Page 29 of Deadly Wrath

There’s a flicker of pain in her eyes, one she’s trying to hide behind sarcasm. But I see it.

“How old were you when this happened?” I ask with a clipped tone.

“Ten.”

Seb’s report says she’s twenty-five, but there’s not much on her; it’s like she lived off the grid after ten years old and then resurfaced at eighteen. I do the math. Fifteen years ago, I would’ve been seventeen. My fingers drum against my thighs, trying to piece it together. The timing doesn’t add up. This shit doesn’t make sense.

“Look,” I say, locking eyes with her. “Even though I bought your uncle’s old casino, I wasn’t deep in this shit back then. Hell, I hadn’t even taken over yet. And trust me, if I had, I wouldn’t have started by taking out a woman. That’s the kind of thing you don’t forget.”

I let out a breath. “Philly,” I finally tell her where we’re going. This is a mess, but I need to see if the Commission was involved.

Olivia’s eyes snap to mine, fire sparking in those emeralds. “Why Philly?”

I lean back, studying her. “Because there’s something you’re not telling me. And now I need to find out if the Commission had any part in this.”

Her face lights up, too eager. “So, you’ll help me?”

I almost laugh.

“Not a chance,” I say, unapologetically. “I said I’d check if the Commission were involved, but don’t get your hopes up,Sirena. Sharing Commission business with you is not happening.” I shrug, leaning back a little. “So, aside from the casino, what makes you think the Commission had anything to do with your parents’ shit?”

She rolls her eyes. “I did my homework, thanks,” she says, dripping with sarcasm while shifting her weight and crossing her arms. Then, because she can’t help herself, she adds, “Not that I had time to show off my research before you went all kidnapper on me.”

I watch her closely, waiting for a sign that might give me more. Her jaw tightens, but I’m not trying to break her. Not yet, at least. I stand up and walk out of the room, the door clicking softly behind me.

Questions race through my mind.

Who the hell was around back then that would still remember what happened?

One thing is certain, keeping her close is the smartest move.

13

Liv

Philly? Alessio’s house is in Philly. This is fine. Everything’s fine.

No, this isnotfine.

I hop off the bed, my chest feels tight, and I go to storm out of the room, with all the frustration of someone who has zero idea what they’re doing but is fully determined to look like they do. My fingers curl around the handle, and I throw the door open, ready to confront him.

And bam. I slam into a wall. Except it’s not a wall. It’s a solid mass of muscle, and before I can fall flat on my ass, two large hands clamp down on my shoulders and pull me to my feet. My breath catches, my heart hammering so loudly I swear the whole plane can hear it.

I know exactly who it is before I even look up. Still, I force myself to glance up anyway, and man, is that a big mistake.

Our eyes meet for a half-second, and let me tell you, it’snotthe kind of romantic eye-locking moment you see in movies. Nope. This is the ‘Oh, hi, I’m going to kill you now’ kind of eye-locking, like I’m already dead, and he was enjoying the thought of watching me suffer. My stomach twists. Jesus Christ, he’s terrifying. And, of course, the other three guys are just watching like they’re front row at the circus.

“Need something, stalker?” Alessio’s voice is ice cold, and I swear the temperature drops ten degrees.

The air rushes out of my lungs, and my brain short-circuits. I open my mouth, but whatever bravado I had is fucking obliterated. I feel myself shrinking under his stare, and I hate it. Come on, Liv. Say something.

I force my voice to work. “Just looking for something to eat,” I lie. Pathetic. Even I don’t believe myself.

Alessio doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. His grip tightens slightly before he shoves me into the nearest seat like I weigh nothing. Like I’m a problem that needs to be contained.

“Alonzo, get her something,” he orders, already dismissing me.

Alonzo gives him a nod but shoots me an evil glare, his eyes practically burning with malice. He stomps over to the kitchenette, rummages through a little basket, andgrabs a handful of mini bags of peanuts. He grins, then throws them right at my face.“Hope you’re allergic,” he sneers.

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