CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sasha
I WAKE TO an empty bed, my hand instinctively sliding across the cool sheets where Marco's body should be. The space beside me has long gone cold. Sunlight streams through a gap in the curtains, telling me it's well past morning. I haven't slept this late in years.
A small piece of paper on his pillow catches my eye. I reach for it, recognizing Marco's surprisingly elegant handwriting: Had to step out. Back soon. Stay inside.
Typical Marco—giving orders even in his absence. I sit up, wincing slightly at the pleasant soreness between my thighs. Memories flood back: Marco's hands on my skin, his mouth hungry against mine, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress. I'd given myself to him completely, surrendered in a way I never have with anyone before.
"What were you thinking, Sasha?" I mutter to myself, running a hand through my tangled hair.
I wasn't thinking—that's the problem. I was feeling, wanting, needing. After years of keeping men at arm's length, of focusing solely on Lily and my career, I'd fallen into bed with the most dangerous man I know. A killer. A criminal.
Yet somewhere along the way, the lines have blurred. I'm no longer sure if I'm staying because he's forcing me to or because I want to. And that terrifies me more than any threat he's ever made.
I slide out of bed, wrapping myself in the silk robe that had been discarded on the floor last night. In the adjoining bathroom, I catch sight of myself in the mirror—lips still slightly swollen from his kisses, a small bruise forming at the junction of my neck and shoulder where his teeth had grazed my skin. I look different somehow. Changed.
The shower feels heavenly, hot water washing away the physical remnants of the night while doing nothing to clear the confusion in my mind. Today marks the second day of our agreement. By tonight, I should be free to get Lily, as Marco promised.
But do I still want to leave?
The question ambushes me as I'm toweling off, stopping me in my tracks. Of course, I want to leave. I need to. Lily needs stability, normalcy—not a life surrounded by armed guards and the constant threat of violence. I can't raise her in a world where men like Marco solve problems with bullets and blood.
No matter what happened between us last night, no matter how my heart races when he looks at me, my priority has to be Lily. Always.
After dressing in jeans and a simple blue blouse from the clothes Marco had provided, I try calling Aunt Karen again. The phone rings six times before going to voicemail. A knot of anxiety tightens in my stomach. Why isn't she answering? Is Lily okay?
I try again with the same result. Something doesn't feel right. Karen has always been prompt about answering calls, especially since Lily's been staying with her.
Buddy appears at the bedroom door, tail wagging in greeting. At least one constant remains in my chaotic life. I scratch behind his ears, finding comfort in his uncomplicated affection.
"Let's get you some breakfast, boy. And maybe find out where everyone's gone."
The hallways of Marco's mansion feel eerily quiet as I make my way downstairs with Buddy trotting at my heels. Usually, there are at least a few guards posted at strategic points, but today, I pass only one man near the main staircase. He nods respectfully but offers no information when I ask about Marco's whereabouts.
In the kitchen, I find some fruit and toast for myself and fill Buddy's bowl with the special food Marco had ordered for him. The thoughtfulness of that gesture still surprises me. Marco Walsh, ruthless mob boss, concerned about my dog's digestive issues.
As I eat, I check my phone again. Still no response from Karen. My unease grows, making the toast taste like cardboard in my mouth. I need to get to Lily, need to see with my own eyes that she's safe.
Movement in the driveway catches my attention through the kitchen window. A group of Marco's men are huddled in conversation, their body language tense. I catch fragments of their discussion as I move closer to the window.
"...funeral tomorrow morning..." "...Boss wants extra security..." "...after what happened to Danny..."
Danny—Marco's younger brother. The one who was shot. So they're having the funeral tomorrow. I feel a pang of sympathy for Marco despite everything. No matter what kind of men they are, losing a brother must be devastating.
The men disperse, and I notice the security presence seems lighter than usual. Many of Marco's regular guards must be busy with funeral preparations. A thought begins to form—a dangerous, desperate thought.
I return to my room, mind racing. I've been exploring the estate bit by bit during my captivity, noting potential exits, memorizing the guards' routines. There's a service passage near the east wing that’s rarely used and minimally monitored. If I'm going to make a move, now might be my only chance.
But do I really want to run? After last night? After everything?
I pace the room, Buddy watching me with curious eyes. Marco said we'd discuss getting Lily after our two days were up. Maybe I should trust him, wait for his return, remind him of our agreement.
