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Pieces slide into place like a twisted fucked up puzzle. And surprise, surprise, Liv’s right at the center of it.

I sneak downstairs, her purse is still in the car. I pop open the car door and grab her phone. Five contacts saved and yet, there it is… Ezra.

Me: Find out how Franco and Ezra Morano are connected.

Seb: On it.

Liv’s working with them. She’s undercover. Lying to my face while fucking me. Playing me from the start.

I flex my fingers, trying to breathe past the sudden tightness in my chest. Every second she’s spent in myfucking house, in mybed—every look, every touch, those wide, innocent eyes staring up at me like she wasn’t feeding me bullshit the entire time. It was all part of her fucking game.

Information, that’s all she wanted. It’s what she’s been pulling from me, piece by piece, setting me up like I’m some pussy-drunk fool. My fingers twitch, itching to put a fist through the nearest wall because I need to fucking destroy something.

Instead, I push off the wall and head back upstairs. I turn toward the bedroom, standing in the doorway,watching her sleep. Liv’s tangled in my sheets, curled up, like she didn’t just gut me with three words that didn’t mean a damn thing.

I love you. Yeah fucking right.

She’s a snake, waiting for the right moment to sink her fangs in. And the worst part is that for a split second, before everything was ripped out from under me, I almost believed her.

I drag a hand over my face, pulling in a breath before exhaling slowly through my nose, trying to calm the wrath clawing inside me.

She got in too fucking deep, and I let her. Mistake noted, but now I need to fix it and get rid of her.

38

Liv

I rub the sleep from my eyes, and my body screams at me for moving. I feel every bit of last night’s thoroughpunishment from a certain mafia boss who apparently thinks I’m made of steel. Stretching seems like a good idea, until it’s not. A sharp sting shoots through my ass, and I let out a groan that sounds more like a dying walrus. Right now, I’d kill for a hot bath, a massive breakfast, and a movie marathon where nobody interrupts me or tries toownme like last night. Well, maybe a little bit of last night.

Rolling over, I reach for him out of habit, only to find the sheets empty and cold. Alessio is gone. That shouldn’t bother me, and I hate that I feel a pang of disappointment.

With a sigh, I push myself up, wincing as my legs remind me of exactly what happened last night. I put on a simple wrap dress and braid my hair to look half decent.Every step down the hallway is a whole-ass journey, my body practically yelling, “Why are we doing this? Go back to bed.” But no, I trudge down the stairs, moving like a sore, half-dead zombie just trying to survive the morning.

As I make my way into the kitchen, I freeze. Kota and Paola are in the dining room, and something is off.Kota’s standing there, arms crossed, looking too serious for the human teddy bear I’ve gotten used to. And Paola’s face is streaked with tears. Not just a few delicate ones, but like full-on ugly cry status.

“What’s going on?” My voice sounds rough, like I just woke up, which I did, but the growing pit in my stomach says, “Wake up faster.”

Kota’s eyes meet mine. There’s no warmth, no teasing, just cold professionalism. It’s like someone flipped a switch and activated Serious Business Kota. “Don Alessio wants to see you in his office,” he says. His tone is so clipped that it sounds like this is some customer service call being recorded for quality assurance.

Don Alessio? We’re using titles now. That’s not a good sign.

My eyes go back to Paola. “Paola, are you okay?”

She opens her mouth to answer, but Kota gently rubs her shoulder. “She’ll be fine,” he says, and that should be comforting, but it’s not.Not when Paola’s wiping at her face like she just got hit with world-ending news. I want to push further, but something in his eyes screams, “Not the time.”

Paola pulls away from him, wiping at her face, mumbling something I can’t catch as she walks toward the kitchen.

Kota jerks his head toward the hallway. “Go on.”

My stomach twists. Whatever’s going down… it can’t be good.

I’m outside his office, and every part of me knows I should knock.Be a good girl and follow the rules, especially when something is clearly off.

My hand hesitates mid-air, because every cell in my body is screaming,turn around. But I don’t. I knock, my fingers tapping against the wood like it might buy me more time.

“Come in,” the Warden rasps from the other side.

My stomach tightens.I’m not panicking.I push the door open and step inside, but my nerves are bouncing around my stomach like ping-pong balls.