Chapter 23 Livvie
LIVVIE
Roman sets his coffee mug on the table in his hotel suite, the movement flexing the muscles beneath his T-shirt.
“You shouldn’t wander around the city alone,” he says. “Kingston should know better. Some fucking husband he’s turned out to be. If you were mine—”
“I’m not, though, am I?” I perch on the edge of the velvet armchair, arms folded, knees tight together. “My da saw to that ages ago and now I'm married into a New York mafia syndicate, Roman. My fate is sealed and you need to stop popping up unannounced, or he’ll think I’m up to something.”
“I was keeping an eye on you,” he corrects. “Your da believes Kingston is responsible for you now.”
A flicker of emotion passes across his face, a wash of something old and aching. “You know I never stopped caring, Liv.”
I shoot to my feet. “Don’t. I left Ireland for a fresh start, Roman. It’s not like we had a future together. We both knew that at the time.”
“You think Viacava gives a shit about you?” he bites out, leaning closer. “He’ll bury you to protect himself.”
“You don’t know him like I do.”
Roman grunts under his breath. “What, you spend a couple nights under him and suddenly you think he’s worth your devotion? Please, tell me you don’t actually think the guy gives a fuck about you, Liv?”
I walk past him, refusing to let him see the way my skin reacts at the mention of Kingston. “Look, this was a bad idea. I need to go home or my husband will have a search party looking for me.”
Roman exhales and drags a hand down his face. “He doesn’t love you.”
“This has nothing to do with feelings,” I snap. “Anyway, you didn’t love me. We just enjoyed the rush because it was a risk.”
Silence settles between us for a beat before he shrugs. “I could do a better job than Kingston.”
It breaks something in me. Or maybe it sets fire to what’s already burning.
“Is that what all this was about? You trying to steal Kingston's wife and start something.” I shake my head. “I thought you actually wanted to help me. Instead, you’re just trying to start a war because you hate the Viacavas. My da has you in his pocket, Roman. And guess what… I go by the name Mrs. Viacava these days.”
I waggle my wedding finger in the air. “I don’t need your help, and my da can go screw himself for dropping me into this shit over my head.”
Roman stands, his posture tense and his eyes dark. “Kingston is using you. Don't fall for his bullshit.”
I lift my chin. “Yeah, he probably is, but at least the sex is fucking amazing.”
The words hang in the air like a slap.
He lunges at me and grabs my wrist, making me flinch. “You think you’re in control, Liv? You’re not. You’re just a fucking little puppet.”
I yank my arm free. “If I am, it's because of my da… The man who pays your salary and gives you orders. So back the fuck off.”
I don’t wait for his reaction, already storming to the door.
“Livvie—”
“I’m going back to my husband,” I say, my voice like steel.
“Don’t be stupid.”
“You’re right.” I pause in the doorway, narrowing my eyes at him. “I won’t be anyone's puppet anymore. Not my da’s… yours… or even Kingston’s.”
I don’t glance back as I storm down the hallway. The hotel suite door slams shut behind me, the thud echoing in the quiet corridor.
My pulse roars in my ears, drowning out everything except the fury simmering beneath my skin.
Truth is, I’m shaken. Furious at Roman and the stupid Tribunal. At myself for craving Kingston like I do. At all of it.
When the elevator doors part with a ding, I step inside, jamming the button for the lobby. As it descends, I clench my fists to stop the tremor building in my hands.
The lobby is quiet, marble floors shining under the noon sun that streams through the glass. I walk fast, past the concierge, and when I push through the doors and step outside, the summer heat hits me like a wall.
I need to get back to the penthouse. Back to Kingston before he figures out something is wrong. Which means I need to buy some gelato.
And there’s one big problem with that. I have no idea where the hell I am right now.
The pavement shimmers underfoot, yellow cabs blaring horns as they veer down the street. Sweat trickles between my shoulder blades, but I don’t stop. I can’t.
Mid-stride, a black SUV pulls up and a man dressed all in black jumps out and opens the passenger door wide.
“Mrs. Viacava,” he says coolly, inclining his head. “Boss wants you home. Now.”
I freeze when another man steps around the vehicle to stand beside me, sealing off any escape route.
“Get in,” the first one adds, voice firmer now.
