23
Liv
Maybe bringing up his ex wasn’t the smartest move.
Clearly , it’s a sore subject.
Genius move, Liv.
Poke at the mafia boss’s emotional scars.
I roll my eyes at myself.
Shaking it off, I dig through my ridiculous haul of clothes and pull out some leggings and an oversized T-shirt hidden in the pile of stuff Alessio pushed onto the floor.
Comfort mode, activated .
After tossing my hair into a quick ponytail, I turn my attention to the mountain of packages around me.
I start sorting through everything, but the sheer amount of stuff makes me pause.
Okay…
maybe this is too much.
This will take me ten lifetimes to pay back.
Clover always took care of me.
I had everything I needed, just never anything extravagant like this.
I’m more of a local retail girl, not custom couture.
I got used to keeping things simple with just the essentials, only what I can carry.
Even my important stuff, like photos and documents, is scanned and backed up to the cloud.
I don’t have to lug anything extra around, just in case I have to move again.
A laugh slips out before I can catch it, because my brain glitches, it’s stuck on a loop from earlier.
Alessio twirling the double-headed mammoth like he’s trying out for the color guard.
Who even does that?
And where the hell did the box of tricks come from?
The snort I let out is too loud, but my brain isn’t finished dragging me through hell.
Nope, it takes a full swan dive right back to him in the shower.
I should’ve thought twice before barging into the big, bad wolf’s room.
It was stupid of me.
But hindsight’s twenty-twenty, and unfortunately, so was the view.
The angry, tatted-up mafia don with a body that looks like it was hand-carved by the gods, every inch inked and sinful.
Not that I paid attention to all of his tattoos.
My face flames at the memory, because I was too busy being…
distracted by what he’s been blessed with.
I didn’t mean to look, at least not that hard.
But when I walked in on him, with the water pouring over every hard line and muscle, my eyes dropped, and holy hell.
The water was practically showing off for him, making those two silver bars piercing through the tip of his…
uh, th under log sparkle.
It lured me in, and I was stuck damn near drooling, caught somewhere between bless your heart and ruin my life.
And yeah…
now I fully understand why they call it a magic cross.
Because hot damn , I was already wondering what kind of tricks it could do.
Then, because he can’t help himself, his stupid mouth ruins everything.
‘Is it my size, or the piercings?’ The answer is C.
All of the above, obviously.
But when he says, “Be a good girl and drop to your knees,” I swear, I almost hit the floor faster than a churchgoer on Sunday.
That is, until I saw the cocky-ass smirk on his stupidly hot face.
Although, to be fair, I think most men would be just as self-assured if they had Alessio’s man-meat.
My thighs clench on instinct, and a frustrated groan slips out as I drag both hands over my face.
It’s been way too long since I’ve had sex, and no, Theo, the cop I had a one-night stand with when I first got to Chicago, does not count.
The man was so drunk, it was over before it even started.
Two pumps and a sad apology.
Now I’m out here acting like a total horndog, obsessing over Alessio’s third leg.
I shake my head, trying to snap myself out of it.
But now that I know exactly what Alessio’s packing , I’m starting to think he could break me in half with that thing.
Not that I’d complain.
I’m so lost in my inappropriate spiral and mentally drooling over Alessio’s man-meat, that I don’t even hear the door fly open.
The door slams into the wall with a crack so loud I nearly jump out of my skin.
I spin around to see Alonzo stomping in like a whole-ass freight train on a warpath.
His face looks like pure murder.
“Well, hello to you, too,” I say, crossing my arms and throwing him a look.
I try to keep it breezy, but the way he’s burning holes through me with those eyes makes my stomach twist.
He starts pacing the room like a caged animal, running a hand through his hair like he’s one second away from losing his shit or throwing something.
“Ever since you got here,” he growls, gripping his hair like he wants to pull it out before letting go.
“Alessio’s been treating me like some fucking errand boy.” He throws his hands up, pacing harder.
“Running around, doing your stupid shit, and for what? You’re not even worth it.”
I blink.
It’s been a week.
What the hell could Alessio have possibly made him do?
Fold my socks?
I almost ask but swallow it down.
There’s no point in arguing with someone so feral.
Instead, I roll my eyes and turn back to my stuff, rifling through the box like his tantrum isn’t happening.
Maybe if I ignore him long enough, he’ll get bored and stomp his ass right back out.
That idea lasts all of three seconds before he hurls toward me and shoves the box out of my hands.
It crashes to the floor, spilling my stuff everywhere.
I freeze, my eyes snapping to the mess at my feet, then snap back to him.
“Don’t push me, bitch . ”
I blink.
My brain fully malfunctions for a second, gears grinding to a stop.
Oh, so we’re doing this now?
Game on, asshole .
I turn to face him, crossing my arms.
“Excuse me?”
Alonzo’s lip curls, his eyes burning with something mean and ugly.
“He’s made it clear I’m not supposed to go near you. Said to show you courtesy , ” he sneers, practically gagging on the word as he throws up air quotes like it’s something filthy.
