Chapter 9

Ashes and Envy

The neon pulse of the club throbbed through Livia’s veins, the bassline a heartbeat against the crush of bodies and the tang of sweat and perfume. Milan’s elite packed the velvet-rope venue, their laughter sharp, their diamonds sharper. Livia stood at the bar, her black dress hugging her curves, her auburn hair catching the strobe lights. The safehouse key in her clutch felt heavier than the whiskey glass in her hand, Alessandro’s trust from the docks a tether she wasn’t ready to break. But tonight, her eyes weren’t on him—they were on Sofia Conti, slinking toward Alessandro like a panther in a gold gown, her sultry smile a blade aimed at Livia’s heart.

Livia’s grip tightened on her glass, the ice clinking as her jealousy flared. Sofia leaned into Alessandro at a corner booth, her hand brushing his arm, laughing low and deliberately. He sat solidly, his pitch-back eyes scanning the room, his black suit a stark contrast to the club’s chaos. Livia knew that look—his introverted shield, deflecting Sofia’s charm. But knowing didn’t dull the sting. Sofia was Dante’s ally, a socialite clawing for power, and her flirtation wasn’t just a game—it was a challenge to Livia’s place in Alessandro’s world.

Her phone buzzed in her clutch, a vibration she felt in her bones. Another voicemail from Dante. She’d ignored three today, his voice slurred and desperate, each one a hook trying to drag her back to the cage she’d escaped. She stepped into a quieter alcove, the club’s noise fading to a dull roar, and played the message, her jaw tight. “Livia, you think you’re free?” Dante’s voice rasped, thick with liquor. “You’re nothing without me. I’ll burn it all down—your precious Alessandro, your sister’s little crusade. Call me back.” Her stomach twisted, not with fear but with fury. He’d sold her to Alessandro, gambled her like a chip, and now he dared to beg?

She deleted the voicemail, her thumb steady, but her heart raced. Another buzz—another message. “You owe me, Livia. You always will.” Her resolve was hard like a steel forged from his years of betrayal. She slipped into the club’s bathroom, the fluorescent lights harsh against the black tiles. From her clutch, she pulled a lighter, a cheap thing she’d bought on instinct. She opened her phone’s voice memo app, played Dante’s messages one last time, and held the flame to a tissue, imagining his words curling into ash. The smoke stung her eyes, but she didn’t blink. “You’re done controlling me,” she whispered, dropping the burning tissue into the sink, watching it blacken and die.

Back in the club, Livia’s eyes found Alessandro again. Sofia was closer now, her hand on his knee, her lips too near his ear. Livia’s jealousy surged, a hot wave that made her fingers twitch. She wasn’t Dante’s trophy anymore, but was she Alessandro’s? Or something more, like he’d said—his equal? She straightened, her green eyes blazing, and crossed the dance floor, her heels clicking with purpose. The crowd parted, sensing her intent, her chic elegance outshining Sofia’s gaudy gold.

“Mind if I join?” Livia said, her voice smooth but sharp, sliding into the booth beside Alessandro. She leaned close, her shoulder brushing his, staking her claim. Sofia’s smile faltered, her brown eyes narrowing, but Livia held her gaze, unflinching.

“Thought you’d never show,” Alessandro said, his voice low, a hint of amusement breaking his usual reserve. His hand rested on the table, inches from hers, a deliberate space that felt like trust, not possession. He shifted away from Sofia, his focus locking on Livia, his obsidian eyes softening. “You look like trouble tonight.”

“Only the good kind,” Livia shot back, her lips curving, her jealousy easing under his gaze. Sofia’s hand lingered on his knee, but he moved it aside, his touch firm but not cruel. “Sofia, we’re done here,” he said, his tone final, his eyes never leaving Livia.

Sofia’s smirk twisted, her voice dripping venom. “Enjoy your leash, Livia. He’ll tire of you, just like Dante did.” She stood, her gold gown catching the lights, and sauntered off, but her words lingered, a dart aimed at Livia’s heart.

Livia’s fingers clenched, but Alessandro’s hand covered hers, his touch warm, grounding. “She’s wrong,” he said, his voice barely audible over the music, but it cut through her doubt. “You’re not a game to me.” His thumb brushed her knuckles, a fleeting promise that sent heat through her veins. Her jealousy faded, replaced by something fiercer—desire, trust, a spark she wasn’t ready to name.

The club’s lights dimmed, a slow jazz number starting, and Alessandro stood, offering his hand. “Dance with me,” he said, not a question but not a command. Livia took it, her pulse racing, and let him lead her to the floor. His hand settled on her waist, firm but not controlling, his cedarwood scent wrapping around her. They moved together, her body fitting against his, the world narrowing to the rhythm and his steady gaze.

“You didn’t have to shut her down like that,” Livia said, her voice low, testing him. “Sofia’s got connections. Power.”

“I don’t want her power,” Alessandro said, his eyes locked on hers, his voice sparse but heavy. “I want yours.” His hand tightened on her waist, a possessive edge softened by trust. “You’re not just surviving, Livia. You’re winning.”

Her breath caught, his words echoing Rosa’s advice, her own resolve. She wasn’t Dante’s pawn or Sofia’s rival—she was carving her own path. But the weight of Clara’s article, Sergio’s warning about the mole, and Matteo’s vengeful shadow loomed. She leaned closer, her lips near his ear. “What if I’m bringing trouble to your door?”

He pulled back, his gaze intense, a faint smile breaking his reserve. “Then we face it together.” His hand slid to her lower back, guiding her through a turn, their bodies in sync. “No cages, Livia. Just us.”

The song ended, but they didn’t part, the air between them electric. Her phone buzzed again, shattering the moment. She pulled it out, expecting Dante, but it was an unknown number. *You burned his words, but not his reach. Watch your back.* Her heart stopped. Someone knew about the bathroom, the lighter. The mole? Sofia? She deleted it, her hands steady, but her eyes darted to the crowd, searching for a threat.

Alessandro noticed, his jaw tightening. “What is it?” he asked, his voice low, protective.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Livia said, her voice firm, but her fingers brushed the safehouse key, grounding her. She wouldn’t tell him about the text—not yet. Trust was a two-way street, and she needed to know who was watching before she showed her cards.

As they left the dance floor, Alessandro’s hand stayed on her back, a silent vow. Sofia watched from the bar, her eyes narrowed, her gold gown a fading spark in the crowd. Livia’s resolve hardened. Dante’s voicemails were ash, Sofia’s taunts were empty, but the unknown text was a warning she couldn’t ignore. Clara’s article, Matteo’s revenge, the mole—they were all pieces in a game she was learning to play. With Alessandro beside her, his trust a weapon, she wasn’t just a gambled bride—she was a queen claiming her board.

They stepped into the night, Milan’s air cool against her skin. Her phone stayed silent, but she knew Dante’s next voicemail would come, Sofia’s next scheme, the mole’s next move. She clutched Alessandro’s hand, her green eyes fierce under the stars. “Let’s go home,” she said, her voice steady. Next round, suckers.