I blow out a breath, then unlock my legs and slide into the SUV without another word. The leather is cool against my thighs and the city closes out behind me as the door slams shut.
Home.
That word lingers in my mind. Is Kingston’s penthouse really my home or my prison?
The SUV glides through Manhattan like a shark in open water. Kingston’s security guys sit like statues, eyes on the road, ears no doubt tuned into every beat of my breathing.
I focus on the city flashing past the tinted windows, on the war raging inside me. Roman’s words echo like poison in the back of my mind.
Puppet. Control. Stupid.
But he doesn’t know a damn thing about being torn in half—about falling for the enemy and having an order to kill him.
The SUV pulls up outside the building. One of the guards opens the door, and I step out onto the curb, the sun already beginning to shift across the sky, casting long shadows across the sidewalk.
Another guard joins me at the doors, swiping a key card that grants us immediate access. The elevator ride is silent.
My heart, however, is anything but. It slams against my ribs as the floors blink past in steady succession. I hate that I’m nervous.
When I step into the penthouse, he’s already there. Standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, sleeves rolled to his elbows, shirt half-buttoned, and a glass of dark liquor in his hand.
His gaze cuts to me the second the doors close behind me. He doesn’t say a word.
“Let me guess—you’re tracking my every move?”
“So what if I am?” Kingston’s voice rumbles around the high ceiling. “You walked out without telling me. Only cheaters or liars do that.”
I roll my eyes, crossing my arms as the air coils tighter around us, humming with the weight of his anger. “Relax. I went out to get gelato.”
He blinks once. Slowly. Then raises his wrist and glances at his watch with all the drama of someone confirming I’m lying.
“It’s after midday.” He cocks a brow. “You had to go to Italy to buy it?”
I flash him a sweet, mocking smile. “It was for my husband. Thought I’d surprise him.”
He folds his arms over his chest. “They all out? Because you came back empty-handed, wife.”
“Oh, sorry.” I shrug, feigning innocence. “Are you upset with me?”
Kingston’s stare sharpens, dangerous and unamused. “Yeah. Marrying me came with rules.”
“And you think I broke one?” I challenge, stepping closer. “What’s next, Kingston? You gonna ground me? Take away my violin?”
His nostrils flare but he doesn’t move toward me or even raise his voice. Because the man is a threat even when he's still.
“You think this is a game?” he asks, low and lethal. “You think disappearing without a word after everything that’s happened isn’t going to set off alarms?”
“Oh, please. I grabbed a coffee. Stretched my legs and forgot about the damn ice cream. Calm down, control freak.”
The muscles in his jaw work as he considers me. “I don’t care if you went out to count pigeons in Central fucking Park. You don’t leave without telling me where you’re going.”
I laugh. “Right. Silly me. I forgot I’m a possession now.”
He slams the glass onto the bar, the sound cracking like a gunshot. “Don’t twist this.”
“I’m not twisting anything, Kingston. You don’t trust me.”
“Do you trust me?” His voice is a whip now. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re running around the city like you’ve got something to hide.”
My pulse spikes. “You’re one to talk. You’ve kept me in the dark since day one. Whispered meetings, encrypted files, men in suits lurking at every corner. What exactly am I supposed to believe?”
“Try believing that I’m doing everything I can to keep you alive.”
His words punch the air out of me, because I believe him. And I’m the one tasked with ending his life.
I cross my arms and look away, trying to steady the chaos spiraling inside me.
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I whisper.
Kingston moves closer, bringing his heat into my space. “Too late to say that shit, Livvie. We’re married.”
I whip my head toward him. “I didn’t choose you, though, did I? We were thrown together and I had to give up everything. What did you have to give up, Kingston?”
He studies me with something unreadable.
“You still hate me,” he murmurs. “After all this time together.”
“I only hate you some of the time.”
“Yet you like sneaking around when I’m asleep… and disappearing without my permission.”
“Your permission?” I snap. “Fuck you, Kingston.”
I turn on my heel, every part of me trembling with fury. But I make it two steps before a hand wraps around my wrist.
“Do not walk away from me, Livvie,” Kingston growls, his grip tightening.
His body moves behind mine, heat pouring off him in waves, his breath near my ear. “You think you can lie to me and strut back in here like nothing happened? With no consequences?”
“I told you,” I snap, twisting, “I went out for gelato and got distracted by the city.”
