Salvatore Boarding House Novels & Stories

Well , there is nothing to be worried about, considering I had a driver to take me home no matter how wasted I become. “ I don't know of any other bar that serves ales better than the Salvatore. Salvatore’s ale is top-notch and fresh. We can't afford to miss it even though there's a high probability we will get drunk tonight.” I uttered humorously. Freddie chuckled from his end, muffled yet contagious.

“My men will keep you safe and sound, Mrs. Salvador.” Mrs. Salvador, the surname she vow to hate. When the engine roared to life, Italia could only stare towards Black alongside with his men and the clamour that was left behind. And that was the last thing she could remember before waking up on the same mansion she runaway from, the Salvador’s Manor. Italia shook her head, when those memories bottled her thoughts again. But another part of her seems restless with its question, she was there, but never had Gustav spared a time to visit Italia.

One of the security guards went upstairs to inform him of Harthwore's arrival while he waited in the living room. A few minutes later, Salvatore came downstairs. Harthwore rose to his feet. The two men shook hands before returning to their seats. “I was planning to visit you later tonight,” Salvatore said, “but since you're already here, I guess I don't have to.” “Is your flight still tomorrow?” Harthwore asked. “It's already scheduled. I'm leaving tomorrow.” “What about your wife?” “She'll stay in the house without her phone, and she isn't leaving. At least the television will keep her company until I decide what to do with her.”

They all drove straight to the Salvatore family mansion. The moment they stepped into the vast, chandelier-lit living room, the atmosphere shifted—heavy, tense, and suffocating. Old Mr. Salvatore sat rigidly at the head of the room, his expression carved from stone. Avery sat close by with trembling shoulders, eyes glistening pitifully as Damien’s mother clung to her side, whispering comfort. The instant Elena entered, Mrs. Salvatore shot to her feet, pointing an accusing finger at her as if she were a curse come alive.

"Before you, there were seven others. If there's anything you don't understand, just ask them. They live on the second floor. Your room is at the end of the hall." In eight years of marriage, Salvatore had brought home enough women to form a small army. Tall, short, innocent, sultry—he had a whole collection. The rumor was he wanted to be a modern-day Henry VIII with eight wives. Well, I wouldn't be one of them. I untied the silk choker from my neck and stood up, heading for the door. I hadn't even made it out of the living room when a hand gripped my arm, yanking me back.

Unknown number. Against my better judgment, I checked it. "Mrs. Nott. This is Salvatore. I wanted to inform you that Mr. Hamilton attempted to send a message to the FBI about our arrangement. About the cabin. About what you did. I intercepted that message. But I want you to understand something: Hamilton is my asset now. For the next ten years. And if he continues to cause problems, if he continues to threaten my interests, I'll handle it permanently. Just thought you should know. -S"

she said and walked away. Mateo slammed the door to the back office of the cigar lounge like it owed him something. The whole room smelled like oak, smoke, and old secrets. My inner circle was already seated; Marco, Benedetto, and Santo, all loyal, all silent. “Salvatore didn’t come for a visit,” Mateo said as he sank into the leather chair across from me. “He’s setting up.” I leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, fingers laced. “Where?”

Then we reached a door painted a soft blue. “This one’s yours,” Salvatore told Gabe. Gabe opened it and gasped. A full bed, a desk, shelves, a window seat, and space, so much space. He ran inside immediately. Across the hall was another door. “And this,” Salvatore said, “is the master.” I blinked. “Okay… but where’s my room?” He pointed at the master again. I stared at him. “Salvatore.” He smirked. “My wife sleeps with me.”

But life never goes the way we plan for it to. He had borrowed money from Salvatore and had blown it all out either on the gambling table or on a bottle of alcohol. The day Salvatore busted the doors to our rundown house, I had recognized him, and immediately I had known we were in trouble. I had seen him in one of the casinos run by the Red Vipers family, and I knew his reputation. He was not a nice man. A man who had made advances me on several occasions, but I had always found a way to walk away from him.

He explains that Salvatore runs a private security firm, that the house is essentially a staffed residence for the firm's senior members, that there are a lot of people in and out, and I shouldn't be alarmed by it. I'm not alarmed. I'm a doctor. I've worked emergency wards at two in the morning with three times the patients and half the staff. What I am is curious, and Slade, I notice, is very good at answering the questions I ask and very careful not to answer the ones I don't know to ask yet.