Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Elena
My phone rang at eight. It was Marco.
"Elena, my grandma's hurt," he said, frantic. "She suddenly collapsed at home. Can you come? She kept calling your name. She needs you."
My chest tightened. Marco's grandmother had been fragile for two years. Whenever she was sick, I went to help.
"I'll be right there," I said, throwing off the covers. "Give me twenty minutes."
I packed quickly, told the babysitter to watch Stella, and ran out the door.
I took a cab to Marco's apartment, my head full of worst-case scenarios. She'd been in the hospital last month—the doctors said her heart was failing. I didn't want to imagine what could happen.
I knocked on the door, hard. Marco opened it. He was in a wrinkled shirt, collar open, stubble shadowing his jaw. His eyes were bloodshot and ringed with dark circles. He looked wrecked, like he hadn't slept in days.
"Marco? Where's grandma?" I stepped inside and scanned the room. The curtains were drawn, the place dim, the air heavy with alcohol. My stomach dropped.
"She's not here," he said flatly, then shut the door and leaned his back against it.
I stared. "What do you mean? You said she collapsed."
"I lied." His mouth curved into a smile that chilled me.
There was something rotten in his gaze I'd never seen before—not worry, not sorrow. It was hot and hungry, crawling under my skin.
Fear poured over me like ice water. I stepped back and reached for my phone in my bag.
"Marco, if this is a joke, it isn't funny."
"This isn't a joke." He came toward me slowly, each step making me want to run. "Elena, we need to talk. For real."
"We can talk another time." I kept backing up until my back hit the wall. "Stella's home. I need to—"
"For five years," he cut me off, and his voice spiked. "Five fucking years, Elena! I took care of you. I stayed with you. I did everything for you!"
"I know, Marco. I've always been grateful." My hands trembled.
"Grateful?" He shouted. The man I knew as gentle and safe vanished. "I don't want your gratitude! I want your love!"
He lunged and grabbed my wrist.
"Ah!" I yelped. His grip was like a clamp; I felt bone under his fingers.
"Marco, you're hurting me! Let go!" I shoved with my free hand, but he didn't budge.
"For five years I've been gentle with you, treated you like a treasure." He leaned in; his breath reeked of liquor. "And you? You look at me like I'm a friend. Like a brother. Then that Russian bastard—the one who left you—shows up and you rush to him."
"Let go!" I kicked and screamed. "Marco, you're drunk. You don't know what you're doing."
"I'm wide awake!" he snarled, eyes wild. "I've never been more awake! Isn't this what you like? All these years, I was kind, and you sneered. That night when that Russian forced himself on you, you loved it. You screamed and shook under him, your face so filthy."
My blood froze.
"He pinned you to the bed and fucked you rough," he breathed. "You cried out so loud. You trembled. Your expression was so utterly slutty. I'd never seen you like that."
"Stop!" I screamed.
His voice went hoarse. "That's when I knew my love was twisted. Five years of softness, five years of waiting—what a joke. You liked being forced? Fine. I can fucking do that too!"
"No!" I shook my head. "That's not— That's not what happened. Igor and I… I love him."
"You love him?" Marco laughed, a sound that made my skin crawl. "He abandoned you. He left you pregnant and alone in a foreign country. I took care of you and your child for five years. I deserve your love!"
"Love isn't a trade!" I cried. "You helped me, I was grateful, but that doesn't mean I have to love you!"
"Then I don't need your love." His eyes went cold. "If I can't have your heart, I'll have your body. I'll taste you."
"No!" Fear unlocked something in me, and I drove my knee up into his crotch.
He stepped aside fast, then used his weight to pin me to the sofa. He crushed me into the cushions until I could barely breathe.
"Let go! Help! Somebody?!" I screamed.
"No one will hear." He whispered in my ear, his voice like a snake. "This place is soundproof. At this hour, the neighbors aren't home."
His one hand clamped my wrists. The other began to grope.
"Don't touch me!" I bucked wildly, but the more I struggled, the tighter he held.
"You're a fucking cunt," he spat. "All this time you played innocent, played strong. Then that Russian comes back, and you spread your legs for him. What the hell are you acting so high and mighty for?"
