14
Alessio
The casino is alive as always.
Flashing lights, the jingle of slot machines, the occasional drunken cheer from a lucky bastard who thinks he just won big.
A guy stumbles past me, mumbling about his luck, but I don’t even glance at him.
My focus is locked on the basement.
Olivia’s still out cold, which, for now, is a blessing.
At least I don’t have to babysit her while I deal with the real shit.
Alonzo and Nathan are under strict orders to get her back to the mansion, lock her in her room, and don’t let anyone near her until I return.
Kota already spoke to Paola, making sure a room was ready for Olivia.
I don’t give a shit what room it is, as long as she’s out of my way until I figure out what to do with her.
For now, I push that headache away and focus on the one waiting for me at Demoni’s .
I haven’t been there in days, thanks to dealing with my feisty stalker and Seb’s disaster.
But now, I’m back.
And right now, there’s a mess in the basement that needs cleaning—Chris.
Chris has been playing dumb for days, repeating the same useless excuses.
I was following orders.
I was just told to bring the girl .
It wasn’t until a few minutes ago, before I arrived, that he was taken off the Judas Cradle and restrained to a metal chair.
I need him in a better position for what I have planned.
Lexi’s face flashes in my mind, my little sister who’s only fifteen.
The thought of some filthy asshole trying to traffic a girl her age through my casino makes my blood boil.
The guards step aside without saying a word as I approach the basement cells.
I stop in front of the steel door and push it open.
The stench of sweat, piss, and fear makes my nose burn.
Chris jerks his head up the second I step inside.
He looks like shit.
His left eye is swollen shut, and his split lip is crusted with dried blood.
His chest heaves as he fights to catch his breath, but when he sees me, it gets worse.
I take my time walking toward him.
“You’re going to talk. Tell me every last detail. Or I’ll make you regret keeping your mouth shut.”
He swallows hard, eyes darting from me to the tools lining the table.
He knows what they’re for .
“I-I swear, I don’t know anything else! I was just following orders, bring the girl, that’s it!” he stammers, his voice cracking.
Lies.
I stay quiet, letting him stew in his fear.
Then, I reach for the branding iron.
The torch ignites with a sharp hiss, and the flame dances along the metal tip, turning it molten orange.
The glow reflects in his wide, horrified eyes, and sweat beads along his hairline.
I bring the iron close to his face but not touching him.
Just close enough to let him feel the heat licking at his skin.
“One last chance,” I say, eyes locking with his.
“Anything else?”
He shakes his head furiously.
“I-I swear, I don’t know anything.”
Maybe he’s telling the truth.
But it doesn’t matter, his time is up.
I drive the burning poker into his left eye.
His screams tear through the room as he thrashes against the chair, neck tied so tight he can’t move much.
But it doesn’t matter.
The damage is done.
He passes out from the pain, and I pull the iron out, his eyeball sticking to it before it rolls onto the floor, landing in the puddle of piss beneath him .
I take my time reheating the iron and wait.
His head lolls to the side as he groans, fighting to wake up.
When his good eye finally flutters open, it’s glassy with agony.
I slam the iron into his right eye, pressing hard.
He vomits all over himself, piss soaking his pants again as I take out his right eye.
His screams weaken with every second that passes, until his voice is nothing but a broken rasp with his blood pooling around the chair.
There’s a sick sense of satisfaction watching the life drain from him.
By the time Chris takes his last breath, I feel nothing but cold relief.
The girl, whoever she is, is safe.
My men made sure of it.
But someone pulled the strings.
Someone sent Chris to my casino, thinking they could get away with it.
I leave the mess for the cleaners and head out.
I have another prisoner waiting.
It’s late, but she might be awake.
Not that I give a shit.
I need to make sure she’s still here and still breathing.
I drive through the compound gates, the guards letting me in without a word.
They know better than to stop me.
The gates swing shut behind me as I pull up to the front of the mansion.
The clock on my dash reads 3:25 A.
M.
What a long fucking night .
Time to check on Olivia.
Alonzo should’ve put her in a spare room on the second floor and kept an eye on her.
If she caused a problem, I’ll hear about it soon enough.
I park and head inside, taking the stairs two at a time.
I want to crash, but my mind won’t shut off.
I still need answers about Olivia, and she’s the only one who can give them to me.
Alonzo is waiting outside her room, arms crossed, looking bored.
“Hey, Boss. Any news on the guy?” His voice is casual, but I can tell he’s itching for details.
