Chapter 20
20
MICHAEL
I wake up to a mouthful of hair. It’s everywhere—my face, my nose, tickling my throat. I smile and tighten my arms around the warm feminine body nestled against me, breathing her in deeply.
My wife.
The thought sends a deep, satisfied thrill rolling down my spine, grounding me in a way I didn’t know I needed. I shift slightly, tucking my head back just enough to escape the ambush of hair, and finally get a good look at her. She’s still fast asleep, lips parted as she snores softly like she doesn’t have a single care in the world.
I swallow my amused chuckle, not wanting to wake her just yet.
Then the alarm clock catches my eye, and I stiffen. 9 AM already? I’ve never spent this long in bed. Even with the blinds drawn, I’m wired to wake up at sunrise. A mountain of calls and emails must be piling up in my office.
Reluctantly, I untangle myself from her warmth. She doesn’t stir as I roll out of the bed, so I tiptoe to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. A quick brush of my teeth, a splash of cold water to my face, and I feel a little more like myself.
Walking back out, I glance at Gianna. She’s rolled onto my side of the bed, face buried into my pillow. My heart expands as I indulge the fantasy that she’s seeking my warmth, my scent now that I’m gone. But I push it aside as I quietly close the bedroom door behind me.
Padding down the hallway towards my office, I nearly collide with Gracie.
She stops short, wide eyes. “Are you just getting up from bed?”
I roll my shoulders, annoyed at the blatant amazement in her tone. This is the issue with long-term employees. Gracie has been with me for so damn long, she’s grown bold and doesn’t fear me nearly as much as she should.
Case in point: the impertinent question she just asked.
I level a look at her. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile, but she’s wise enough not to let it bloom as she shakes her head. My narrowed eyes follow her anyway before I brush past her into the sanctuary of my office.
Sliding into my chair, I power on my computers and grab my phone. Two missed calls from Rafael.
So, he heard the news then.
No surprise there. Word travels fast in the underground, no matter how hard you try to keep it under wraps. Nobody gossips like made men on a mission together.
I sigh and drop the phone back on the desk. He won’t be pleased with me. I’ll deal with his tantrum later.
For now, work.
I sift through my emails first, firing off responses before turning my focus to a much bigger problem—cracking the code on the search for Emilia.
Now that I’m settled back at home with Gianna by my side, I can finally give my full attention to other matters and questions that I’ve left pending. Like how the hell she’s kept herself so well hidden. It’s like she doesn’t exist. Like she never existed.
I’ve hacked the fucking NASA, DEA, FBI, and CIA databases several times over the course of the past few weeks, but she’s not on there. Which leave me with three possibilities:
Rafael was wrong—she isn’t working for a government entity at all.
She was taken into a witness protection program.
She was detained for a war crime, and her existence was erased to cover it up.
The latter is a wild scenario I doubt is even an option at all. The Emily I knew was hellbent on being on the straight and narrow, just like her father—even though he lost his life doing the same.
And from what Elira gathered in their brief encounter a few months ago, she was certain of one thing: Emily wants us to leave the criminal organization behind.
An impossible dream.
I leave the search running in the background and switch gears, diving into the coding for Grimmare—the new video game my team and I are developing. It’s in its beta testing stage, and our early players have found a shit ton of bugs that need fixing.
I’m deep in the work when my phone buzzes again.
I sigh, pushing back from my desk as I answer the call. This should be fun. “Rafael.”
“You don’t fucking listen,” he snaps. No greeting. No buildup. Straight to the rage. “Do you have to be so hotheaded and contrary all the time? You cannot have the girl, Michael.”
“And you can’t tell me what to do,” I counter coolly. “I can, and I already have the girl. She’s my wife— legally —and the marriage has been consummated.”
Lie.
But that will be rectified soon. I couldn’t just fuck her when she was so drunk last night.
Rolling, my neck, I walk out of my office and head towards the balcony. I need fresh air for this conversation.
He exhales sharply, like he’s restraining himself. “What is with you guys and women you can’t have? Do you have any idea how messy you’ve turned this entire situation?”
“Don’t lump me in the same category as Maximo. He fraternized with the enemy’s daughter. I didn’t,” I remind him. Our situations are as different as night and day.
His scoff carries through the line. “There’s hardly any difference between you two. You killed our ally’s son unprovoked, sent his body back to his father, and now you’ve married his niece—who he’s already betrothed to another ally of ours. How exactly do you plan to fix this?”
“Dario deserved his death, and I’m not fixing shit. Gianna is mine now, and anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with me. Take your nose out of my business, Rafael, I don’t stick mine in yours.”
There’s a long silence.
Then, he mutters, almost like he’s just realizing it, “You’re crazy about her.”
“Now you’re catching on?”
