The Devil’s Penthouse
She woke with a start, her heart hammering. She was on a bed—too soft, too big. Silk sheets clung to her skin. She sat up, her dress from last night wrinkled, her heels gone. A faint city glow slipped through floor-to-ceiling windows. She swung her legs off the bed, bare feet hitting cold marble, and bolted for the door. Locked. She pounded it. “Hey! Let me out!” No answer. She slammed her fist again, harder. Nothing. Her pulse spiked, and she spun around, scanning the room. Sleek furniture, a chandelier glinting faintly, no personal touches. A prison, no matter how fancy. Her clutch sat on a glass table. She grabbed it, fishing out her phone. No signal. “Great,” she muttered, tossing it down. She tried the windows—sealed tight. A keypad by the door blinked red. High-tech cage for a high-stakes prize. Footsteps approached. She froze, backing against the wall as the door clicked open. Alessandro Moretti stepped in, black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, coffee mug in hand. His eyes locked on hers, calm but piercing. “Morning,” he said, like they were old friends. “This isn’t a game,” Livia snapped, arms crossed. “Unlock the door.” He sipped his coffee, unfazed. “You’re not a prisoner.” “Then why’s the door locked?” “Safety.” He set the mug down, leaning against the table. “Yours and mine.” “Safety?” She laughed, sharp and bitter. “You bought me. I’m not safe.” “Signed away,” he corrected, voice low. “Dante put your name on a contract. Legally, you’re mine.” Her stomach twisted. She stepped forward, fists clenched. “I’m not property.” Alessandro’s eyes flicked over her, not leering, just… assessing. “You were to him. A bottle of cheap wine, he said.” Livia flinched, Dante’s words from last night stinging fresh. “So what? You’re better? Snatching me up like some prize?” “I don’t return what I win,” he said, stepping closer. She didn’t back up, though her pulse raced. “But I don’t break my trophies either.” She glared. “What do you want? A wife? A toy?” His lips twitched, almost a smile. “A woman who knows her worth.” Livia snorted, turning away. “Spare me the poetry. Just let me go.” “Door’s open when you beat me at my game,” he said, voice steady. “Escape. Outsmart me.” She spun back, eyes blazing. “You think I won’t?” “I’m counting on it.” He nodded to a tray by the bed—coffee, pastries, fruit. “Eat. You’ll need your strength.” “I’m not hungry,” she lied, her stomach growling. “Suit yourself.” He headed for the door, pausing. “Your things are being moved in. Clothes, books, whatever you had. Your maiden name’s back on your accounts. Bank card’s on the table.” She blinked, caught off guard. “Why?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Because you’re not Dante’s anymore.” The door clicked shut behind him. She rushed to it, yanking the handle. Still locked. “Bastard,” she muttered, sliding down the wall, her head in her hands. Her phone buzzed on the table. She scrambled for it, hoping for a signal. A text, same unknown number as last night. Check the drawer. – A.M. She frowned, crossing to the nightstand. Inside the drawer was a black card—her name, Livia Rossi, embossed in silver. Her maiden name. A bank card, just like he’d said. She flipped it over, her fingers trembling. Why give her this? Control? A taunt? She tossed it back, pacing to the window. Milan’s skyline glittered below, mocking her. Freedom was out there, but she was stuck in here, with a man who called her his but didn’t touch her. Not yet. A knock. A woman entered, young, sharp-eyed, carrying a stack of clothes. “Mr. Moretti sent these,” she said, setting them on the bed. Dresses, jeans, sweaters—all her size, all new. Livia stared. “I’m not wearing his clothes.” The woman shrugged. “He said you’d say that. Wear what you want. Or don’t.” She left without another word. Livia picked up a dress—black, simple, expensive. She dropped it like it burned. “Not your doll,” she muttered, kicking off her wrinkled heels. She grabbed her phone again, typing a text to Dante. Get me out of here. Now. No signal. It wouldn’t send. She threw the phone onto the bed, her breath hitching. Last night’s poker table flashed in her mind—Dante’s laugh, his careless “Take the wife.” He hadn’t fought for her then. Why would he now? Another buzz. She snatched the phone. Another text from Alessandro. Dinner at eight. We’ll talk. – A.M. She deleted it, her jaw tight. Talk? About what? His rules? His plans? She wasn’t some obedient pet waiting for his orders. She crossed to the keypad, studying it. Numbers, no clues. She tried 0000. Red light. 1234. Red again. She cursed, slamming her palm against it. The door opened. Alessandro stood there, eyebrow raised. “Trying to crack the code already?” She straightened, refusing to look rattled. “You said beat you. I’m starting.” He stepped inside, closing the distance. “Good. But you’ll need more than guesses.” “What do you want from me?” she demanded, voice low. “Really.” He tilted his head, eyes searching hers. “I told you. A woman who fights.” “Why lock me in, then?” “Because,” he said, voice dropping, “the world out there isn’t ready for you yet.” She laughed, disbelieving. “And you are?” He didn’t answer, just held her gaze until her skin prickled. Then he turned, leaving the door open this time. “Dinner’s at eight,” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t be late.” Livia stood frozen, her heart pounding. The open door taunted her, but she didn’t move. Not yet. She wasn’t running blind into his world. She’d play his game, alright, but on her terms. She grabbed the bank card again, turning it over in her hand. Livia Rossi. Not Livia Vitale, Dante’s wife. Her old name felt strange, like a half-forgotten song. She slipped it into her pocket, her resolve hardening. Alessandro Moretti thought he’d won her. He was about to learn she wasn’t a prize to be kept. She’d outsmart him, escape him, and burn his world down if she had to. But first, she’d eat his damn pastries. She