Chapter 17
I watch Liv through the security feeds, my jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth. The main monitor shows her perched on the edge of my leather sofa, every movement measured and controlled. Too controlled.
“She hasn’t moved from that spot in twenty minutes,” Marcus says from his station, fingers tapping across his keyboard.
I lean closer to the screen, studying her face for any crack in that perfect mask she’s wearing. The designer dress and careful makeup feel like armor—another way to keep me at arm’s length. My hands curl into fists at my sides.
“The blind spots?” I ask, though I already know the answer. Liv had systematically destroyed every camera in her designated space within days of arriving. Just like she’d dismantled my carefully constructed plans at every turn.
“Nothing since the last visual check-up after she destroyed the cameras. But she knows where every working camera is positioned.” Marcus gestures to the feed where Eve’s gaze drifts deliberately to the corner mount near the kitchen. “She’s making a point of it.”
The observation sends a fresh wave of frustration through me. Even now, trapped in my penthouse with a price on her head, she refuses to yield. To acknowledge that my protection is the only thing keeping her breathing.
My eyes narrow as she shifts, her attention fixing briefly on the imported rug beneath my coffee table. The movement seems casual, but there’s intent behind it. Just like the way she keeps glancing at the elevator doors.
“She’s planning something.” The words come out as a growl.
The darker part of me, the part that wants to lock her away where nothing can touch her, rises to the surface. If she won’t protect herself, I’ll do it for her. Even if it means becoming the very thing she’s fighting against.
“Sir?” Marcus’s voice pulls me back from the edge of those possessive thoughts.
I force my breathing to slow, but I can’t tear my eyes from her image on the screen. The calm she projects feels wrong—like pressure building before a storm breaks. Every instinct I’ve honed over the years in this business screams that she’s three moves ahead of me.
“Increase surveillance on the emergency exits,” I order.
I freeze as Eve’s head turns, her eyes meeting the camera directly. The challenge in her gaze hits like a physical blow.
I slam my palm against the steel desk, the sharp crack echoing through the security office. “She’s going to get herself killed.”
Marcus doesn’t flinch, his eyes fixed on the monitors. Good man. Eight years of working together taught him when to weather my storms.
I drag a hand down my face, pacing the cramped space between workstations. The metallic taste of fury coats my tongue. “Liv would rather die than let anyone protect her. Especially me.”
“Then let her make that choice.”
“No.” The word comes out like a weapon. “I won’t stand by while she martyrs herself for this crusade.”
Marcus stops typing, finally turning to face me. “With respect, sir, you’re not thinking clearly. Miss Consoli—”
“Is determined to get herself killed exposing her father’s operation.
” I brace both hands on the desk, watching Liv on the main screen.
She hasn’t moved, but something in her stillness sets my teeth on edge.
“The deal I’m drafting could save her life.
Get her out of Chicago, set her up somewhere safe—”
“While betraying everything she’s fighting for?”
“While keeping her alive.” The steel beneath my palms groans as my fingers dig in. “Montoni won’t stop. Even if I refuse his offer, he’ll just hire someone else. Someone who won’t hesitate to put a bullet in her head.”
“And when she hates you for forcing her hand?”
The question hits like a blade between my ribs. I straighten, squaring my shoulders against the weight of what I’m considering. “She already hates me. At least she’ll be alive to do it.”
My eyes lock on her image again, catching the subtle shift of her gaze toward the rug. That nagging sense of wrongness intensifies.
“What are you planning?” I mutter, studying her profile. “What piece of the game am I missing?”
The clock on the wall ticks. Soon, I’ll have to face Montoni, and I need a bulletproof proposal when I do. But first, I need to figure out what Eve’s plotting before she gets herself killed trying to outmaneuver me.
The alarm pierces through the security hub like a blade, yanking my attention back to the main monitor. Liv stands in my living room, her chest heaving, a crystal vase gripped in her white-knuckled hands.
“Sir, she’s—” Marcus starts.
“I can see what she’s doing.” My voice comes out low and controlled, even as something dark and possessive unfurls in my chest.
Liv hurls the vase at the nearest camera. The feed distorts, then dies in a shower of static. Her lips move in what’s clearly a string of expletives, though the audio feed crackles with interference.
“Pull up the kitchen feed,” I order, but she’s already there, ripping down the camera mounted above the marble counter. The raw fury in her movements is mesmerizing—like watching a storm tear through my carefully ordered world.
