Chapter 35 – Serena
Once Markos pulled us back onto the ship, we settled on the net, curled into one another. He held me close as the waves rocked the boat side to side. Whatever happened between us, caught in the swell of the ocean, unleashed feelings that I dared not give name to.
They didn’t disappear as the sun began to dry us. We basked in the moment, content in the feel of each other.
“I always thought I wanted to escape the mob, who knew I just needed to find a new one,” I murmured, letting free my secrets.
Markos brushed the hair from my face. “What was that, prinkípissa?”
I sighed. Might as well get this over with. “Baldwin isn’t your enemy, pirate.”
At the name, Markos stiffened. His breathing changed to a hard rasp.
I moved into him, placed my hand on his chest. “You promised me that my family was off limits. That includes Baldwin.”
“Say his name again—”
I cut off his warning with my finger against his lip. “He’s my brother, Markos. One of two older brothers.”
The shock on his face was priceless.
Markos’s eyes hardened to steel. His hand, which had been caressing my shoulder, froze mid-stroke. “Your brother,” he repeated, voice flat with disbelief and breath hot on my finger.
“Yes. Baldwin is one of my brothers.”
He pushed himself up, creating space between us. The warmth that had enveloped us moments ago evaporated like mist under a harsh sun.
“This whole time—” His jaw clenched. “This whole fucking time, you were a Baldwin. One of Chicago’s elites.”
I sat up, pulling my swimsuit straps back into place. “Not exactly. Mancini was my maiden name. Baldwin was the ruse they created to separate Leo from the family business."
His laugh was hollow, bitter. “Family business. Is that what you call the greatest conglomerate in the Midwest?”
“How do you think Leo acquired that power? You have your syndicate. We have ours.” I brought my knees to my chest, resting my chin against them.
This secret wouldn’t damn us.
Sure, the revelation would be shocking, but Markos wanted to kidnap a bratva bride for power. Instead, he got me—a mafia princess.
“My oldest brother is Alessandro Mancini, Don of the Mancini Famiglia.” I let the cards fall.
Markos stopped short. He squinted down at me.
A tense moment passed where it was like he saw me for the first time. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.
“Have you heard of him?” I prompted.
“Yes, I’ve fucking heard of the Blood King,” Markos spat. He jumped to the upper deck, stalking to his pants, which he tugged viciously over his lower half.
I sighed again. And here I’d been greedily hoping for round two. Rising, I walked to where he stood, back to me, studying the horizon.
“Hey.” I wrapped my arms around his waist. “This doesn’t change anything. I’m Serena Demetriou now, and I live here, on the Southern Coast, with you, Black Tide.”
I laid my cheek against his back. Gnarled scars pressed into me.
“So...you’re Italian mob.”
I nodded. “There was never a role for me in their world. That’s why I love it here. I’m free—finally—for the first time in my life.”
Markos clasped my wrists and drew me around to face him. “This puts me in a difficult position, Serena.”
I frowned. “How?”
“Atlas and the others will think that it’s your brother come to assassinate us,” he said bitterly.
A cold dread slithered through me despite the sun’s merciless heat. “They don’t even know where I am,” I protested.
It was Markos’s turn to shake his head. “Until I can prove that, we need to keep your identity a secret. But—” his arms tightened around me “—we need to give them something. Today, I was supposed to interrogate you.”
“That’s a pretty twisted way to question someone, don’t you think?” I laughed.
Markos smiled. “Twisted? Effective? It worked, didn’t it?”
“I could get used to your version of fishing.”
My words came out more breathless than I intended. In response, I felt his cock stiffen between us.
“Do you actually want to fish?” I jerked my chin to the side.
But Markos shook his head. “I already caught the one thing I set out to ensnare.”
“Oh?”
“You, little mermaid, I’ve caught you.”
“And you’re keeping me?”
“And I’m keeping you.”
***
Somehow, the tallow and zinc kept me from burning.
After a day spent on the water, I wasn’t fried, but I was wind-burned and in need of serious hydration.
Markos taught me the basics of sailing, even letting me sit on his lap as we steered the boat toward the docks.
It was a brutal exercise in restraint, a foreplay too provocative to resist for long.
The final stretch was bumpy.
Markos slid his arms from me to help me grip the wheel. I mourned the loss of his touch.
“Easy now!” He laughed as we bumped against the stretch of dock.
“I did it,” I beamed, spinning around to give him a kiss.
His tongue slipped out to caress mine. My body thrummed at the memory of that hard, wet touch tasting me everywhere just before we set sail for home.
Home.
I had one of those now, one without secrets haunting the shadows, nooks, and crannies.
