CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sasha
I HAD RETREATED to my room and decided to take a shower. But I’ve been standing still, gripping the towel so tightly my knuckles ache. I drop the towel. I need something familiar.
Buddy.
I leave and make my way downstairs. The scent of steak hits me as I come off the last step.
My gaze snaps to the open kitchen door, and that’s when I see it.
One of Marco’s men—some thick-necked bastard in a black shirt—is kneeling beside Buddy, feeding him something off a plate.
I freeze. My stomach drops.
Buddy licks his chops, tail thumping. His bowl sits empty a few feet away, completely ignored.
“What the hell are you doing?” My voice cracks the air like a whip, sharper than I intended.
The guy looks up, “Boss said to cook the dog some steak.”
My vision tunnels. Heat flashes through me, my skin prickling with the force of my own anger.
“Buddy can’t eat steak,” I bite out, my voice trembling with rage. “It makes him sick.”
The guy shrugs, like it’s no big deal. Like my world isn’t already spinning out of control.
That’s it. That’s the final fucking straw.
“Jesus Christ!” I grab Buddy’s collar, pulling him toward the door. I can’t take this. I need air. I need to breathe. I need to get the hell out of here.
I wrench the door open, stepping into the hall—
And slam into a wall of muscle.
A guard blocks my path, built like a goddamn tank. Another stands just a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest.
“You need to stay in your room, Miss.”
I stare at them, heart hammering.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
One of them exhales through his nose. “Orders.”
I let out a harsh laugh, but it comes out more like a sob.
Orders. Orders. Orders.
Marco ordering me around.
Marco taking my phone.
Marco keeping me locked up in this building like I belong to him.
My body trembles with fury. I don’t think. I explode.
I can’t erase the events of the last twenty-four hours from my brain.
Baz, bleeding out on the concrete.
Marco, his cold eyes watching me fall apart.
My phone, gone. My freedom, gone.
Buddy’s soft whine pulls me back.
“I am not a goddamn prisoner!” I shove against the man’s chest, but it’s like pushing against a brick wall. “You can’t just keep me here!”
The other guard doesn’t move, doesn’t even react—and that only makes it worse. I scream, the sound raw, echoing through the corridor.
Footsteps. Heavy. Purposeful.
I feel him before I see him.
Marco.
He steps into the hall, his gaze locked on me like I’m something fragile about to shatter. Beside him stands another man—bald, lean, with a sharp jaw and cold, amused eyes.
I don’t care. I don’t fucking care.
I spin toward Marco, chest heaving. “You can’t do this!”
His voice is soft, coaxing. “Sasha—”
“Don’t.” I shake my head. My vision blurs. I don’t know if it’s rage or panic or the fact that every breath I take feels too thin.
I turn again, pushing at the guards, at anything keeping me here.
The walls are closing in.
I can’t leave.
I can’t call Lily.
I can’t—
The panic slams into me so fast that my knees almost buckle.
I can’t breathe.
My chest tightens, my lungs squeeze, my vision goes dark at the edges. Buddy starts barking, his body pressed against my leg.
Marco’s voice cuts through the haze. “Everyone. Out.”
The guards hesitate.
“Now.”
The hallway clears in seconds.
And then it’s just us.
I suck in a sharp breath, but it doesn’t feel like enough. My hands shake. My vision swims.
Marco moves toward me. “Sasha, breathe.”
I stumble back. “Don’t touch me.”
He doesn’t listen. He reaches for me, his fingers brushing my wrist, and I snap. I shove him. Hard.
He barely moves. His jaw clenches. Something dark flickers in his eyes.
“You’re a fucking control freak,” I spit, voice hoarse.
His fingers curl into fists at his sides. “And you don’t understand the danger you’re in.”
“Because you won’t tell me anything!”
“Because you don’t need to know everything!”
“You think you can just control everything, don’t you?” My voice shakes, but I don’t care. “You think you can keep me locked up like some kind of fucking prisoner?”
Marco barely moves, but his expression hardens. “I’m keeping you alive.”
I laugh, sharp and bitter. “Bullshit. You don’t care about keeping me alive—you care about control.”
His jaw tightens. “Watch yourself, Sasha.”
“Or what?” I step closer, challenging. Pushing. “You’ll lock me up again? Keep me caged like you do everyone else? Maybe you’ll kill me, just like you did to Dave—”
His face darkens. “Careful.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I touching a nerve?” I take another step, my heart pounding, my hands clenched into fists. “You don’t like hearing the truth? That you’re a fucking control freak who takes whatever he wants and doesn’t give a damn about the consequences?”
His voice drops, deadly quiet. “You think I wanted this?”
“Yes, if you didn’t, you would let me go and see my sister, my dad.”
“I took you to your dad,” he shouts back.
His entire body tenses, and suddenly, he moves—fast.
I stumble back, and my shoulders hit the wall. My breath catches. My pulse slams against my ribs. I’ve gone too far.
Marco is in front of me before I can react, his hands pressed against the wall on either side of me. Not touching. Not forcing. Just holding me there.
I tilt my chin up, refusing to back down, even though my lungs are too tight and the space between us is too small.
“Let. Me. Go.” My voice shakes.
His gaze flicks to my lips.
Something inside me snaps. I’m afraid he might kiss me because the sad part of me keeps wondering what it would feel like, and I can’t let that happen.
I slap him. Hard.
The sound is sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just breathes—heavy, slow, controlled.
His eyes bore into mine, dark and burning.
And then—
He kisses me.
