Chapter 9 The Locked Door
The reception had been a carefully choreographed nightmare.
Alessia sat at the head table, her smile frozen in place, her hand brushing Liam's whenever cameras flashed or guests watched too closely.
They danced once—a slow, mechanical waltz. Neither spoke. their bodies moving in time to music that felt more like a funeral dirge than a celebration.
When Liam's hand settled on her waist, she felt the tension in his grip. When her hand rested on his shoulder, she could feel the coiled violence beneath his expensive suit.
They were two predators pretending to be lovers.
The speeches were worse. Don Salvatore stood, raising his glass, speaking eloquently about unity and new beginnings, his eyes cold as winter.
Declan O'Sullivan Sr. followed, his words measured and diplomatic, but his jaw was so tight it looked like it might crack.
No one believed a word of it.
Siobhan caught Alessia's eye from across the room, her expression sympathetic. Alessia managed a small smile in return.
At least one person in this room saw her as human.
Finally—finally—the reception ended.
The last guest departed. The cathedral emptied. The facade could drop.
A black SUV waited outside.
Liam opened the door for her without a word. She slid in, and he followed, maintaining a careful distance between them on the seat.
The driver pulled away from the curb.
Silence.
Alessia stared out the window, watching the city blur past. Her wedding dress felt suffocating, the corset too tight, the fabric too heavy.
She wanted to rip it off. She wanted to breathe.
"Where are we going?" she asked quietly.
"The penthouse," Liam replied, his voice flat. "Midtown. Council-approved. Heavily secured."
"Of course it is."
More silence.
Alessia's hand drifted to her earring, the one that had vibrated during the kiss. She'd been trained not to react, not to show any sign of recognition when a transmission came through.
But the fragments she'd heard kept circling her mind.
Target acquired. Position confirmed.
Who was the target? Her? Liam? Both of them?
And who was sending the message?
She needed to contact Thorne. But not here. Not with Liam inches away, watching her like a hawk.
The SUV pulled up to a sleek high-rise in Midtown Manhattan. Doormen in crisp uniforms opened the doors. Security guards flanked the entrance.
This wasn't a home.
It was a fortress.
The penthouse occupied the entire top floor.
Liam unlocked the door and stepped inside, holding it open for her.
Alessia walked in, her heels clicking against marble floors.
The space was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city, modern furniture in shades of gray and white, a kitchen that looked like it had never been used, and two hallways leading in opposite directions.
Cold. Sterile. Beautiful in the way a museum was beautiful—meant to be observed, not lived in.
"East wing is mine," Liam said, gesturing to the left. "West wing is yours. The common areas—living room, kitchen, dining room—are shared."
Alessia set her small bag down. "Rules?"
"Don't enter my space without permission. I won't enter yours."
"Agreed."
"When we're in public, we play the part. Loving newlyweds. Unified front." His voice was cold, businesslike. "When we're here, we stay out of each other's way."
"Fine by me."
Liam moved to a side table, opening a drawer. He pulled out a black velvet box.
"There's one more thing."
He opened the box.
Inside was a necklace. Emerald and diamond, stunning and clearly worth a fortune. The kind of thing a man gave his wife to show the world she belonged to him.
Alessia's stomach turned.
"It's beautiful," she said carefully.
"It's not a gift." Liam's eyes met hers, cold and unyielding. "It's a leash."
Her blood ran cold.
He lifted the necklace from the box, the gems catching the light. "Wear this whenever we're in public. Dinners, events, meetings. Anytime you leave this penthouse."
"Why?"
"Because it's a tracker." His voice was matter-of-fact, emotionless. "I'll know where you are at all times. If you try to remove it, I'll know. If you go somewhere you're not supposed to, I'll know."
Alessia's jaw tightened. "You don't trust me."
"No. I don't."
"The feeling is mutual."
"Good. Then we understand each other."
He stepped behind her, his movements efficient and impersonal. She felt his fingers brush against her neck as he fastened the clasp.
The necklace settled against her collarbone, heavy and cold.
A chain.
"Perfect fit," Liam said, his voice close to her ear. "Don't disappoint me, wife."
He stepped back, moving toward the east wing.
"Your things have already been delivered to your room," he said without looking back. "Unpack. Settle in.
Tomorrow, we start playing the part."
He disappeared down the hallway, and a door clicked shut.
Alessia stood there, alone in the massive penthouse, her hand drifting to the necklace.
She wanted to rip it off. She wanted to throw it across the room.
But she couldn't.
Because he was right. The moment she did, he'd know.
She was trapped.
Her room was stunning.
King-sized bed with silk sheets. Walk-in closet already filled with expensive clothes she'd never chosen. A bathroom with a soaking tub and a rainfall shower.
Windows overlooking the city lights.
It should have felt luxurious.
Instead, it felt like a cage.
Alessia kicked off her heels and unzipped the wedding dress, letting it pool at her feet. She stepped out of it, leaving it in a heap on the floor.
She pulled on a simple black tank top and leggings, something that felt like her instead of the performance she'd been forced to give all day.
She needed to sweep the room.
She moved methodically, checking light fixtures, outlets, vents. Looking for anything out of place.
Her training kicked in. Muscle memory.
She was halfway through when she found it.
A tiny device, no bigger than a button, tucked behind the headboard of her bed.
A bug.
Her heart hammered in her chest.
She leaned in closer, examining it without touching.
Not FBI issue.
The design was different. More sophisticated. Military-grade, maybe, or cartel.
Someone else was listening.
Alessia's mind raced.
Liam? The Council? The Scarpettis? The O'Sullivans?
Or someone else entirely?
She thought of the transmission during the kiss. Target acquired.
This wasn't just about the marriage. This was bigger.
Someone was playing a game, and she and Liam were pieces on the board.
She stepped back slowly, her breathing controlled.
If she removed the bug, whoever planted it would know she found it. They'd move more carefully. She'd lose her advantage.
But if she left it...
They'd hear everything.
Alessia made her decision.
She left the bug in place.
She moved to her bed, sitting down carefully, her face neutral.
"Long day," she said aloud, as if talking to herself. Natural. Unguarded. "God, I need sleep."
She lay down, pulling the blanket over herself, her heart pounding so hard she was sure whoever was listening could hear it.
She stared at the ceiling, her mind racing.
Someone was watching. Someone was listening.
And until she figured out who, she had to play the part perfectly.
Even here. Even alone.
Especially alone.
She closed her eyes, but sleep didn't come.
Because now, she wasn't just fighting Liam.
She was fighting shadows.
And shadows didn't play fair.