“Nothing. He went for a swim,” I say, using our phrase for dumping a body in the Delaware River.
What’s left of him, anyway.
Alonzo nods, unsurprised.
“This one’s a real pistol,” he says, jabbing a thumb toward Olivia’s door.
I raise an eyebrow.
“Yeah? She give you a hard time?” My voice is low, but he knows the tone—I’m not in the mood for bullshit.
“Yep. Pounded on the door, demanding all kinds of shit. Your housekeeper, Paola, made her something to eat. I brought it up, and she threw it to the ground.” Alonzo smirks, shaking his head.
“You sure you don’t want to toss her in the cells? ”
I should’ve locked her up like everyone else who crosses me.
But something holds me back.
Maybe it’s curiosity.
Maybe it’s the way she refuses to break, even when she should.
I roll my shoulders, shaking off the exhaustion creeping in.
“I’ll handle her.” I unlock the door and step inside.
The door creaks open, and the scent of lavender and something faintly sweet hits my nose.
The room is dark, except for a sliver of light creeping from the ensuite bathroom door, that’s cracked open.
The room is bare and damn near empty.
I make a mental note to have Paola put a lamp in here, a chair, something to make it look less like a holding cell.
I walk over to the bed and see Olivia curled up under the covers, with one leg sticking out from beneath them.
Her fiery red hair is everywhere, a tangled mess against the pillow.
Her face is turned slightly toward me, and a strand of red clings to her cheek.
I bend down, brushing it back, but my fingers linger longer than they should.
Her skin is warm and soft.
Too fucking soft for someone who’s been causing hell.
Freckles dust the bridge of her nose, barely visible in the dark room, but I see them.
Even unconscious, her brows are pulled tight, her lips parted like she’s mid-protest.
Even now, she’s restless.
I thought I gave her enough sedatives to keep her out through the night.
She really did cause chaos tonight.
Olivia stirs, shifting slightly under the covers, and I step back.
My jaw tenses as I shift just enough for the hallway light to spill in.
Dried tear tracks stain her cheeks.
Her eyes are puffy, her lips trembling slightly like she’s trapped in some dream she can’t escape.
She’s been crying.
I exhale through my nose, dragging a hand through my hair.
She did this to herself, but something about seeing her like this, vulnerable and small, doesn’t sit right with me.
She stirs, murmuring something under her breath.
My body tenses, waiting for her to open those sharp green eyes.
Waiting for the fight, the sarcasm, and probably the scream of me being in her room, hovering over her while she sleeps.
She doesn’t wake, and her fingers twitch beneath the blanket for a split second, stretching out like she’s reaching for something.
Or someone.
A muscle ticks in my jaw, and I take another step back.
Tomorrow, I will get my answers.
Tonight, she sleeps.
I turn on my heel and stride out, locking the door behind me .
Alonzo is still standing here.
Waiting for what, I don’t fucking know.
But I don’t need him hovering.
“You can take off. I’ve got this,” I tell him.
He doesn’t question it, just gives a nod before heading downstairs.
As I turn, something near the front door catches my eye, Paola.
She locks up behind Alonzo, making sure everything is secure.
It’s too late for her to be up.
“Paola,” I call, meeting her at the bottom of the stairs.
“What are you still doing up?”
She places a hand on her chest, startled.
“Oh, sir, you gave me a fright,” she breathes, then straightens.
“I stayed up in case the young lady needed anything.”
Young lady, not prisoner.
I nod.
Paola’s been with me for over twelve years.
She’s a tough woman, motherly but doesn’t take shit from anyone, even if she’s only 5’2”.
“Did she give you any trouble?”
“No, sir.” She shakes her head.
“I made her something to eat. Alonzo took it up. I didn’t speak to her directly.”
Smart.
“Good,” I say, then pause.
That nagging thought from earlier is still there.
“Tomorrow, get her sizes.” The words leave my mouth before I can second-guess them.
“She’ll need clothes and whatever else women need. ”
Paola nods.
“Of course, sir. I’ll handle it first thing in the morning.” She hesitates, glancing up.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Paola.”
I watch her disappear down the hallway toward the service wing.
She must think Olivia is special.
She’s not wrong.
Paola’s been around long enough to know I don’t let anyone stay on my floor.
Yet Olivia’s here, in a room next to mine.
Kota was the one who arranged it.
But I didn’t object.
And that’s what bothers me.
I exhale, dragging my hand down my face.
Tomorrow, I’ll deal with Olivia.
But for now, all I need is a fucking shower.
And my bed.