But Karen isn't answering, and every instinct I have is screaming that something's wrong. I can't sit here doing nothing while my sister might be in danger.
Decision made, I grab a jacket and slip my phone into my pocket. Buddy follows as I make my way down the back staircase, avoiding the main areas where I might be seen. The service passage is exactly where I remember it, hidden behind a nondescript door that looks like a closet to the casual observer.
The passage is dim and dusty, clearly unused for years. It smells of mildew and old wood, but it leads directly to a small door that opens onto the gardens. From there, I can make my way to the perimeter wall. I've noticed a section where the ivy grows thick enough to potentially climb, if I'm careful.
Freedom is so close I can taste it.
Buddy and I emerge into the bright afternoon sunlight. I keep close to the hedges, moving from shadow to shadow. The gardens are extensive, designed for beauty rather than security, which works in my favor now. My heart pounds against my ribs, adrenaline making my hands shake slightly.
I'm halfway to the wall when the sound of an approaching vehicle makes me freeze. Through the foliage, I catch sight of Marco's SUV pulling into the driveway. I should hide, wait for him to go inside, then continue my escape.
Instead, I find myself moving toward the gate, drawn like a magnet despite all logic and self-preservation. I need to see him, need to understand what last night meant, need to remind him of his promise about Lily.
I'm almost at the main path when Marco spots me. His expression shifts from distraction to shock to fury in the span of a heartbeat. He cuts across the lawn, intercepting me before I can reach the gate.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demands, grabbing my arm and pulling me against the garden wall, out of sight from the main house. His face is bruised, a fresh cut above his eyebrow, knuckles raw and bloodied. He's been fighting.
"I need to see Lily," I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the anger and concern radiating from him. "Karen's not answering her phone. Something's wrong, I can feel it."
"So your solution is to what? Scale the wall and walk to her house?" His grip tightens on my arm. "Do you want to get yourself killed?"
"I'm not your prisoner, Marco!" The words explode from me, all the frustration and confusion of the past weeks boiling over. "I can't breathe in there! I can't just sit and wait while my sister might be in danger!"
"You're not thinking clearly," he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous level. "If you leave this estate without protection, you'll be dead before you reach the main road. Is that what you want?"
Tears burn in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. "What I want is my sister! What I want is my life back! What I want..." My voice breaks. "I don't even know anymore."
Something shifts in Marco's expression—the fury giving way to something more complex, more vulnerable.
"I'm trying to keep you alive, Sasha." His voice cracks slightly, revealing the strain beneath his controlled exterior. "Everything I do—it's for you."
The confession hangs between us, unexpected and raw. I stare at him, trying to reconcile the brutal mob boss with the man looking at me now, his eyes reflecting a pain that goes beyond physical wounds.
"Why?" I whisper, needing to understand. "Why does it matter to you if I live or die?"
Instead of answering, he pulls me against him, his mouth crashing down on mine. The kiss is desperate, almost violent in its intensity. I should push him away, should run as far and as fast as I can from this man and everything he represents.
But my body betrays me, responding to his touch like it's been conditioned to do. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer as his tongue invades my mouth, tasting of whiskey and something distinctly, dangerously Marco.
We break apart, both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, our breaths mingling in the small space between us.
"You know why," he says quietly, an answer that answers nothing.
Before I can respond, the sound of approaching footsteps makes Marco tense. He straightens, instantly reverting to the cold, controlled crime boss.
"Mr. Walsh?" One of his men appears around the hedge. He hesitates when he sees us together, clearly sensing the charged atmosphere. "Sorry to interrupt, but your father's on the phone. Says it's urgent."
Marco nods, dismissing him with a look. When we're alone again, he turns back to me, his expression unreadable.
"We need to talk," he says. "But I have to take this call first. Wait for me in my study."
It's not a request. I should be angry at his high-handedness, at the way he expects obedience without question. But I'm too emotionally drained to fight anymore.
"Fine," I concede. "But after, we're discussing Lily. Today is the second day, Marco. You promised."
A shadow crosses his face, something like regret flashing in his eyes. "I know what I promised," he says. "Just…wait for me. Please."
The "please" catches me off guard. Marco Walsh doesn't ask; he commands. The unexpected courtesy feels like a small victory, though I'm no longer sure what game we're playing or what winning would even look like.
