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“Let’s start with introductions,” I say, leaning in just enough to make her uncomfortable. “I’m Al—” I stop myself, smirking. “Well, I’m pretty sure you already know who I am.”

“And you are Olivia,” I continue, going off the intel Seb handed me. “But you go by Liv.”

I lean against the desk, arms crossed, watching her. But she avoids my gaze, her lips pressed into a thin, stubborn line. I hate that.

Kota steps back until he reaches the door, slamming it shut behind him. Now it’s just me and my little stalker.

“Why are you looking into me?” I ask, but she doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Nothing.

I exhale through my nose. “Who are you here for?”

Still nothing.

Wrong fucking move.

“Talk,” I snap, slamming my fists on the desk. She flinches, but her eyes stay down.

“No, asshole,” she says smoothly, her voice is too casual like for someone tied to a chair. Like she isn’t pissing me off more and more by the second. Her fingers twitch against the armrest they’re bound to, the only tell that she’s feeling something other than stupidly confident.

I close the space between us in one step, gripping her chin, forcing her to look at me. “No, asshole?” I mock, smirking at the spitfire in front of me.

She glares, her breath coming just a little faster now. She’s got fire, but nobody says no to me. She tries to jerk away, but I don’t let her. My grip holds firm, keeping her in place. Olivia rolls her eyes like she’s bored, like this doesn’t faze her, but she still won’t look at me.She won’t give me the satisfaction of seeing her break.

Stubborn little thing.

I lean in, bracing my hands on either side of the chair, my face inches from hers. “I ask the questions, and you answer,” I murmur, dangerously low. “Got it, stalker?” I pause just long enough to watch her reaction, then smirk. “And I prefer Alessio, not asshole.”

Olivia exhales harshly, almost defiant, like she’s about to spit something back, but before she gets the chance, there’s a knock at the door. Kota steps into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Sorry to interrupt, Boss, but I just got an update,” he says, his eyes darting between me and Olivia.

I let go of the chair and stand, turning away from her like she isn’t even there. I follow Kota into the hallway, leaving her tied to the chair. “What is it?” I snap.

“Zeno heard the prisoner mumbling in his sleep,” Kota says. Zeno’s one of my most trusted men, posted outside Chris’s cell.

“Kept repeating that he ‘did what he was told.’ When Zeno woke him up, he clammed up, refusing to give up any names.”

Either the bastard botched the drop, or someone out there thinksDemoniis moving underage girls. Zeno should’ve just let the fucker sleep. At this rate, we only get anything useful from him when he’s unconscious.

My teeth grind together so hard I feel it in my fucking skull. A slow burn starts in my chest, heating my skin and tightening my fists. If someone’s spreading that kind of bullshit about my casino, they won’t be breathing much longer.

“If it’s the latter,” I mutter more to myself “they’re gonna wish they never fucking thought it.” I drag a hand over my face, trying to force down the heat crawling up my spine. I don’t have time for rage. Not yet. I need answers. Names.

I take a slow breath, steadying the fire building under my ribs. Handle it first. Burn the place down later. “Keep digging,” I say, clenching my fists. “I want every single name he came into contact with, from the second his foot hit the parking lot to the moment we dragged him to the basement. No loose ends. Got it?”

Kota barely gets a word out before the office door slams open with a loud crack, smacking into his back. He stumbles forward with a curse, and before I can register what the hell just happened, a blur of red flashes past him.

Olivia.

Shebolts for the stairs.

Fuck.

I burst through the rooftop door at full speed, shoving it open so hard it nearly bounces off the wall. Olivia is already at the fire escape. My pulse is pounding, the sound of her footsteps slamming against concrete. She’s quick, but I’m faster.

My hand shoots out, grabbing a fistful of her curls. She stumbles back, her body colliding against mine, and a sharp gasp escapes her lips. My grip is tight and rough, I don’t give a shit if it hurts.

“Running again? Haven’t you learned by now that you can’t run from me?” I growl, my grip tightening in her hair. My other hand wraps around her throat, my fingers pressing into her skin, harder than I probably should. But I don’t ease up, I want her to feel it.

Her breath catches, her chest rises against my arm, and for half a second, a thought riles in my brain, how perfectly my hand fits here. But I shove that shit aside and turn her around to face me.