18
Liv
It’s been a few days, and I’ve perfected the art of watching Alessio while avoiding actual interactions with him.
Each morning starts with breakfast with Paola, who’s basically the human version of a warm hug—sweet, chatty, and lovable.
Even if she works for a mafia overlord.
After that, I wait until Alessio is busy brooding or barking orders at the parade of gorilla-sized men who come and go, then I disappear to snoop around the mansion, which honestly feels more like a mini-mall with chandeliers than an actual house.
Who needs this many rooms?
Or a ballroom?
I didn’t even know that was a real thing.
Alessio says he wasn’t involved in my mom’s disappearance, but the Commission was, that much I do know.
And since he’s the golden boy of the Philadelphia Mafia, there has to be something in this fortress.
Some scrap of proof that’ll tell me what really happened.
Clover never told me much, just that my mom was killed and her body was never found.
And my dad vanished the same night I was dumped on Clover’s doorstep like a stray cat.
“ The less you know, the better ,” Clover used to say.
Whatever that’s supposed to mean.
I’d spent years sneaking peeks at his case files when he wasn’t looking, piecing together whatever I could.
If Clover knew where I was now, he’d lose his mind.
He thinks I’m out living my best life, making friends, and seeing the world.
Definitely not locked in a gilded cage, run by the type of men he spent his life trying to expose.
After breakfast, I slip into one of the dresses that showed up this morning.
The leggings and oversized shirts I ordered still haven’t been delivered, so this will have to do.
The black Chanel knit dress fits like it was made for me.
Cinched at the waist, smooth over my hips.
I still don’t have panties, but whatever.
It’s hot as hell today, so the less clothing, the better.
Summer in Philly feels like Satan’s ass crack, and I’m counting down the days until I can wear something that isn’t sticking to me.
I glance at myself in the mirror, and I can’t help but notice how the fabric hugs my thighs, making me hyperaware of every curve it highlights.
I’ve always been self-conscious about my hips and ass, and although the dress fits perfectly, it isn’t exactly helping, but it’s better than a bedsheet.
I run my hands down the sides, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles in the fabric.
It’s fancy, way fancier than anything I’ve ever worn, and definitely more than I could ever afford.
I press my lips together and sigh.
But at least it has pockets.
I give myself a final once-over before heading out of my bedroom.
I don’t bother with shoes.
It’s not like I can walk out the front door anyway.
I stop in the middle of yet another endless hallway, pressing my fingers to my temples.
My mind’s spinning.
I don’t even know what I’m looking for, but I’m desperate to find something: a loose file, a forgotten note, literally any clue at this point.
I open a random door and peek inside.
Another bedroom, perfectly styled like a magazine spread.
No signs of human life.
Just like the last three rooms.
I let out a sharp, exaggerated breath.
Patience, Liv.
You’ll find something.
At the end of the hall, my fingers pause over another door handle.
It’s so quiet back here…
too quiet.
The kind of silence that presses against your eardrums and makes your heartbeat sound like someone’s playing the drums.
I he sitate for a second, every instinct screams at me to turn around, but I ignore it.
Curiosity wins out, as always.
The door gives way with a soft click, and I slip inside, shutting it carefully behind me.
My fingers fumble along the wall until they find the light switch.
It’s a soft light, almost like it’s candlelight.
I definitely wouldn’t want to do my makeup in this room.
My eyes scan the room, taking in the dark, polished wood and crimson accents.
I expect to see just another fancy-pants room, but this room is different from the rest.
The walls are lined with sleek black cabinets, with a matte finish.
Next to them are ornate metal fixtures that are evenly spaced.
Rich people love weird artwork.
My eyes go wide as saucers.
Okay, this is not just another ridiculously fancy bedroom.
This is straight-up Christian Grey meets medieval dungeon, but like…
expensive.
At first glance, in the dark, almost romantic lighting, everything looks high-end, shiny, and polished, but still minimal.
But then my brain processes what I’m looking at.
Sweet baby Jesus.
The shiny chrome bars lining the walls aren’t decorative artwork, they’re chains bolted with anchors.
The matte black fixtures are leather restraints buckled into place.
My eyes go lower and my stomach flips.
Next to the restraints, there’s an entire collection of leather straps, cuffs, and some long-ass metal bar with buckles on each end.