“Prinkípissa,” Markos groaned. “I have to tie her off.”
Biting his lip in a farewell, I hopped off his lap. Reluctantly, he moved nimbly to the side of the ship and began the intricate work of fastening the portside to the dock.
Part of me wanted to jump in, to learn and help.
I stayed put, admiring the sight of him working. Sure, his body was a mess. And sometime in the near future, he was going to spill his secrets and tell me exactly what the hell happened to him. It couldn’t be good. Those scars were deep, telling the story of a painful brutality.
But he needed to be ready to share. Until then, I would wait.
“Serena! Get down!” Markos dove behind the shelter of the boat’s side.
Instinct screamed at me, but curiosity snapped my attention to the end of the dock. Four masked assailants were rushing forward, guns raised.
This was a public marina! They wouldn’t shoot here.
The pop of rifles sent me ducking for cover behind the captain’s stand.
My heart pounded in my chest. Gunfire screamed around us, bullets pinging against the boat’s metal frame. Growing up in the Mancini family, I’d been shielded from violence. This wasn’t a movie. This was real. And I’d seen more than my fair share in the last couple days to last a lifetime.
“Stay down!” Markos shouted, crawling back to me.
I could see him scanning our surroundings, his body tense like a predator’s. He reached beneath the captain’s seat and pulled out a handgun. The sight of it made everything suddenly more real.
“Can you drive the boat?” he asked, eyes never leaving our attackers.
“Yes,” I nodded, remembering his lessons from earlier.
“On my mark, you’re going to start the engine and reverse us out of here.”
Another barrage of bullets hit the boat. I flinched, covering my head.
“The mooring lines!” I hissed.
“They’re loose. Give her enough thrust and we’ll tear free.”
Markos rose and returned fire.
One of the assailants dropped.
“Now!”
I did as he instructed, slamming down on the throttle. The engine roared, then whined in protest. The boat jerked violently. Metal and wood groaned.
Markos kept shooting, movements solid on the unsteady surface.
I jiggled the wheel, forcing the rudder to move and wiggle us free.
A violent curse, and Markos collapsed.
I froze, escape forgotten. That wet spot on his shirt wasn’t saltwater. Drops of crimson splattered to the wooden deck.
“Get us out of here,” he barked.
My gaze shifted to the dock. There was one more left, and he wasn’t retreating. I let the motor run as it would without my control and crept forward.
“Give me the gun,” I insisted and held out my hand.
Markos studied me, face contorted in pain. “There’s only one bullet, prinkípissa.”
I swallowed the whimper of fear. Shooting wasn’t something I spent a lot of time doing—a mistake I would remedy immediately.
“If he gets closer, I can hit him,” I said, grateful that my voice didn’t shake too badly. “Trust me.”
“I do.” He didn’t even pause. The gun dropped into my outstretched hand, the metal warm from his touch. “Aim for the throat, just above his vest.”
Inching back, I peered around the opposite side of the captain’s stand. There was barely enough room to see.
The attacker fired, the bullet whizzing past my ear. Heartbeat thundering, I steadied my hand, bracing myself against the aperture. Sandro’s voice echoed in my head from the one time he’d taken me to the range: “Breathe out when you pull the trigger.”
I exhaled, squeezed, and the gun kicked back against my palm.
The masked man staggered, clutching his neck. Red bloomed between his fingers before he crumpled to the dock.
“Turn the wheel! Get us out!” Markos commanded through gritted teeth.
Dropping the empty gun, I scrambled back to the controls. The mooring lines strained as I reversed the throttle. With a violent snap, they broke free, and we lurched backward into open water.
“Markos,” I gasped, turning to him once we were back in the safety of the water, the shore a blurred line in the distance.
“You did it, prinkípissa,” he panted.
The blood in my veins chilled, and my heart leapt to my throat. He didn’t sound good.
I cut the engine, letting us float where the waves willed. Scrambling back to his side, I knelt. Blood covered his hands, leaking in crimson rivulets from his side and from his thigh.
“Merda!” I sprang away, going for rope and a fishing pole. I broke the rod, using the thicker end piece as a stick. Somewhere, from the recesses of my mind, I remembered how to make a torniquet.
I couldn’t draw in enough oxygen. The edges of my vision blurred as I hurried to staunch the flow on his thigh.
Markos brushed a sticky finger over my cheek. “You did it.”
“You said that already,” I choked.
He murmured, the sound rough in his chest. Reaching up behind, he found his phone in the nook on the stand. Once the leg stopped leaking, I moved for my dress to press against his lower belly.