She stands. “Can I leave now?”
“Do as you wish.”
She walks to the door. I turn back to the window.
Then she stops.
“Salvatore.”
I don’t turn around. “Lindsay.”
A pause. Long enough to be deliberate. Then, very evenly:
“If you send one of your thugs to summon me again, I will shoot that motherfucker and file it as a suicide.” Now I turn around. She is already at the door. Not looking back.
“Hm.” I tilt my head. “Now who’s the criminal?”
She doesn’t answer.
She walks out and pulls the door closed behind her.
I stand in the quiet for a long moment.
Birds of a fucking feather.
The woman my future wife chose as her closest friend in the world just threatened to murder one of my men and frame it as a suicide. I’m sure she can; she has a very convincing medical examiner. I am genuinely not sure whether I should be furious or whether I should offer her a job but its not like she’d take it, her pride wouldn’t let her.
Three people who would do anything for the same woman, finally, reluctantly, understanding each other. First her father, and now her best friend. What a fucking day.
Now, I have to figure out where the hell to get enough blue flowers to fill an entire fucking venue in three days… This should be fun.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Valentina
Iwalk into his study without knocking.
That's one of the things that has changed between us. I don't need permission to find him, to talk to him. Well, even if I did, I don't seek it anymore.
He's mine, after all.
Salvatore stands at the window with his back to me, hands tucked into his pockets, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the city lights stretching endlessly beyond the glass. He doesn't turn when I enter, but I see the slight shift in his posture.
Something feels different.
"What is it?" I ask softly, moving deeper into the room.
He's silent for a long moment, his gaze still fixed on the skyline as though the answers he's looking for are written somewhere in those glittering lights.
Then, without turning, "Come here."
Not a request. Never a request with him. But the tone is different.
I step up behind him, closing the distance until I’m pressed to his back. My arms slide around him, my fingers threading through his hands.
He stills.
For a moment, he doesn’t move, just looks down at our hands before tightening his grip.