“Like you deserve anything but a fucking hole in the ground.”
I raise an eyebrow, tilting my head.
“And yet, here you are,” I say, gesturing at him.
“Breaking the one rule he gave you. Didn’t you just barge in without knocking?” I let my eyes drag up and down him, slow and unimpressed.
“So brave. ”
That does it.
Alonzo’s face twists, and his eyes go wild like he’s filled with pure rage.
WHAM.
His palm cracks across my face, the slap landing with a white-hot sting that snaps my head sideways.
Pain bursts across my cheek, the skin searing like it’s being set on fire.
The room tilts, my vision swims, but I don’t get a second to catch my breath.
He’s on me, digging his nails in my shoulders before both hands shove me hard, and my back slams into the wall with a force so brutal it feels like my spine has been shoved up between my tits.
I let out a sharp gasp, but every ounce of air rushes from my lungs, leaving me choking on nothing.
My chest heaves, but the panic clawing inside me is worse.
Or maybe it is puke because his hand is rearing back again for round two.
Oh, shit.
Tears burn behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them spill.
I won’t let him see me cry.
His hand swings down.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Alonzo?” Kota sounds almost as deadly as Alessio.
Alonzo freezes, looking over his shoulder, then back at me.
His hand drops, but the fury in his eyes stays, burning through me.
He leans in, his breath hot and sour on my face.
“You tell Alessio about this,” he snarls, “and you’ll fucking pay . ”
“Get the hell out,” Kota orders in a murderous growl.
Alonzo throws me one last lethal glare before he stomps out, slamming the door so hard the walls tremble.
I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath until Kota steps closer.
“You alright?”
I force myself to nod.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lie, like it’s no big deal that some oversized goon just pummeled me like a UFC fight.
I’m just glad Kota got here before that dick-wad could hit me again.
Kota doesn’t look convinced.
“You sure?”
I push out a fake smile.
“Totally. Nothing I can’t handle.” Another lie.
Because the second I’m alone, I know I’ll break.
He doesn’t buy it.
I can see it written all over his face.
But he doesn’t push.
Instead, he watches me in this awkward stare-down for what feels like forever.
Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders dropping, and turns for the door.
The second the door clicks shut, I lock it behind him.
And that’s when it hits.
My face throbs, hot and pulsing from the slap.
My chest heaves, every breath feels shaky, and the tears fall.
Damn it.
I cry for a while, long enough to loosen the tight knot in my chest and let the shaking settle.
My hands press against my knees as I bend forward, forcing myself to breathe, and shove the panic back down where it belongs.
I’m not breaking over some bruised ego and a bruised cheek.
Wiping the tears from my face, I drag in a deep breath and straighten up.
No time for a pity party, I can’t let them see me weak.
I throw myself into organizing the room, grabbing clothes and hanging them up.
The simple rhythm of sorting and folding calms me.
The neat little piles bring order back into my chaotic day.
I move on to the things that belong in drawers, carefully folding and stacking.
A smirk tugs at my lips when I reach the packages from earlier.
I tear one open and immediately snort.
Floggers, whips, and enough sex toys to stock a damn dungeon.
I shake my head, already knowing exactly who’s behind this.
Paola.
So much for the human warm hug.
That woman is a walking kink .
And now that I think about it…
Yeah, she definitely knows about Alessio’s room of sin.
This was on purpose, it had to be.
I glance at the ridiculous collection and sigh.
I should move them to Alessio’s fuck-me room, but there is no chance I’m leaving this room tonight.
So, these bad boys are staying right here, for now.
With another sigh, I get to work, dedicating not one, not two, but three entire drawers to the toys.
The bigger items go straight to the massive walk-in closet.
Out of sight, out of mind.
I step back, hands on my hips, surveying my masterpiece.
Maybe I can offer them to Alessio as a peace offering for pissing him off today because nothing says ‘I’m sorry’ quite like a box full of dicks and butt plugs.
A chuckle escapes me.
Who would’ve thought I’d be spending my night sorting drawers full of vibrators, handcuffs, and…
whatever the hell these spiky things are?
Mom would be real proud of me right now.
Definitely not what she pictured for me growing up.
Once everything is unboxed and put away, I break down the boxes and padded envelopes, stuffing them into a larger one to keep the mess contained.
I drag it over by the door to deal with tomorrow.
The room feels empty again, every inch neat and in its place.
After brushing my teeth, I climb into bed, sitting cross-legged on the mattress.
It’s only eleven.
And I’m not remotely tired.
I’m stuck in this boring-ass room with nothing to do.
I should’ve ordered books, a TV, or even a phone.
Anything to pass the time.
Instead, I’m left alone with my thoughts.
And the stupid memory of Alonzo’s hand coming down on me.
My skin still tingles from where he slapped me, a phantom throb that makes my jaw clench tight.
I try to shake it off, it’s over and done with.
But I can’t unsee his ugly, hateful face, or the way he didn’t even hesitate.
And worst of all, I hate that I didn’t fight back.