Page 12

“That’s something you have to ask her yourself, Alessandro,” Antonio replies.

“Crazy ex?” Kota chimes in with a smirk.

Antonio laughs, shaking his head at Kota’s comment. I roll my eyes. Yeah, I’ve had my share of flings since Bria, but nothing even close to serious. Certainly not serious enough to have someone stalking me across state lines.

“Sebastiano’s got his eye on her,” Antonio says, his tone shifting to something more serious. “He’s at Elli Enterprises now, and his men are watching her closely. She doesn’t have a clue we’re onto her, at least, she doesn’t seem to.”

Elli Enterprises isn’t far from the airport, so we get there fast.

Antonio’s office is on the 27th floor, but walking through the front door isn’t an option—not with Olivia’s desk right outside. We take the back entrance instead, bypassing the main lobby. The last thing I need is for her to see me before I’m ready.

Sebastiano sits behind the massive oak desk, his fingers flying over the keyboard, eyes locked on the screen. As I get closer, I catch the shifting camera angles he’s adjusting, tracking her every move in real time.

Outside, my men join his, spreading out around the building and covering every exit. They’re keeping theirdistance, staying just out of sight. She has no idea she’s being watched.

“She’s in the bathroom,” Sebastiano states impatiently.

It’s a unisex bathroom. Perfect.

Kota steps up. “Let me see if I can get her out of there,” he says, and I nod. He pushes out of the office door, his broad frame impossible to miss among the office employees moving through the hallway. The tailored black-on-black suit helps him blend in just enough. It’s corporate and polished, but I’m pretty sure he’s the only one with a piece strapped to his hip, under his jacket.

6

Liv

My hands grip the edge of the sink so tightly that my knuckles turn white. There’s water still dripping down my face. I blink hard, trying to shove the memories back where they belong. My pale face and wide green eyes stare back at me in the mirror, way too intense for just a normal day at Elli Enterprises. A knock on the bathroom door makes me jump. “You okay in there?” someone calls through the door. I take a shaky breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm my nerves.

“Yeah, just a minute,” I call out, sounding more confident than I actually am. I splash cold water on my face one more time, forcing the memories back down where they belong.

When I step out of the bathroom, I nearly body-check Paul Bunyan’s long-lost cousin. I mumble a quick, “Sorry,” and haul ass through the maze of desks like I’ve got somewhere important to be.

Every seat’s filled, everyone’s glued to their screens, phones ringing, fingers flying over keyboards like it’s a race. No one looks up. No one pays me much attention, just another temp receptionist in the endless parade of forgettable faces. It’s exactly what I need—anonymity.

The temp receptionist role is a cover. I still feel bad about Cindy, the regular receptionist here. But she’ll be okay. I just need another few days, then I’ll be out of here and she’ll be back at work.

I boot up the computer at my desk, my fingers flying over the keyboard as I log in. I keep my expression neutral, but my eyes scan through files and emails, searching for any leads I can access. The Commission, my mother’s death, my father’s disappearance—all pieces of a puzzle that’s consumed my life.

“Liv, hurry!”My mother’s voice rings in my ears as I sift through the stack of documents. I can still feel her hand gripping mine, pulling me into a car with Clover behind the wheel, though I didn’t know who he was back then. That memory lives rent-free in my mind; it was the day everything changed.

“Miss? Can you help me with this?” A voice breaks through my thoughts. I look up to see a colleague holding a stack of papers similar to mine, with a hopeful look on her face.

“Of course,” I say, plastering a fake smile on my face. I take the papers from her and process the documents as quickly as I can. Each interaction, or mundane task, is a cover, a way to blend in while I dig deeper.

My mind is half on the task at hand, and half on the memories that won’t stay buried. I can still hear my mother’s strained whisper and see the fear in her eyes. I remember the first safe house we went to, surrounded by police officers and detectives who promised to keep us safe. But in the end, they failed us, and failed my mother.

The rest of the day drags, each minute stretching longer than the last. It doesn’t help that Mr. Morelli stayed in his office today, without any visitors. I keep glancing at the clock, counting down until I can finally slip away and get back to my search.

It’s almost 5:00 P.M.., and the office is finally thinning out enough for me to make my move. I push my chair back, stretch like I’ve actually done something productive today, and casually make my way toward the bathroom. It’s right next to the records room, which is just too damn convenient. If I linger, no one’s gonna think twice. Just a tired little receptionist on her way to pee, nothing to see here.

The second I step inside, the odor of musty paper and dust wafts around me. The air is stale from old files that haven’t seen the light of day in years. Rows of metalcabinets stretch ahead, flanked by towering shelves stacked high with file boxes. It’s a goldmine, if I know where to look.

I make my way to the spot I left off yesterday, fingers brushing over faded labels as I scan through dates and names. My pulse kicks up, and that familiar rush settles in as I dig deeper.

The thrum of the air conditioning is the only sound, broken only by the soft rustle of paper as I search, fast but careful. I don’t have much time. I never do.

The door creaks open, the sound barely registering before my body freezes on the spot. My breath catches in my throat, and I clutch the file to my chest, as if that alone could make me disappear.

Footsteps.