OLIVIA
Panic gnawed relentlessly at the lining of my stomach ever since I found out about it. That little red leather ledger held absolutely everything. Passwords. Hidden vault codes.
And far worse, a hint about every dirty, shameful detail of what Don Antonio Romero did to my body. If Bruno found that book, I was dead.
A fleeting, desperate thought crossed my mind to pick up the phone and call Antonio. He could snap his fingers and make the ledger disappear. But making that call meant willingly walking into his golden cage, and I refused to surrender my freedom.
Despite the freezing draft leaking through the windowpane, my face burned piping hot. My treacherous mind dragged me right back to the Italian estate. I squeezed my eyes shut, and the visceral memory hit me like a physical