“And I was born yesterday,” he bites back. “Try again.”
I try to wrench my arm free, but he turns me into him, our chests colliding. His other hand comes to my jaw, forcing me to look him in the eye. And I do.
God, I shouldn’t.
Because I see the storm under the surface. Fury, yes, but something else. Something darker.
His gaze sharpens. “Who were you with, Livvie?”
“I was alone,” I lie, my voice too quick, too thin. “Your men picked me up on the street… alone.”
His thumb presses against my chin. “Try again.”
“I was alone.”
Kingston’s mouth curves into something dangerous, a slow smile edged in threat. “Lying to me, princess? Now we’re playing a whole different game. You want to find out how punishment works in this household?”
“You’re an asshole.”
“I’d rather be an asshole than a cheating fucking liar. Last chance, Livvie. Who were you with?”
“Roman,” I spit, my breaths shallow.
His hand drops from my jaw, sliding to my hip, anchoring me in place. His voice lowers to a growl. “Did you fuck him?”
My heart pounds because right now, Kingston Viacava looks like he’s one breath away from drawing blood.
My heart slams against my ribs, loud enough to drown out reason.
“No,” I snap, the word sharp and immediate. “I didn’t fuck him. I’m married to you, aren’t I. And for all my sins, that makes me loyal to you. Until our divorce is settled.”
Kingston’s gaze doesn’t waver. His hand tightens on my hip, his thumb dragging slow, infuriating sweeps against my skin like he’s testing how far he can push me before I break.
“But you were with him, behind my back.”
“Yes.” My voice cracks with fury. “But not for what you think. I didn’t go there to fuck him. I didn’t even want to see him.”
“Then why lie?” he growls, nostrils flaring. “Why sneak out? Why risk everything we’ve built?”
“We haven’t built anything, Kingston!” I shout, the words bouncing off the penthouse walls. “You think just because you shoved a ring on my finger and gave me a closet full of designer dresses that means we’re some kind of team? We’re not and I don’t have to ask you how to live my life.”
His eyes turn jet-black and the muscles in his jaw flex.
“And Roman?” His voice is rougher now. “He’s nothing, right? Just a stray shadow you happened to fall into?”
“I don’t give a fuck about Roman!” I scream, fury and heat rising all at once.
“He’s not the one I think about when I can’t sleep.
He’s not the reason I feel like I could actually belong somewhere…
with someone for the first time in my life.
That’s all you, Kingston. And I fucking hate you for messing with my head. ”
The words hang in the air, thick and irreversible.
Kingston’s eyes flicker, stunned for the briefest second before something far more dangerous replaces it.
Possession.
Heat.
Need.
I suck in a breath too late.
Shit.
What did I just say?
He steps closer, towering over me now, tension rolling off his body. “You do belong right here, beside me, Livvie.”
“No, I don’t.” I shake my head, chest heaving. “Forget I said anything.”
But the damage is done. He knows now.
Kingston’s eyes flare like gasoline catching fire, his grip on my hip tightening for a beat longer.
“You will never go near that fucker again,” he says, the order slow, like he’s carving the words into my mind. “Stay the fuck away from him. And if he comes near you, I’ll cut his fucking throat, baby. Understood?”
I flinch at the truth in that. Because it is the truth.
And that terrifies me more than any gun to my head ever could.
I shove his chest hard, creating space between us. My voice is stronger now, laced with venom to hide the shake beneath.
“I make my own decisions. You don’t get to tell me what to do. Understood?” I glare at him. “Keep your hands off me.”
His expression darkens. He doesn’t move immediately, just studies me with that unreadable, infuriating gaze.
“You sure about that, wife?” he murmurs, his voice mocking now. “Because you sound conflicted.”
“I’m not conflicted,” I lie, my stomach twisting as I take a step back. “I’m just not fucking desperate and I don’t appreciate being controlled. Give me space, Kingston.”
I spin on my heel, needing distance, my violin, anything to cool the wildfire roaring in my chest.
Behind me, Kingston’s presence looms, always there, always watching.
I tell myself I have to get a grip and think clearly, because if I don’t, if I let myself fall for the man I’ve been ordered to kill…
It won’t just be my heart that breaks.
It’ll be my soul.
But could I actually go through with it?