“I want to meet this girl. Bring her to dinner tomorrow.”
I snort. “Yeah, that’s not happening. Given what happened last time I brought my wife to your apartment, I’m afraid I must decline.”
“What?” Rafael asks incredulously.
I still have to deal with the fallout from that little ambush he pulled with Aldo. No way in hell I’m taking her there again. I’m trying to rebuild her trust in me, not wreck it further.
“If you want to congratulate us on our marriage, you can come to our home for dinner. Hell, we’ll even extend the invitation to the other guys if you want. But I’m not bringing my wife to your house. You betrayed my trust and hers by ambushing us with Aldo. I already have enough work cut out for me trying to repair the damage. I’m not making it worse, Rafael.”
“Don’t tell me you think you’re in love with her. Michael .”
“And what if I am?” I challenge, sick of this conversation. So what if I fucking am?
Silence.
Then, finally, “I’ll be there tomorrow evening for dinner. Make sure the others get the invitation.” He ends the call before I can tell him tomorrow night is too soon.
I rub my temple. I suppose coming here is the only concession he’s going to give us.
How the hell am I going to tell Gianna we’re hosting a dinner party tomorrow night?
Sighing, I pull up the group chat with my brothers and shoot them a text.
Dinner at my place tomorrow night.
Be nice to my wife or get kicked out of my house.
I drop my phone into my pocket, ignoring the immediate vibrations from new notifications. Probably some snarky responses to my very real threat.
Walking back inside, I head towards the bedroom to check on Gianna.
Maybe if I catch her right as she’s waking up, she won’t immediately remember she’s pissed at me and won’t be too angry at the idea of hosting dinner tomorrow night.
Fuck, I can’t believe I’m scared of the reaction of a slip of a woman.
Is this what Maximo has been going through? Hell.
I run a hand through my hair as I open the bedroom door—only to find the bed is empty.
Frowning, I go inside. “Gianna?”
No answer.
I make my way to the ensuite, but it’s empty as well.
Where the fuck is she?
Pulling out my phone, I swipe past the six notifications from the group chat and tap into the house’s security feed. A quick scan of the footage, and… nothing .
A muscle ticks in my jaw as I return to the office. It’s about time I link the tracker I added on her necklace to my phone so I can see her whereabouts at all times.
But when I open the office door?—
There she is.
Sitting at my desk, frowning cutely at my computer screen.
“What the hell are you doing?” The words come out harsher than I mean them, but I don’t know how else to react seeing her all up in my stuff.
She leans back in the chair, slowly dragging her gaze over me from head to toe before tilting her head. “You’re Michael Hart, CEO of HartSphere?”
I watch her for a moment. “Yes.”
“You started your company when you were just eighteen with the launch of that video game.” Her tone is unreadable as she studies me. Then, after a beat, she mutters, “Impressive.”
Something in my chest tightens at the acknowledgment, and my shoulders pull back instinctively, a flicker of pride settling there.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as she gets to her feet and walks towards me. But instead of answering, she only shrugs and moves past me like I don’t exist. I catch her elbow. “How are you? Are you feeling hungover?”
She slides her gaze to me. “Hungover? No. Did I say or do anything I shouldn’t have last night?” Her face is appropriately contrite, and I might have believed her bluff if not for the telltale flush at the tips of her ears.
She remembers. She’s just pretending she doesn’t.
I smile. “We’re married now, so what you did doesn’t really matter.” My eyes catch on her bare ring finger. I need to rectify that.
“What did I do?” Gianna asks, and when I look up at her face again, she’s watching me suspiciously, fingers idly playing with the pendant of her necklace.
“You really don’t remember?” I close the distance between us and grasp her by the chin. “You confessed your love to me last night, amore .”
Her eyes widen dramatically. “You bloody liar. I did no such thing, I—” She cuts herself off with a low curse, jerking her face out of my grip when she realizes she just took my bait. “Fucking asshole.”
“I’m your asshole now,” I remind her.
She huffs and spins on her heel, clearly done with me.
But I’m not done with her.
“We’re having dinner guests tomorrow,” I call, stopping her in her tracks. “You don’t have to worry about the logistics or cooking—Gracie will take care of all that. Just show up looking like your pretty self.”
She turns slowly, eyes narrowed. “Dinner guests? Who?”
“My brothers. You met one of them yesterday. The other two want to meet you.”
Her expression hardens. “Is that–that man going to be there?”
I don’t need to ask who she’s talking about. “You mean Rafael? Yes. But he’s not going to do anything to bother you. I’ll protect you.”
She studies me, lips pressed together, like she’s weighing whether to believe me.
So I say it again, slower this time. “ I’ll protect you .”
A beat passes. Then she nods shortly and walks out. But I catch the flash of trust in her eyes.
It’s a start.