Page 39 of Deadly Wrath

Liv

It’s been a few days, and I’ve perfected the art of watching Alessio while avoiding actual interactions with him. Each morning starts with breakfast with Paola, who’s basically the human version of a warm hug—sweet, chatty, and lovable. Even if she works for a mafia overlord.

After that, I wait until Alessio is busy brooding or barking orders at the parade of gorilla-sized men who come and go, then I disappear to snoop around the mansion, which honestly feels more like a mini-mall with chandeliers than an actual house. Who needs this many rooms? Or a ballroom? I didn’t even know that was a real thing.

Alessio says he wasn’t involved in my mom’s disappearance, but the Commission was, that much Idoknow. And since he’s the golden boy of the Philadelphia Mafia, there has to be something in this fortress. Somescrap of proof that’ll tell me what really happened. Clover never told me much, just that my mom was killed and her body was never found. And my dad vanished the same night I was dumped on Clover’s doorstep like a stray cat.

“The less you know, the better,” Clover used to say. Whatever that’s supposed to mean.

I’d spent years sneaking peeks at his case files when he wasn’t looking, piecing together whatever I could. If Clover knew where I was now, he’d lose his mind. He thinks I’m out living my best life, making friends, and seeing the world. Definitely not locked in a gilded cage, run by the type of men he spent his life trying to expose.

After breakfast, I slip into one of the dresses that showed up this morning. The leggings and oversized shirts I ordered still haven’t been delivered, so this will have to do. The black Chanel knit dress fits like it was made for me. Cinched at the waist, smooth over my hips. Istilldon’t have panties, but whatever. It’s hot as hell today, so the less clothing, the better. Summer in Philly feels like Satan’s ass crack, and I’m counting down the days until I can wear something thatisn’tsticking to me.

I glance at myself in the mirror, and I can’t help but notice how the fabric hugs my thighs, making me hyperaware of every curve it highlights. I’ve always been self-conscious about my hips and ass, and although thedress fits perfectly, it isn’t exactly helping, but it’s better than a bedsheet.

I run my hands down the sides, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles in the fabric. It’s fancy, way fancier than anything I’ve ever worn, and definitely more than I could ever afford. I press my lips together and sigh.

But at least it has pockets.

I give myself a final once-over before heading out of my bedroom. I don’t bother with shoes. It’s not like I can walk out the front door anyway.

I stop in the middle of yet another endless hallway, pressing my fingers to my temples. My mind’s spinning. I don’t even knowwhatI’m looking for, but I’m desperate to find something: a loose file, a forgotten note, literally any clue at this point. I open a random door and peek inside. Another bedroom, perfectly styled like a magazine spread. No signs of human life. Just like the last three rooms.

I let out a sharp, exaggerated breath. Patience, Liv. You’ll find something.

At the end of the hall, my fingers pause over another door handle. It’s so quiet back here… too quiet. The kind of silence that presses against your eardrums and makes your heartbeat sound like someone’s playing the drums. I hesitate for a second, every instinct screams at me to turn around, but I ignore it. Curiosity wins out, as always.

The door gives way with a soft click, and I slip inside, shutting it carefully behind me. My fingers fumble along the wall until they find the light switch. It’s a soft light, almost like it’s candlelight. I definitely wouldn’t want to do my makeup in this room.

My eyes scan the room, taking in the dark, polished wood and crimson accents. I expect to see just another fancy-pants room, but this room is different from the rest. The walls are lined with sleek black cabinets, with a matte finish. Next to them are ornate metal fixtures that are evenly spaced.

Rich people love weird artwork.

My eyes go wide as saucers. Okay, this isnotjust another ridiculously fancy bedroom. This is straight-up Christian Grey meets medieval dungeon, but like… expensive.

At first glance, in the dark, almost romantic lighting, everything looks high-end, shiny, and polished, but still minimal. But then my brain processes what I’m looking at.

Sweet baby Jesus.

The shiny chrome bars lining the walls aren’t decorative artwork, they’re chains bolted with anchors.The matte black fixtures are leather restraintsbuckled into place.

My eyes go lower and my stomach flips. Next to the restraints, there’s an entire collection of leather straps, cuffs, and some long-ass metal bar with buckles on each end.

A black leather chair sits in the center of the room, and Ireallywant to convince myself it’s just an expensive statement piece. Except, I’ve seen chairs, and normal chairs don’t come with built-in restraints or sit perfectly in front of a stripper pole.

I swallow hard and turn toward the bed, hoping forsomenormalcy. It’s massive and draped in dark blood-red satin that looks silky smooth. They definitely aren’t your standard Target sheets. But it’s the metal cuffs built into each corner of the frame for me.

Yeah, definitely not decorative. What in the actual fuck?

“Well, shit.” I breathe because my brain refuses to form any other words while standing in the middle of this den of sin.

My feet move on their own, drawn toward the slightly open cabinet near the bed. I shouldn’t look, but I’m already in too deep to turn back. I open the door more and holy-balls, this is basically a Home Depot forperverts. If Home Depot sold stuff that makes my insides do the cha-cha.

Rows of neatly coiled ropes, polished paddles, and some weird metal contraption that I don’t even know what it’s called. Everything looks high-end. Rich people must buy their freaky shit in a boutique instead of a sketchy website. I don’t know what half of it does, but I know one thing, they aren’t just for show.

My fingers have a mind of their own and reach for the silver-gray rope. It’s so soft and slides through my hand like liquid silk, and my intrusive thoughts start to wander to a whole new level.

The sound of footsteps freezes me mid-dirty thought, making goosebumps prickle along my arms. Iknowthose steps.

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