Chapter 18 Marco
Marco
The morning school run should be routine by now. Ben in her car seat. Me behind the wheel. Filepe running advance at the building. Same choreographed dance we do every weekday.
But the timing feels deliberate. Like he’s watching for something.
Now he’s sitting in the back seat next to Ben while Jag drives for once, and I’m in the passenger seat. Ethan is showing Ben some stupid coin trick he learned from a patient’s kid. She’s giggling. Actually giggling on a Wednesday morning when she’s usually wound tight about classroom transitions.
Jess did this. Her systems. Her breathing techniques. Her refusal to let my daughter drown in anxiety.
Fuck, I want her.
I shift in the passenger seat and try to focus on literally anything else. Traffic. The weather. The fact we’re approaching the school and I need to be present for drop-off.
I’m doing my best trying not to think about how Jess looked bent over that notebook in my office. Or how her jeans fit her curves.
Or how she tastes.
“You’re doing good work, man.” Ethan’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “With Ben. She’s different lately. Happier.”
I glance back. He’s watching me with that paramedic intensity. The kind that sees through bullshit. Ben meanwhile is busy explaining to Frederick how the coin trick was done.
“She’s got good people around her,” I deflect.
“She’s got you. And Jess.” He says her name casually but something in his tone makes my spine tighten. “Speaking of which. She seems good. Like, really good. Working for you agrees with her.”
The words land like a sucker punch. Because yeah, it agrees with her. She’s thriving. Building something that matters. Taking care of my daughter better than anyone has since Isotta died.
And I’m the asshole who can’t keep his hands off her.
“She’s great with Ben,” I manage. Neutral. Professional. Like I didn’t have her pressed against my studio counter not too long ago.
“That’s what I’m saying.” Ethan leans forward between the seats. Drops his voice so Ben can’t hear. “You’re both in good places. So... don’t... fuck it up.”
There it is. The reason he wanted to come along today.
“What do you mean?” I ask. Even though I know exactly what he means.
“We already talked about this.” His eyes lock on mine. “Keep it professional.”
I force a smile. “That’s all it will ever be, Ethan.”
“Good.” He sits back and his voice returns to normal. “Because if you hurt her, I’ll have to hurt you. And that would suck because I actually like you.”
He’s joking. Sort of. The kind of joke that’s ninety percent truth wrapped in ten percent humor.
I purse my lips. My competitive instinct is to reply: You can certainly try. To hurt me, that is.
But instead I tell him: “She won’t be hurt.”
He nods. “Cool.”
Ben suddenly looks up from Frederick. “Who’s hurting who?”
“No one, sweetie,” Ethan says, giving her a side hug.
We pull up to the school. Filepe’s already positioned at the curb doing his security sweep. The protective triangle. Marco, Ben, driver. Same as always.
I unbuckle and move to help Ben out of her seat. She’s clutching Frederick like the plush snail is an extension of her nervous system.
“Ready, piccola?”
“Ready.” She does the hand squeeze to herself. One, two, three. Breathes. Then looks at me with those huge brown eyes. “You’ll be here at pickup?”
I smile at her. “Most days it’ll be Jess, remember? But I’ll be there Thursday and Friday this week. And whenever you need me.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. And Jess will be there every other day.”
She squeezes my hand three times before letting go. Our ritual. Started by Jess. Now ours.
I watch her walk to the entrance where Mrs. Chen is waiting. She glances back once. I wave. She disappears inside.
Back in the Range Rover, Ethan’s checking his phone. Maybe responding to dispatch.
“You got plans later?” he asks. “The mat tonight?”
Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. Where I go to burn off tension I can’t burn off anywhere else.
“Maybe.” I should go. Need to go. Because sitting at home while Jess does bedtime with Ben is torture. “I’ll text you.”
“Do that.” He pockets his phone. Looks at me again with that assessing stare. “You good? You seem off.”
Off. That’s one word for it.
I’m thinking about his sister constantly. Violated the contract we signed. Keep replaying the sounds she made when I was inside her. Can barely function during nightly debriefs because all I want is to cross that kitchen island and finish what we started.
“Work stuff,” I lie. “Media pressure. The usual.”
“Right.” He doesn’t believe me. I can see it in the set of his jaw. But he doesn’t push. “Well, if you need to talk. I’m here.”
If you need to talk.
Yeah. Let me just confess that I’ve fucked your sister. Twice. Once in her apartment. Once in my studio. That I want her so badly it’s physically painful. That I think about her when I should be thinking about my daughter or my restaurants or literally anything else.
That would go over well.
“Thanks,” I say instead. “Appreciate it.”
Jag drops Ethan at the subway. Then it’s just us heading back to FHG headquarters.
My phone buzzes. Text from Jess.
Ben forgot her library book. I’ll bring it at pickup.
I stare at the message. Completely innocent. Completely professional.
And all I can think about is her mouth on mine. Her hands in my hair. The way she said my name when she came.
I need to stop this. Need to recommit to the boundaries we set. Need to focus on what actually matters.
Ben. The restaurants. Not destroying the one good thing that’s happened since Isotta died.
Except Jess is the good thing.
And that’s the problem.
I feel like I’m working a station during a rush with tickets backing up and the expo yelling. That moment where you know you’re about to get buried but can’t stop. Can’t slow down. Can only keep pushing and hope you make it through service without everything collapsing.
Except this isn’t service.
This is my life.
And the collapse isn’t theoretical.
If Ethan knew the truth, he’d kill me. Slowly. With his bare hands.
I pocket my phone and watch the city through the tinted window. Delivery trucks. Suited executives. Everyone moving with purpose while I’m stuck in this loop of wanting what I can’t have and lying to the people who trust me most.
The irony isn’t lost on me. I built an empire on precision and control. And here I am, one step away from losing it all.
We pull into FHG parking. I need to review the Kells situation with Gianna, my COO. Need to check on the Family Meal logistics for the coming Monday. Need to do approximately nine thousand things that don’t involve thinking about Jess.
But first I sit in the Range Rover for three full minutes and just breathe.
In through the nose. Hold. Out through the mouth. Hold.
Jess’s technique. The one she taught Ben. The one I’ve been using in board calls and tense moments and every fucking time I’m about to lose my shit.
It works. Marginally.
I bid Jag farewell and get out. Head inside. Gianna’s waiting in my office with updates on the media containment. We talk strategy. I make decisions. I function like a competent human being.
But the whole time I’m thinking about tonight. About Jess being back in my house. Doing homework with Ben. Making dinner. Moving through my space like she belongs there.
Close enough to touch. Far enough to make me insane.
I recommit to the boundaries right there. In my head. Like making a promise to myself.
No repeats. No crossing lines. No more studio sessions that violate every rule we set.
Just professional. Just the nanny and the boss.
For Ben. For Ethan. For everyone who’s counting on me to have my shit together.
The promise hurts. Fucking hurts. But I make it anyway.
Because the alternative is watching everything I’ve built burn down.
Even if it means never touching her again. Even if it means pretending I don’t want her every second of every day.
I can do this. I have to do this.
I just hope the restraint doesn’t kill me first.