“You want control?” Her voice cuts through before that feed dies, too. “Here’s your fucking control!”
I grind my teeth, transfixed by Eve’s calculated destruction. She’s not just lashing out—each camera she destroys creates another blind spot, another space beyond my reach. The realization sends a thrill through me that’s equal parts admiration and rage.
“Let her play,” I say, watching as she climbs onto my imported Italian dining table to reach the corner mount. “She’s making a point.”
“A rather expensive point,” Marcus mutters as another camera dies.
Liv turns to face the last working feed in the living room, her eyes blazing with defiance. Blood trickles from a cut on her palm, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Or care.
“Are you watching, Remy?” She steps closer, her voice sharp enough to draw blood. “Is this enough of a show for you?”
My fingers dig into the steel desk. Every camera she destroys feels like a personal challenge—one that sets my blood on fire. The more she fights against my protection, the stronger my need to contain her becomes.
“You can’t protect someone who doesn’t want to be saved,” Marcus says quietly.
I ignore him, watching Liv stalk toward the final camera like a predator. “No,” I agree, “but I can keep her alive long enough to make her understand why she needs to be.”
The feed cuts to black as Liv claims her final target, leaving us staring at empty screens. In the sudden silence, my own dark laugh surprises me.
She wants to play? Fine. Let’s play.
I stalk away from the security hub, my footsteps echoing through the empty corridor. The rage builds with each step—at Eve’s defiance, at my own helplessness, at the entire fucking situation spiraling beyond my control.
The elevator doors gleam mockingly as I approach. I jab the button harder than necessary, waiting for the familiar hum of machinery. Nothing.
I press it again. Still nothing.
“What the hell?” My fist connects with the metal doors. The dull thud does nothing to ease the tension coiling through my body.
My phone’s already at my ear. “Marcus.”
“Working on it, sir.” His fingers click rapidly across keys in the background. “The system’s not responding. Give me two minutes—”
“I don’t have two minutes.” The words scrape out through clenched teeth. “Liv is up there, probably dismantling my entire security system, and you’re telling me I can’t even get to my own penthouse?”
“Sir, the override codes aren’t—”
A shrill alarm cuts through his response, the sound piercing enough to make me wince. Red emergency lights flood the corridor, casting everything in a hellish glow.
“Marcus.” My voice drops dangerously low. “Tell me that’s not—”
“Smoke detected on your floor.” The clicking intensifies. “Security feed shows… east wing, spreading fast.”
The phone nearly cracks in my grip. “Eve.”
“Sir, wait for emergency response—”
I’m already running toward the stairs, taking them two at a time. Two floors stretch above me, but the burn in my muscles barely registers through the mounting panic.
She’s trying to escape. She’ll get herself killed.
The thought drives me faster, harder. My breath comes in harsh pants, echoing off concrete walls.
My phone buzzes. Marcus again. I ignore it, focused solely on the distance between me and Eve. The smoke alarm’s wail follows me up, a constant reminder that every second counts.
She can’t leave. The thought pounds through me with each footfall. Won’t leave.
The stairwell fills with thin wisps of smoke, confirming my worst fears. She’s actually done it—created enough chaos to attempt an escape.
My legs burn, muscles screaming in protest, but I push harder. The space between us shrinks with each step, but it’s still too far. Still too much distance between me and what’s mine. The smoke thickens.
She’s mine to protect. Mine to save. Mine.
I slam the key into the lock, but the door refuses to budge. Something’s blocking it from the inside. The metallic taste of fear coats my tongue as smoke seeps through the gaps.
“Eve!” My shoulder connects with the solid wood, sending pain shooting down my arm. Again. And again. The door groans but holds.
Sweat trickles down my neck as I throw my weight against it one final time. The barrier gives way with a sharp crack, sending me stumbling into my foyer. Heat hits my face, along with thin tendrils of smoke that sting my eyes.
My gaze sweeps the entrance, searching for any sign of her. Nothing. Just the acrid smell of burning fabric drawing me deeper into my home.
The living room stops me cold. Smoke hangs thick in the air, churning from multiple points where Liv deliberately set small fires. My rug smolders, threads of smoke rising from its charred edges. The leather couch cushions are slashed, their stuffing providing fuel for another controlled burn.