Page 34 of Sold to the Silver Foxes (Forbidden Hearts #6)

SALVATORE

Erin is asleep in her hospital room—finally.

Her oxygen holds steady at ninety-nine percent, and the machines aren’t ringing for help.

She’s safe. Safe as she can be, and yet, it’s hard to imagine she feels safe right now.

She looks impossibly small against the sea of crisp linens, but a plush snow fox is tucked beneath her good arm, and I remind myself that courage can be pocket-sized.

Tabitha kisses her sister goodnight. She whispers something to the girl that sounds like constellations , and Erin smiles without waking. My sternum gives a sympathetic ache. No twinge tonight, but still, every beat feels precarious.

Perhaps I could use some of Erin’s courage. Or is it the impetuousness of youth that allows her to be braver than me? The lack of understanding of the value in life? Or, like me at her age, does she feel invincible, even with the odds stacked against her?

Grandma Judy straightens the blanket’s edge, then turns—hands on hips, formidable in her cardigan. “Mr. Moretti,” she softly says, “I appreciate the cot, but the hospital pillows are flatter than communion wafers.”

“Working on that,” I answer. It takes some doing, but inside of a half hour, I procure two Turkish goose pillows, a fleece throw, and a mobile sleeper cot with integrated USB charger.

Grandma Judy’s eyebrows inch upward. “Thank you. You think of everything, don’t you?”

“Comes with the territory. Hospitality and hostile takeovers use the same checklist—people either rest easy or surrender quickly.”

She snorts—a sound that belongs in a farmhouse kitchen, not an ICU. “Are you staying, Tabitha?”

Tabitha shakes her head. “There’s barely room for your cot. And I need a shower at home. I’ll be back in the morning.”

The word home hums beneath her tone—she means the villa. She called the villa home . That has to mean something, doesn’t it? I feel like an insecure teenager. What’s gotten into me?

Guess my heart isn’t useless after all.

I step into the corridor to give Tabitha time with Erin’s nurse when she comes in. To my surprise, Grandma Judy follows, closing the door behind herself.

“Mr. Moretti,” she begins, lowering her voice to hospital volume, “I’m not blind. You’re closer to my age bracket than my granddaughter’s.”

I nod, pocketing my hands. “I am.”

“And I’m guessing you’re not simply funding surgeries for the tax write-off.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Tell me about your intentions.”

I admire her brazenness and give it in return. “I love Tabitha. My intentions are to make a life with her.”

“A life?”

I take a deep breath, release it slowly. Despite the grilling, my heart isn’t acting up. Just my insecurities. “I never expected to find love again at my age?—”

She snorts a laugh. “Wait until you hit your sixties.”

If I do.

I continue, “Tabitha has reshaped what that word means for me. She’s changed everything. For me, for my brothers. I know it’s not conventional, but it’s working for us.”

Her gaze sharpens. “Love is a big word for folk with separate bedrooms.”

I swallow—sudden dryness. “She sleeps in mine more than you’d think. But it’s not about who sleeps where. It’s about how we feel.”

Grandma folds her arms. “Tabitha is a special girl?—”

“Oh, I know.”

She silences me with a stern look. “I’m as freethinking as the next person, even if I’m still wrapping my head around whatever you four have going on.

I’ll figure that out. But I want to be clear about something.

” She steps closer to me. I tower over her, yet somehow, she makes me feel small under her judgment.

Her voice goes quiet and deep. “If you hurt her, there’s no bodyguard, no military, no weapon big enough to save you from what I’ll do. I will end you slowly.”

“Understood—”

“No, I don’t think you do. I’m old, Mr. Moretti. I read true crime novels, I know how to hide a body, and if that fails, I look great in prison orange.”

A laugh sparks, unexpected. “I already fear disappointing her more than a heart attack. Your granddaughter is everything to me.”

She studies me long enough that I feel like she can see every mistake I’ve ever made. “Fine,” she says at last, “but explain something, Mr. Shared-Assets. How is splitting her heart three ways good for a girl who’s never dated anyone seriously?”

I exhale. “Because each of us carries a different piece that she shouldn’t have to surrender.

Dante meets her urge for adventure. Nico matches her discipline and creativity.

And I know what it is to fall apart and rebuild a new life.

Together, we’re the whole package. We can give her the world. We want to.”

Grandma’s lips twitch—could be a smile, could be indigestion. “I suppose that makes sense for her. No single man could ever be good enough for Tabitha. Of course she needs three.”

