The ledger sat open on the mahogany desk in the corner of the master bedroom, its cream-colored pages catching the dim, flickering light from the stone fireplace. Olivia had spent the entire night staring at its dark copperplate script, her eyes tracing the rigid rules over and over until the words burned into her mind like a brand.
Obedience. Protocol. Discipline.
When the heavy oak doors opened at precisely seven o’clock that evening, Olivia was sitting on the edge of the velvet armchair, dressed in the simple silk robe Salvatore had left for her. She didn’t rise. She couldn’t. Her heart was hammering against her ribs with a frantic, suffocating rhythm that made her fingertips go numb.
Salvatore walked into the room with his usual slow, measured grace. He had shed his suit jacket and