wasn’t starving for him or anyone else.Ink and ShadowsLivia sat at the piano, her fingers tracing the cool ivory keys, worried as she reread Clara’s latest message on her burner phone: Article drops tomorrow. Naming Russo. Stay safe.Her sister’s exposé, a bold strike at Russo’s empire, was set to ignite his fury, painting a target on Clara’s back—and Livia’s. Her cunning had saved his shipment and exposed Luca’s betrayal with Sofia, but now Clara’s recklessness threatened everything.A coded note from Sergio, slipped under the loft’s door by his courier, lay on the table: Russo’s enraged. Clara’s article. Retaliation tonight—safehouse. That made Livia’s pulse spike, her fingers unfolding the paper, its ink smudged but clear. Sergio’s intel, paired with her own observation yesterday—a black sedan tailing Clara’s car near the newsroom—confirmed the threat. The mole, likely Luca, now in Alessandro’s custody, or Sofia, still free, had leaked her location. Her mind raced, piecing together the puzzle: Russo’s wrath, Clara’s ex
Flames and Fraying BondsAlessandro’s trust still burned in her chest from their near-kiss last night. His vow to handle the warehouse, to catch Luca and Sofia with her intel, had left her here, safe but restless, her mind racing with the mole’s betrayal. Matteo’s shadow loomed larger now, Sergio’s warning about his vengeful sabotage—a warehouse fire—echoing in her head. Her cunning, not combat, was her weapon, and she’d tipped Alessandro about the attack, her strategic mind keeping her out of the fight, just as he’d insisted.Her phone buzzed, unknown number: Matteo’s moving. Warehouse burns tonight. Her pulse spiked, the mole’s reach—Luca, tied to Sofia—stinging like a fresh wound. She hadn’t told Alessandro about this text yet, guarding her cards until she could confirm Matteo’s plan. Clara’s article, Giulia’s betrayal, Dante’s desperate texts—Sofia’s closing in—piled pressure on her, but Livia was no longer Dante’s gambled bride. She was a queen, and her next move was to outsmart
Cracked Plans and Clear HeartsAlessandro’s demand for proof echoed in her mind, his trust—forged in the panic room’s glow during the ambush, sealed by her strategic tip; hanging in the balance. Luca’s betrayal, tied to Sofia’s schemes, threatened everything, and Livia’s pulse raced as she planned her next move. She wasn’t Dante’s gambled bride anymore; she was a queen, and queens didn’t wait for checkmate.Her fingers brushed the piano keys, Alessandro’s gift, but her mind was on Sofia, whose venomous taunts at the poker den had stirred a jealousy Livia loathed but couldn’t shake.Another text from an unknown number buzzed her phone, sharp in the loft’s silence: Sofia’s closer than you think. Check Alessandro’s phone. She choked on her breath, her heart thudding as jealousy flared, a hot spark she channeled into cunning. Was Sofia seducing Alessandro, using Luca to unravel their alliance? Livia deleted the text. She’d outsmart Sofia, not with fists but with the sharp mind she’d honed
The Safehouse and the SourceLivia stepped from the black SUV, her suitcase light in her hand—a single bag, packed with essentials, a quiet declaration of freedom reclaimed. Her green eyes scanned the industrial district’s deserted streets, the concrete buildings looming like silent sentinels. Clara’s article, Giulia’s betrayal, Dante’s desperate texts—they swirled in her mind, but the mole’s warning from the jazz club—The mole sees everything—kept her on edge.Alessandro stood by the SUV, his black coat flecked with morning mist, tracking her with that quiet intensity that saw through her defenses. The bandage on his arm, bloodied from the ambush, peeked from his sleeve, a stark reminder of the danger he’d shielded her from.“Be careful,” he said, his voice low, introverted but heavy with protective care, his faint scar catching the dawn’s light. His hand brushed the handle of her suitcase, a fleeting touch that sent a spark of heat through her veins, his Possessive Protector edge so
The Article and the AmbushThe Milan dawn casts jagged shadows across Livia’s tablet as she reads Clara’s latest article. The headline screamed: Shadow King of Milan: The Mafia’s Hidden Power. Her sister’s words didn’t name Alessandro outright, but the details—his docks, his deals, his empire—pointed straight to him. Livia’s heart pounded, her fingers clutching the worn edges of Clara’s old letter, tucked in her sweater pocket beside Alessandro’s safehouse key.Clara was fearless, reckless, digging into a world that could swallow her whole, and Livia’s guilt churned—she’d warned her anonymously, but her sister hadn’t stopped. Now, Alessandro’s empire was exposed, and Livia was caught in the crossfire.Her green eyes flicked to the study, where Alessandro’s silhouette moved, his low voice barking orders through a phone. “Tighten the docks. Russo’s sniffing again.” His tone was clipped, his introverted control fraying after last night’s jazz club, where her piano had drawn his “You’re u
The Bet and the Melody The backroom of the poker den reeked of cigar smoke and desperation, the air thick with the clink of chips and the low growl of men betting their lives away. Livia stood in the shadows, her black coat blending with the dim corners, her green eyes locked on Dante across the table. His slicked-back hair was mussed, his hazel eyes bloodshot, his hands trembling as he pushed his father’s watch—a tarnished silver heirloom—into the pot. Sofia stood behind him, her gold earrings glinting, her sultry smile urging him on. “Raise it, Dante,” she purred, her hand on his shoulder like a leash. “Show them you’re still a man.” Livia’s jaw clenched, her fingers tightening around the safehouse key in her pocket, Alessandro’s trust a steady anchor after Giulia’s betrayal last night.She’d come here on a tip from Sergio, her chain-smoking informant, who’d whispered about Dante’s latest gamble—a rigged bet set up by Sofia to trap him deeper with Russo. Livia wasn’t here to save