A black leather chair sits in the center of the room, and I really want to convince myself it’s just an expensive statement piece.
Except, I’ve seen chairs, and normal chairs don’t come with built-in restraints or sit perfectly in front of a stripper pole.
I swallow hard and turn toward the bed, hoping for some normalcy.
It’s massive and draped in dark blood-red satin that looks silky smooth.
They definitely aren’t your standard Target sheets.
But it’s the metal cuffs built into each corner of the frame for me.
Yeah, definitely not decorative.
What in the actual fuck?
“Well, shit.” I breathe because my brain refuses to form any other words while standing in the middle of this den of sin.
My feet move on their own, drawn toward the slightly open cabinet near the bed.
I shouldn’t look, but I’m already in too deep to turn back.
I open the door more and holy-balls, this is basically a Home Depot for perverts.
If Home Depot sold stuff that makes my insides do the cha-cha.
Rows of neatly coiled ropes, polished paddles, and some weird metal contraption that I don’t even know what it’s called.
Everything looks high-end.
Rich people must buy their freaky shit in a boutique instead of a sketchy website.
I don’t know what half of it does, but I know one thing, they aren’t just for show.
My fingers have a mind of their own and reach for the silver-gray rope.
It’s so soft and slides through my hand like liquid silk, and my intrusive thoughts start to wander to a whole new level.
The sound of footsteps freezes me mid-dirty thought, making goosebumps prickle along my arms.
I know those steps.
Alessio doesn’t walk like a normal person, he stalks like the killer he is.
And right now, I’m the idiot mouse standing in the middle of his very kinky snake pit.
I look around the room frantically for a place to hide, still clutching this stupid rope like it’s some kind of invisibility cloak from Hogwarts.
I hold my breath because not breathing will magically erase the fact that I just barged into his private…
whatever the hell this is.
My heart hammers against my ribs, my eyes darting from the bed—nope—to the floor—useless—to the door—too far.
The sound of metal sliding into place makes my stomach drop.
That’s not just the floor creaking.
That’s the clickity-clack of him cocking his gun back.
Oh, God.
He’s going to shoot me.
My brain scrambles into overdrive, running calculations I have zero business running.
How fast can I reach the door?
Can I dodge a bullet?
Does he have a good aim?
Of course, he does.
Can I…
“Lose something, Stalker?”
His voice slides down my spine like warm honey, and my soul yeets itself right out of my body.
I spin around so fast I nearly trip, still clutching the silk rope like a damn fool.
My first thought is to run right past him and out the door.
But that plan crashes and burns the second I see him .
Alessio stands in the doorway, all six-plus feet of pure sin wrapped in an expensive suit, blocking any chance I have to run.
His arms are crossed with a wicked grin on his face.
But it’s his eyes, the way they rake over me, so damn slow and knowing, it makes my stomach twist.
Oh, he’s enjoying every second of my mortification.
“Uh… I was just…” My usually sharp wit decides now is a great time to peace out.
There’s no explaining this .
No way to justify why I’m standing here, holding his rope, in a room I should’ve never known existed.
Alessio steps inside, shutting the door with a soft click.
The sound makes my pulse trip over itself, and my stomach knots when the lock turns.
His gun is still in his hand, cocked back.
O h, great.
Love this day for me.
I force my lips into a smirk, injecting every ounce of sass into my voice to cover the panic bubbling inside me.
“Oh, please. Don’t tell me this is your special room.” I throw up air quotes and wave the rope like it’s a piece of evidence.
“Because, uh… wow.”
His lips curve into a slow, sinister smile.
“And yet, here you are. Snooping and touching my things.” His eyes go to the rope still wrapped in my white-knuckled grip.
“Maybe even imagining?”
Crap.
Heat floods my cheeks.
“Are you serious? You think this is my idea of fun?” The words tumble out before I can stop them, and I cross my arms, glaring at him like I’m not seconds away from losing my mind.
He closes the distance between us in two long strides, plucking the rope from my hand.
“That’s what everyone says…” he says, taunting me even more.
“Until they’ve tried it. ”
Alessio practically hovers over me, his presence is both suffocating and overwhelming, pressing in on all sides.
It’s like he’s sucking all the oxygen from the room, leaving me lightheaded.
And damn it, why does he have to smell good?
That rich, spicy cinnamon mixed with bergamot, laced with his cologne.
