Page 22 of Sold to the Silver Foxes (Forbidden Hearts #6)

SALVATORE

I’m pacing the south terrace in a charcoal robe and flannel pajamas, predawn frost smoking off the flagstones, when old ghosts show up for roll call.

They arrive every morning, like auditors.

First comes Alana’s perfume-memory—citrus and sandalwood—sliding in on the back of a stray December breeze.

Then the follow-ups. The banker’s call that confirmed the millions siphoned while I was stuck in the Cardiac ICU.

The blood-bright ECG, which looked more chaotic than any chart.

The taste of hospital oxygen, metallic. Humiliating.

Heartbreak, literally. My cardiologist labeled it a perfect storm of stress and myocarditis, but I know better. It was betrayal that cinched the coronary artery—a rope yanked from the inside.

The villa’s lake glitters steel-blue in the distance. What I wouldn’t give for a cigar right now, but no. Doctor’s orders. Inside, staff will bustle soon—polishing glassware for tonight’s party—but right now, the world is quiet enough to hear my own pulse. It’s steady…which almost surprises me.

But I know why. Tabitha.

I didn’t sleep next to her last night, hence the ghosts of the past. But even as much as reliving those moments hurts, the ache is dulled by her presence.

I’ve run half-marathons, argued billion-dollar acquisitions, and launched couture lines under ticking clocks.

None of it rattled me like walking in on her crying yesterday.

Or watching her take me in her mouth like my cock was the thing she needed to live.

Like she needed me .

A chill wakens my bones. I turn from the balustrade, intending to shower the anxiety off, and I collide with her in the library hall.

She’s barefoot, wrapped in a cable-knit robe, hair unbraided, eyes soft with sleep. She freezes, clearly having expected an empty hallway. “Sorry,” she whispers, hand to chest. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t.” Lie. She startles me merely by existing. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Jet lag from the roller coaster,” she jokes, stepping closer. There’s nothing between us now but cool air and the echo of my heartbeat.

She studies my face—too perceptive by half. “You look… Everything okay?”

“Fine.” Automatic, brusque. I regret the edge as soon as it leaves my tongue. She flinches, but not away—rather, closer, like she’s determined to break through.

“Can I ask something personal?”

I inhale carefully. No, the old defensive reflex wants to bark. But we crossed personal lines last night when we helped to save her sister’s life and held her through tears. The least I owe is honesty—within limits.

“Ask away.”

She rolls the sleeve of her robe, revealing pale freckles. “Your heart. Is it okay?”

I huff a bitter laugh, too surprised to stop myself.

The frost in my lungs tightens, but she deserves some answers.

The girl’s been through hell. And maybe I deserve to talk to someone about it.

“I had a cardiac event. Six months ago,” I say, leaning back against the paneled wall.

“It coincided with the dissolution of a relationship.”

She knits her brow—not fishing for gossip, just concerned. “Dissolution, like…mutually, or?—”

“She ended it,” I murmur, lips twisting. “And left me the hospital bill as a souvenir.”

Tabitha’s hand floats, then settles on my forearm—warm despite the corridor’s chill. “I’m sorry. That sounds…awful.”

“I prefer to think of it as educational.” I keep my tone neutral, but the ghost grips tighter.

Her thumb strokes a silent apology across my sleeve. “No wonder you’re so cautious.”

Cautious. Diplomatic word for terrified.

We stand like that, quiet. The lamplight halos her hair, and I catalog the contrasts.

She’s strong enough to auction her body for her sister, yet gentle enough to worry about the heart of a man she’s only just learning.

Altruism and bravery and a softness that invites confession.

It’s a wonder she hasn’t become jaded yet.

The innocence of youth.

She takes a breath. “About Pietro’s threat…”

A different tension coils. “I have it contained. Neither you nor the company will suffer.”

“I’m not worried about me,” she says. “I’m worried about you three losing your family’s business.”

Somehow, that hits harder than any personal concern. I swallow. “You don’t need to carry that weight.”

She shrugs one slim shoulder. “I carry Erin’s. I can carry some of yours too.”

