AXEL SALVATORE ROSSI.

“Open the fucking door, Olivia!”

I pounded my fists against the metallic door, my impatience spilling over.

“Take it easy, Ace,” Rosa pleaded, her voice shaking like a leaf in winter. “She’s in there, I’m sure she’s busy—‘’

“—busy?” I scoffed, refusing to visualize what was going on inside. “Doing what? And with the gardener?”

That fucking Alessandro or whatever he was called. I knew he was either called Antonio or Alessandro. Those ...