I chuckle. “I can’t argue that.”

She turns toward the room, pauses. “Oh—and Salvatore?”

“Hmm?”

Her smile finally breaks through. “Thank you for the pillows.”

I grin. “Anytime.”

My brothers are asleep in the other seats, but Tabitha sits with me upfront, fiddling with the end of her braid. She whispers, “I called the mansion home.”

I swallow. “Is that okay?”

“Feels…terrifying.”

“Did you mean it?”

“I didn’t even think about it until after. Is that okay?”

I nod. “Of course.”

She leans against the headrest, eyes shining in the passing lights. “I think of it as home. But that feels dangerous.”

“We could all use a little danger in our lives.” Careful, manageable danger only.

She gently squeezes my thigh. “I’ve had my fill of danger for today.”

“As have I.”

The villa is hushed, and my brothers mumble goodnight before heading for a long-overdue sleep. Now it’s just Tabitha and me, standing amid the hush that follows daylong adrenaline. She takes off her shoes and wriggles socked feet against hardwood. “I’m too wired to sleep.”

“Me too.”

I lead her through French doors onto the starlit patio. Snow has stopped. The sky is black velvet with foolishly bright diamonds. Breath puffs between us. I shrug off my wool coat, drape it over her shoulders, slide arms around her from behind.

She tilts her head against my chest. “For a girl who grew up in a two-bedroom ranch, this feels like Narnia.”

“Then let the wardrobe stay open forever.”

She laughs, breath frosting. “I would, but it’s a little cold.”

I reach out for her small hand and smile. “Then back to the warmth we go.”

I don’t mean to, but I lead her to my room without another word. Once inside, she doesn’t move. Eyes on my face, she whispers, “Make love to me, Salvatore.”

Instinct takes over. It’s strange—hearing her say that shuts my brain off entirely.

No more second-guessing, no more worries.

Just Tabitha and me and my warm bedroom.

I kiss the newly exposed skin with every slow removal of a piece of clothing.

Her breaths fall ragged, quiet. When we’re both nude, I sweep her up in a bridal carry.

My heart hammers but holds steady. She laughs through her squeal, wrapping her arms around my neck.

We kiss—slow, tasting winter. I lay her on my bed, easing myself beside her. My palm finds the warm silk of her thigh. She shivers, not from cold now, but anticipation.

Moonlight pours in through the windows and paints her collarbones silver. She looks like a goddess, magical, glowing. I want to pray at her temple.

All the other times I denied myself, denied her, I wasn’t ready for this. The way I feel about Tabitha is something deeper than I’ve ever felt. Something all-consuming. It’s impossible to describe, but a voice in the back of my mind tries.

Integral. She’s integral to who I am becoming. I won’t settle for less than this.

I wedge myself between her thighs and enter her slowly, the long day intensifying every shared breath. She clutches my shoulders, and I brace against the bed. The world slows down to pulse, friction, vows carried on gasping breaths.

Her hard nipples brush against my chest with each thrust, and she arches herself to meet me halfway.

It’s more than fucking, more than sex. She clings to me, her long legs belting at my waist. The way she moans my name like it’s revered…

It’s like she has the same need, the same craving for me that I have for her.

I feel it when she comes, squeezing on me. Her mouth slackens, her breaths go rapid, then stuck, then rapid again as she groans on my tongue. She’s shaking beneath me, and I want every jolt. I want her undone. I want her. All of her.

Her orgasm doesn’t stop me. I don’t even slow when my own hits, pouring myself into her. This isn’t physical anymore. It’s deeper than our bodies. It’s a connection of souls.

Until finally, my body goes weak with satisfaction.

I’m still not finished, though. I reach for her pussy, swollen, slick, and massage her clit as her eyes go wide, startled at first. But she grinds against my fingers, seeking another release.

This time, she screams my name, and that awakens my cock.

And we’re at it again.

She hides her face in my neck, giggling at the absurdity of us. She pants, “I thought…I thought you were done.”

“With you?” I kiss her hair. “Never.”

Minutes, hours, even days could pass by right now, and I wouldn’t care. Me on top, her on top, spooning that becomes forking, it all blurs into something more. Something vital.

Eventually, we lie still, catching our breath, until her heavy breaths are the only thing I hear. I wrap her up in me to keep her warm. To keep her close. I will never let go.

I will not squander this second chance.