I’m beginning to understand the depth of real trouble—when a woman’s goodness threatens to thaw walls I thought were permafrost. I built those walls to protect myself, and I have no intention of tearing them down.

I clear my throat. “Why were you wandering at this hour?”

Her cheeks color. “I was coming to ask if I could borrow one of the cars this afternoon. I haven’t seen Erin in person since…everything. I’d like to surprise her before surgery prep.”

“Absolutely not.” The words leave too forcefully. Her eyes widen. I lift a hand. “I mean, no to you driving yourself.” I soften my stance, lower my voice. “I’d prefer to take you.”

“You’d drive me?”

“Of course.” The decision snaps into place before I have the chance to overanalyze it. “Consider it…senior management oversight.”

Her expression wavers between relief and nervousness. “Your first impression of Grandma Judy may involve flour on her sweater and a stern scowl. She’s very protective of us.”

“I’ve survived worse. Our cousin Alessio’s cigar breath, for instance.”

The corner of her mouth lifts and falls. “I may need to…massage the truth, when it comes to how we know each other.”

“We’ll craft a narrative.” I offer a small, reassuring nod. “Dance consultant for our brand, remember?”

She releases a shaky laugh. “Right.”

“You’ve already laid the brilliant groundwork. All I have to do is not screw that up.”

“Kind of like when you helped me with the wine thing?”

“Precisely. To be at the top of my game, I require coffee. Would you like?—”

“Yes, please.” She follows me to the east first-floor kitchen and lets out a low whistle. “That is quite the setup.”

“What’s that?” I warm up the espresso machine.

“Straight out of Italy?” she asks, her eyes scanning over my pride and joy.

The machine is a monstrosity, but it makes the best cup I’ve ever had, so she’s worth every penny.

The copper gleams in the early morning light.

My espresso maker is nearly the size of the refrigerator next to it.

“Good eye. My need for proper espresso knows no bounds.” I pull the lever, tamp the shot, and set it to pouring. “One or two?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

“A double for us both, then.” The crema sits atop the perfect shot, and I pass it over. “Ladies first. Careful, it’s hot.”

“We have an espresso maker at the restaurant.” She takes a whiff of the aroma, eyes blissfully closed. “Oh, that’s the good stuff.”

“Thank you.” I pull my shots, and we settle at the breakfast bar. “So, Grandma Judy and Erin. Any other relatives I should be prepared for?”

“No. It’s just us.”

I hope I say this more tactfully than I normally talk about such things. “Your parents…?”

“Car accident. It was instantaneous. Semitruck plowed into them. They never saw it coming.”

I sigh, wondering how that must have been for her. But if I dwell on that, today will not go as well as it could. I can tell by the way she said the words stiffly, almost robotically. “I see. How long ago was that?”

“A few years.”

“So, Erin was quite young, and now this. Poor kid.”

Tabitha gulps and nods, trying to keep herself together. “She’s stronger than anyone gives her credit for.”

“A trait of Calloway women, I take it.”

That earns a smile. “Yeah. We’ve never had it easy.

Grandma Judy’s husband died before I was born, and from what I hear, he was a handful.

Mom always said Dad was too, but I never saw it.

” She sips her espresso, savoring it for a moment.

“He liked to read poetry and go fishing. But he wasn’t a guy’s guy type. He liked nature.”

“And your mother?”

“She liked arts and crafts. She was good at making things with her hands…” Tabitha pauses, tipping her head to the side. There’s a curious smile in her beautiful eyes. “I never talk about them like this.”

“What’s different now?”

“You, I think.” She takes a breath, and that curious smile becomes something that sets me on fire from the inside out. “You make me feel safe, Sal. Like you’re not judging me or like I can lean on you… I don’t get it.”

“I’m not, and you can.”

The tension in her shoulders—what little there was—melts away with her sigh. “Thank you for that.” She kisses my cheek, then stands. “I should get dressed. Ready in ten?”

“I will be.”

As she leaves the kitchen, I can’t help but watch her robe-covered ass sway on her way out. That girl has me ensnared, and I can’t manage the energy to fight it. For the first time in forever, I think my heart might cooperate.