Chapter 48 Forty Eight
There was a saying Salvatore had always lived by.
If you want something done right, do it yourself.
It wasn’t about perfection. It was about leaving no loose ends. He didn’t want to end up in front of the paper as a murderer. Regardless of the countless rumors about him, no one had ever dared to arrest him. And with Antonio’s help, Salvatore made sure nothing ever led back to him.
By ten o’clock that night, the job was finished. The men responsible for abducting the children had been dismembered.
Antonio had already taken the rescued children and left them safely outside the nearest police station before driving back.
Salvatore remained behind, stripping off the protective gear he’d worn for the cleanup.
The room fell silent.
He leaned against the stainless-steel counter and sighed.
“I could really go for pork steaks right now,” he said to the empty room.
Five minutes later, the door swung open.
Antonio stepped inside, wrinkling his nose.
“You made a mess.”
“Not my fault.”
Antonio tossed him a clean towel.
Salvatore caught it one-handed, wiping the sweat from his face before peeling off the last of the protective covering and dropping it into a disposal bin.
He nodded toward the room. “Clean this up.”
Antonio looked around and groaned. “You always leave me with the boring part.”
Salvatore smirked as he headed for the door. “Work faster.”
Antonio rolled his eyes. “Why?”
“Because,” Salvatore said without looking back, “I’m craving pork steaks, and I’d rather not eat alone.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Twenty minutes later, the black SUV rolled into the driveway of Salvatore’s estate.
Antonio killed the engine before reaching into the backseat for the takeaway bag.
“I still think it’s weird that you can go from…” He gestured vaguely toward Salvatore. “…all that to craving dinner.”
Salvatore climbed out of the SUV, buttoning his suit jacket. “I burned calories.”
Antonio blinked.
“It takes a lot of your energy to do that.”
Antonio carried the bag inside, setting it on the marble kitchen island.
“The pork steaks are still hot.”
“Good. Thank you Anton.”
Without another word, Salvatore headed upstairs.
Fifteen minutes later, he stepped out of the shower.
The scent of cedarwood and bergamot replaced the lingering smell of bleach and smoke. He swapped his bloodstained clothes for a fitted black T-shirt and charcoal lounge pants before running a towel through his damp hair.
Much better.
He made his way back downstairs.
The kitchen lights glowed warmly against the black marble countertops. The aroma of grilled pork and garlic filled the room.
He pulled a plate from the cabinet, dropped two steaks onto it, and poured himself a glass of bourbon.
Then he reached for his phone. Without a second thought, he opened Mira’s chat.
Salvatore: Want some pork steaks?
The reply came less than a minute later.
Mira: Nah, thanks.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Salvatore: They’re from Wingol. You know their steaks are fire.
A few moments passed.
Mira: Not interested.
He took a bite of his steak before typing again.
Salvatore: Come join me for dinner, Mira.
No response.
He waited exactly thirty seconds. Then he sent another message.
Salvatore: Or I’ll come pick you up myself.
The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.
Mira: You really do have an ego problem. Does the word “please” not exist in your vocabulary?
A slow smile spread across Salvatore’s face.
He took another sip of bourbon before setting the glass down. His thumbs hovered over the screen.
Salvatore: Depends. Would you come if I said please?
The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Salvatore smirked. “She was overthinking again "
Mira: No.
He laughed under his breath. “It’s always a tug of war with you, Mira.” He muttered to himself
He leaned back against the kitchen island, swirling the bourbon in his glass. He glanced at the empty chair across from him. He bought the pork so he could have it with her, to celebrate tonight.
Salvatore: You’re missing out.
He snapped a quick picture of the perfectly grilled pork steak, mashed potatoes, and roasted vegetables arranged neatly on the plate before sending it.
A few seconds later…
Mira: You’re actually trying to tempt me with food?
Salvatore: It’s working.
Mira: It isn’t.
Salvatore: Liar.
Three dots appeared.
Mira: Maybe a little.
His grin widened. There she was.
Salvatore: Be here in twenty minutes.
Salvatore carried the food to the dining table instead. On second thought… The kitchen felt too ordinary.
He lit two black candles he’d found sitting in a cabinet, placing one at either end of the table. The soft glow reflected off the polished marble, casting long shadows across the room.
He stepped back, studying his work. “Not bad.”
He poured two glasses of red wine before taking his seat.
Five minutes later… Footsteps echoed down the staircase.
Salvatore looked up.
Mira came into view wearing black shorts and a fitted tan tank top, her hair still slightly damp as if she’d rushed out after her shower.
She froze the moment she spotted the candlelit table.
Her gaze shifted from the steaks…To the wine…
Then back to him. “…Seriously?”
Salvatore sliced into his steak without looking up.
“What?”
She folded her arms across her chest. “You lit candles.”
“I did.”
“What’s the occasion?” Mira asked, remaining where she stood instead of taking the empty chair across from him.
Salvatore finally looked up. “I wanted to apologize.”
His voice was quiet, his dark eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her pulse stumble.
A skeptical laugh escaped her. “An apology?” She arched a brow. “The great Salvatore Corvin actually knows that word?”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I know a lot of words.” He took an unhurried sip of his wine before setting the glass down.
“So…” Mira said. “Which one is this for? Breaking into my room… or murdering a man right in front of me?”
Silence stretched between them. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm.
“For breaking into your room…” His gaze never left hers. “I’m sorry.”
He paused
“For making you witness something you never should’ve seen…”
Another pause.
“I’m sorry for that too.”
Mira’s expression softened, if only for a second.
Then he leaned back in his chair.
“As for kissing you…” A slow smile curved his lips. “No.”
Her brows knitted together.
“And wanting you?” His smile deepened. “Definitely not.”
Heat crept into her cheeks; she tried to keep herself composed. “And killing him?” she asked quietly.
His expression lost every trace of warmth. “No. He tried to hurt you. I would kill a thousand times if I had to.”
His eyes held hers. “I won’t apologize for ending a man like that.”
Mira searched his face, looking for guilt.
She found none. What unsettled her most wasn’t that he’d killed. It was how completely at peace he was with it.
Her throat tightened.
She didn’t know whether to fear him…or understand him. Salvatore gestured to the empty chair across from him.
“Sit.” His voice was gentle.
After a long moment, Mira pulled out the chair.
“Just dinner,” she murmured as she sat down. “That’s all this is.”
Salvatore picked up his wine again, the faintest smile touching his lips.
“Just dinner.”