I follow him back to the house, Buddy trotting loyally beside me. Marco veers off toward his office while I continue to his study as instructed. The room smells of him—expensive cologne, leather, and the faint trace of gunpowder that seems to cling to him no matter how immaculate his appearance.
I settle into one of the leather armchairs, absently running my fingers along the intricately carved wooden armrests. How many men has Marco threatened from behind that imposing desk? How many death sentences has he handed down from this very room?
Yet, last night, he'd held me with unexpected gentleness, his touch almost reverent as he explored my body. The contradiction makes my head spin.
Time passes slowly. I browse the bookshelves lining the walls.
Nearly an hour later, the door finally opens. Marco enters, his expression grim, shoulders tense beneath his tailored shirt. He's washed his face and hands, but the bruises are darkening against his pale skin. Whatever conversation he had with his father has only increased the weight he carries.
"How much do you know about Lucas?" he asks while pouring himself a glass of whiskey from a crystal decanter.
The question catches me off guard. "Your brother? Not much. Just what I've heard from your men and seen myself."
Marco nods, swirling the amber liquid thoughtfully. "Lucas and I grew up fighting—for attention, for approval, for power. But we always had each other's backs when it mattered. At least, I thought we did."
He downs the whiskey in one swallow, the movement making him wince slightly. I suspect he has injuries beyond the visible bruises.
"Danny's funeral is tomorrow morning," he continues, his voice carefully controlled. "After that, we'll discuss getting Lily. I give you my word."
“What about today?” I ask.
His jaw tightens. "Things have changed. The situation is…more complicated than I initially thought."
"Complicated how?" I press, sensing there's something significant he's not telling me.
Marco sets his empty glass down with deliberate care. "You and Lily may have been targeted specifically."
Fear coils in my stomach. "Targeted? By who? Why?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out." He runs a hand through his hair, a rare display of uncertainty. "Until I know for sure, the safest place for both of you is here, under my protection."
"So, I'm still a prisoner." I can't keep the bitterness from my voice.
Marco crosses the room in three long strides, kneeling before my chair so we're eye to eye. "No. Not a prisoner." His hands cup my face, surprisingly gentle despite the violence they're capable of. "But I need you to trust me just a little longer."
The sincerity in his eyes makes it hard to breathe. This close, I can see the flecks of gold in his brown irises, the tiny scar above his left eyebrow, the tension in the muscles of his jaw.
"I'll try," I whisper, knowing it's the most honest answer I can give.
Relief flashes across his face. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against mine in an oddly intimate gesture. "Thank you."
We stay like that for a moment, suspended in this fragile truce. Then Marco pulls back, his mask of control sliding back into place.
"You'll have more freedom," he says, his tone businesslike again. "You can move around the estate, use the facilities, the gardens. But there will always be guards nearby."
It's not freedom, not really. But it's a step in the right direction. "And after the funeral tomorrow? After we get Lily?"
Marco stands, creating distance between us. "One thing at a time, Sasha."
Before I can argue, a knock at the door interrupts us. Tony enters, his expression grave.
"Boss, we've got a situation downtown. That thing we discussed earlier..." His eyes flick to me, then back to Marco. "It's happening now."
Marco nods, instantly alert. "I'll be right there." He turns back to me, his expression softening slightly. "We'll continue this conversation later."
"Marco—" I start, but he cuts me off with a quick, hard kiss that leaves me breathless.
"Stay inside. Please." There's that word again, so rare from his lips. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
Then he's gone, leaving me alone with Buddy and the lingering taste of whiskey on my lips. I sink back into the chair, emotionally exhausted.
Tomorrow, we'll attend Danny's funeral. Tomorrow, we'll discuss getting Lily. Tomorrow, perhaps, I'll finally understand what I've stumbled into—and whether there's any way out that doesn't end in heartbreak or bloodshed.
Buddy lays his head on my knee, his warm eyes offering silent comfort. I scratch behind his ears, finding solace in his simple devotion while myheart remains hopelessly tangled in the web Marco Walsh has woven around me.
Outside, the sky darkens with approaching storm clouds, a fitting backdrop to the turmoil brewing both within and around us. I can feel it—something significant is shifting, forces are aligning, and I'm caught in the center of a storm I barely comprehend.
Whatever happens next, I know with a bone-deep certainty that nothing will ever be the same again.