“No.” The word comes out like a weapon. “I won’t stand by while she martyrs herself for this crusade.”
Marcus stops typing, finally turning to face me. “With respect, sir, you’re not thinking clearly. Miss Consoli—”
“Is determined to get herself killed exposing her father’s operation.” I brace both hands on the desk, watching Liv on the main screen. She hasn’t moved, but something in her stillness sets my teeth on edge. “The deal I’m drafting could save her life. Get her out of Chicago, set her up somewhere safe—”
“While betraying everything she’s fighting for?”
“While keeping her alive.” The steel beneath my palms groans as my fingers dig in. “Montoni won’t stop. Even if I refuse his offer, he’ll just hire someone else. Someone who won’t hesitate to put a bullet in her head.”
“And when she hates you for forcing her hand?”
The question hits like a blade between my ribs. I straighten, squaring my shoulders against the weight of what I’m considering. “She already hates me. At least she’ll be alive to do it.”
My eyes lock on her image again, catching the subtle shift of her gaze toward the rug. That nagging sense of wrongness intensifies.
“What are you planning?” I mutter, studying her profile. “What piece of the game am I missing?”
The clock on the wall ticks. Soon, I’ll have to face Montoni, and I need a bulletproof proposal when I do. But first, I need to figure out what Eve’s plotting before she gets herself killed trying to outmaneuver me.
The alarm pierces through the security hub like a blade, yanking my attention back to the main monitor. Liv stands inmy living room, her chest heaving, a crystal vase gripped in her white-knuckled hands.
“Sir, she’s—” Marcus starts.
“I can see what she’s doing.” My voice comes out low and controlled, even as something dark and possessive unfurls in my chest.
Liv hurls the vase at the nearest camera. The feed distorts, then dies in a shower of static. Her lips move in what’s clearly a string of expletives, though the audio feed crackles with interference.
“Pull up the kitchen feed,” I order, but she’s already there, ripping down the camera mounted above the marble counter. The raw fury in her movements is mesmerizing—like watching a storm tear through my carefully ordered world.
“You want control?” Her voice cuts through before that feed dies, too. “Here’s your fucking control!”
I grind my teeth, transfixed by Eve’s calculated destruction. She’s not just lashing out—each camera she destroys creates another blind spot, another space beyond my reach. The realization sends a thrill through me that’s equal parts admiration and rage.
“Let her play,” I say, watching as she climbs onto my imported Italian dining table to reach the corner mount. “She’s making a point.”
“A rather expensive point,” Marcus mutters as another camera dies.
Liv turns to face the last working feed in the living room, her eyes blazing with defiance. Blood trickles from a cut on her palm, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Or care.
“Are you watching, Remy?” She steps closer, her voice sharp enough to draw blood. “Is this enough of a show for you?”
My fingers dig into the steel desk. Every camera she destroys feels like a personal challenge—one that sets my blood on fire.The more she fights against my protection, the stronger my need to contain her becomes.
“You can’t protect someone who doesn’t want to be saved,” Marcus says quietly.
I ignore him, watching Liv stalk toward the final camera like a predator. “No,” I agree, “but I can keep her alive long enough to make her understand why she needs to be.”
The feed cuts to black as Liv claims her final target, leaving us staring at empty screens. In the sudden silence, my own dark laugh surprises me.
She wants to play? Fine. Let’s play.
I stalk away from the security hub, my footsteps echoing through the empty corridor. The rage builds with each step—at Eve’s defiance, at my own helplessness, at the entire fucking situation spiraling beyond my control.
The elevator doors gleam mockingly as I approach. I jab the button harder than necessary, waiting for the familiar hum of machinery. Nothing.
I press it again. Still nothing.
“What the hell?” My fist connects with the metal doors. The dull thud does nothing to ease the tension coiling through my body.
