Che bella.”

Yes, even at her lowest, Ivy is undeniably beautiful.

“Your face,dolcezza.” The older woman approaches Ivy with outstretched arms. “What happened?”

“Umm.” Ivy glances at me questioningly.

I ignore her in favor of a caffeine fix. She’s going to have to make herself at home here—she might as well start now.

Her brow furrows in frustration, then she turns her attention back to Catarina with a forced smile. “It was silly, really. I tripped and my face caught my fall.”

“Oh, cielo.” Catarina grasps at her chest. “You poor thing. Come, come.” She waves Ivy toward the kitchen as I put the coffee-maker to work then turn and rest with my back against the counter. “You must be starving.”

Ivy focuses on the cinnamon scrolls, her brow furrowed. “They look lovely. Thank you. But I, ah…I’ve been living on nothing but fats and sugars for weeks, and I don’t think my stomach can take much more of it.”

Catarina’s face alights as if the rejection is nothing more than a challenge. “Of course.” She hustles for Lorenzo’s huge fridge and pulls the double doors wide. “How about some Greek yogurt with berries andun filo dihoney? Or I could make you a salad—carrot, cucumber, spinach—” She riffles through the crisper as Ivy nibbles her bottom lip. “—tomato, avocado. I’ll make a quick balsamic dressing andsarà delizioso.”

“No. I’m fine. Honestly.” Ivy raises her palms in appeal while I grab my coffee from the machine and take a mouthful. “Thank you for offering, but all I really need is somewhere to freshen up and rest.”

Catarina glances at me in subtle outrage. “No food?”

I shrug. “That’s what she said.”

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