It’s not soft. Not careful. It’s a goddamn war.
I make a sound of protest, but it gets lost between us. His mouth is hard, demanding, full of anger, possession, something neither of us wants to name.
I shove at his chest. He doesn’t budge.
I should pull away.
I should.
But my hands curl into his shirt instead, gripping, pulling, fighting him in the only way that makes sense.
He growls against my lips. I bite his. He doesn’t stop.
Then—he does.
He jerks back, breathing ragged, eyes stormy and unreadable.
“This is a bad idea,” he rasps.
My hands are still fisted in his shirt, but I don’t recognize myself anymore. My body is shaking, my breath uneven, my mind blank.
“I can agree on that,” I whisper.
Marco doesn’t move. The silence is thick—only our breathing, no other noise, no shuffle of retreating footsteps. My chest tightens, and I lower my chin, my gaze settling at the level of his chest, watching it rise and fall too fast, too hard.
I unclench my fists from his shirt, my fingers brushing against the solid wall of his body. Heat rolls through me in waves, unsettling, unfamiliar. I smooth the fabric out as if that can erase what just happened, but my hands betray me, lingering a second too long against his chest.
Slowly, I lift my gaze past his tattooed throat until I meet his dark eyes. It’s a mistake. They pin me in place, unwavering, unreadable. This isn’t me. I’m not volatile or violent. But I’ve never felt so caged.
“I’m afraid.” The whisper escapes before I can stop it.
Tears blur my vision, and I drop my gaze, hating the vulnerability that clings to me. Marco doesn’t let it stand. He tilts my chin up with one finger, forcing me to face him.
“I can protect you,” he murmurs. “If you stop fighting me and let me keep you safe.”
I lick my lips, tasting the salt from my tears. “It’s not just me, Marco.”
The exhaustion crashes into me all at once. I’ve spent so much energy fighting him, fighting this, but I can’t afford to stop—not yet. A movement to my left catches my attention. Buddy sits a few feet away, watching us with quiet interest. It tethers me, reminds me of why I can’t lose sight of what matters.
“It’s my sister,” I say.
Marco nods slowly, his gaze dragging over my face like he’s committing every detail to memory. “You said she’s with your aunt.”
I nod, but his proximity is suddenly suffocating. Why won’t he step away? It’s an odd way to have this conversation, standing too close, feeling every shift in his body. And yet, the fact that he’s listening keeps me rooted to the spot.
“Yes, but I haven’t called her yet. My aunt will only keep her for a few days at most. I need to make sure she’s safe.”
Marco exhales, his breath warm against my skin. My heart stumbles, but hope flickers as he studies me, as if weighing his next words.
“If I let you call her, will you stop fighting me?”
I nod, but inside, I know the truth. If an opportunity presents itself, I’ll take it. He’s mafia—no matter what, being near him is dangerous. My dad warned me about Marco, and for the first time, I wonder if I should have listened.
“Okay.” His voice is firm, decisive. “Call her. I’ll arrange for your sister to be brought here.”
“No.” My head shakes violently, my temper flaring. “She is not being kept here.”
Marco finally steps back, his jaw tightening. “I can’t please you,” he mutters, like I’m the one being unreasonable. “What about your mother?”
The question slices through me. I swallow hard. “She’s dead.”
Regret flashes across his face. He runs a hand through his hair, sighing. “I’m sorry.”
I look away, finding solace in Buddy’s familiar presence. “It was a long time ago.”
Uncertainty lingers between us, but Marco doesn’t push. Instead, he gestures for me to follow him. “Let’s call your aunt and see what we can do.”
Marco’s office is pure luxury—sleek black furniture, dark wood bookshelves lining the walls, and a massive mahogany desk that demands attention. A leather couch sits near the window, and a glass decanter of whiskey gleams under the dim lighting. Everything about this room screams power, control. It unsettles me.
He moves to the drawer at his desk and opens it, glances at me before taking out my phone. He holds it out and pulls out the chair at his desk for me to sit in.
I take the phone and sit before I dial Aunt Karen’s number. She picks up after three rings, her voice groggy with sleep.
“Hello?”
“Aunt Karen, it’s Sasha. Is Lily okay?”
There’s a rustling sound, and then she exhales. “She’s asleep. Sasha, do you know what time it is?”
I wince. I hadn’t even thought to check. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”
Aunt Karen sighs. “What’s going on?”
“I need you to keep her for a few more days,” I say carefully. “Dad’s in the hospital.”
Silence. She doesn’t ask what happened. Doesn’t even acknowledge the fact that her brother is lying in a hospital bed. Instead, her voice is clipped when she finally responds. “Two more days. That’s it.”
“Thank you,” I murmur before hanging up, my stomach twisted in knots. I had wanted to speak to Lily, but maybe tomorrow I could call her.
Marco moves closer, perching on the edge of his desk. His leg nearly touches mine, and I’m acutely aware of every inch between us. Or lack of it.
“I could move her,” he offers. “Have her kept safe.”
I shake my head instantly. “No. It means I stay here for two more days, and then I get my sister.”
Marco doesn’t argue, but something shifts in his gaze. He leans back slightly, nodding once. “I’ll send men around to Karen’s house to keep an eye on things.”
The tension inside me eases just enough. “Thank you.”
The door creaks open, and Buddy pokes his head in before letting out a low whine. My stomach drops. I know that sound.
“He’s going to be sick,” I say, pushing off the desk and rushing toward him. Because right now, I’d rather deal with that than whatever the hell is happening between Marco and me.