It sneaks under my skin, into my lungs, like a drug I never fucking signed up for.
I take a step back to put distance between us, but the second my thighs hit the edge of the bed, I know I’m screwed.
“You’re ridiculous,” I snap, lifting my chin.
“You lock people in here and… what? Expect them to play along?”
Alessio’s smile sharpens.
“Not people. Just you.”
My breath hitches.
“That’s not creepy at all,” I mutter.
Crap.
Did I say that out loud?
His brow lifts.
“And you snooping through my things isn’t creepy?”
I hate that he has a point.
I huff.
“Fine. I’ll leave,” I say, pushing past him, but his hand catches my wrist.
His grip isn’t painful, just firm.
Alessio’s not-so-subtle way of telling me I’m not going anywhere unless the Warden allows it.
“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss, trying to yank my arm away .
Alessio tilts his head, his eyes darkening.
“The rules were clear, Liv,” he tuts, pulling me forward.
“And you broke them.” He lets go of my wrist, taking a step behind me.
“Now, you need to be punished.”
Punished?
My stomach flips, and my eyes dart to the gun still in his hand.
Before I can take a breath, and before my brain catches up, the cold metal grazes my arm, and I freeze.
The barrel slides along the curve of my neck, brushing my hair aside.
My skin prickles as he drags it lower, tracing a path from my neck to my arm.
“P-punished?” I spit out, my voice cracking because my lungs forget to work.
“Just let me go, Alessio.”
“No.” A simple word that grates on every last nerve I have left.
It’s not a threat.
It’s a fact.
Alessio takes another step, and before I can back away, he’s right in front of me.
My hand shoots up, ready to shove him away, but he’s faster.
His fingers wrap around my elbow, stopping me mid-motion.
I huff, trying to wrench my arm out of his grip, but all it does is pull me even closer.
“Oh, please. You think you’re that irresistible?” I roll my eyes and scoff.
“Pshh, I was trying to leave, not sign up for your little Fifty Shades fantasy. ”
That damn sinful smirk deepens.
“Funny,” he muses.
“You don’t seem like the type to run from what scares you.”
“I’m not scared of you,” I snap, but the crack in my voice ruins it.
But Alessio catches it.
His grip tightens around my chin, tilting my head up until I have no choice but to meet those sharp blue eyes.
“Liar,” he murmurs.
There’s something raw in his voice that makes my cheeks burn.
“You are scared. But it’s not the fear you think it is.” His gun skims down the valley of my chest to my belly, and instinctively I suck in a breath.
“You’re scared because you already know who this body belongs to.”
A shiver rolls through me, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking away.
I hate how close he is and how his words get under my skin.
I hate how my body feels stuck between fight and freeze, every instinct screaming for me to do something, but thinking is impossible when he’s this overwhelming.
Yanking my chin out of his grip, I glare up at him.
“You don’t get to decide who I belong to.”
He doesn’t flinch.
Doesn’t even blink.
“You already decided that the moment you came after me.” Alessio leans in closer, his breath warm against my ear.
“And you know damn well I’m not letting you go. ”
I notice something shift in his expression, amusement that turns into something darker.
Before I can decode it, Alessio spins me, pressing my back against his chest so I’m facing the bed.
He tries to push me forward, but I plant my feet, locking my body into place.
No chance in hell am I letting him shove me around like some ragdoll.
I shift to my left, just enough to keep him in my peripheral.
No way I’m turning my back on him.
Alessio’s eyes narrow, and his tongue slides out to wet his bottom lip.
“I think it’s time I teach you a lesson,” he growls.
I arch a brow, forcing a smirk even though my pulse pounds in my throat.
“Oh, really? And what lesson would that be?”
His eyes darken, the look in those icy-blues is damn near predatory.
“That every action has a consequence.”
Before I can throw some snarky remark at him, his hand is around my throat.
Not tight but firm enough to send a wave of heat through my body.
“And this,” the rough pad of his thumb skims over my pulse, like he’s feeling how fast it’s racing, “is yours.”
I swallow hard, my brain screaming at me to panic, to shove him off, but I don’t.
I hold his stare, refusing to be the first to look away.
Instead, I press back against him, my spine meeting solid muscle .
And that’s when I feel it pressing against my lower back, something big, and it’s not his gun.
A smirk tugs at my lips despite the mess in my head.
“We’ll see about that.”