"What are you talking about?" Tears blurred my vision. "How can you say that?"
The gentle doctor I'd trusted like a brother was saying things he had no right to say.
"Because it's true." He grabbed me through my clothes and squeezed my breasts hard. "You think I didn't see how wet you got that night under him?"
"Please, Marco," I begged through sobs. "For the things we went through as kids, don't do this."
It did nothing. He covered my mouth.
"No—" I shook my head and clamped my lips, but he pinched my jaw so hard I had to open my mouth. His tongue plunged into my mouth. It was filthy and violent—nothing like Igor's kisses.
I bit down on his tongue with everything I had.
"Ah!" he howled and staggered back, blood filling his mouth.
Then his hand slapped across my face with such force my head snapped. Pain exploded across my cheek; a metallic taste flooded my mouth.
"Bitch!" He spat, wiping his mouth. "Trying to save your pussy for that Russian?"
My cheek burned, and tears blurred my sight. I kept fighting.
"Marco, snap out of it." I sobbed. "This isn't you."
"You don't know me." He went eerily calm. "You never did. You only saw the gentle doctor, the reliable friend. But Elena, did you ever wonder how dark I could be?"
He started undoing his belt.
"When I was eight, I watched my father get beaten to death." His movements were slow, practiced. "They beat him until he was dead in front of me. My mother begged, and they raped her in front of me."
"Marco—" My voice trembled.
"She remarried a rich man and left me with my grandmother. She never came back. Do you know what it's like to have the person you love disappear? I couldn't accept it. I couldn't accept you leaving… so before you leave me, I'm going to have my fill."
He tied my hands with the belt—fast, professional, like he'd planned it.
"No! Let me go!" I kicked with the feet I still had.
He sat on my legs and pinned me. "The more you struggle, the more I like it," he panted, eyes sick with pleasure. "Like that night, watching you under Igor—it almost made my cock explode."
His fingers found my nipples and pinched them through my bra.
"Don't lie." He lowered his face, triumphant and deranged. "Your little nipples are hard."
"No." I shook, tears streaming. "It's just a reflex. I don't feel anything for you."
It was true. Even when my body got all stimulated, all I felt was this deep humiliation and straight-up nausea.
Not a single bit of that soul-shaking bliss I had with Igor, that electric rush where every damn cell in me was screaming with joy.
Right then, I just felt sick to my stomach, like I was gonna puke, like I just wanted to die.
"I don't believe you." He ripped at my shirt. Buttons flew off. Cold air hit my exposed chest; my bra was the only thing left.
I twisted, but the bound hands left me helpless. He searched me like prey and reached for my skirt.
"You know how long I've wanted this," Marco whispered. "Every accidental brush I had to hold back. But now—"
He tore my skirt. My panties were exposed.
"No! Help! Please!" My screams shredded my throat.
"Scream," he said. "Scream all you want. No one's coming."
I watched him pull out his ugly dick, that gross thing jutting right at me, and a wave of nausea hit me hard, like I was gonna puke.
"I'm going in, Elena," he panted, his eyes gleaming with this twisted, creepy excitement, "I wanna show you I can make you feel good too."
His hand reached for my panties—
Bang!
The door exploded inward; the frame splintered. Igor stood in the doorway. I had never been so glad to see anyone.
"Igor!" I nearly sobbed his name.
Right then, the look on his face was the most terrifying thing I'd ever seen. Like the gates of hell had swung open, and the most vicious demon had barreled right in.
He charged over in two strides, grabbing Marco by the back of his collar and flinging him off me like he was nothing but trash.
Marco's body slammed into the wall with this dull thud, and I swear I heard bones crack.
Then he crumpled to the floor, his head smacking the corner of the coffee table, blood gushing from his forehead instantly.
Igor spun back to me, that icy rage in his eyes melting away in a flash, turning into this endless wave of heartbreak and guilt.
"I'm sorry, baby," he said, his fingers shaking as he fumbled with the belt tying me down.
I was crying too hard to even answer.
Once the belt was off, he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it gently over me, covering up my bare skin. Then he pulled me into this tight hug.
"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely right by my ear. "I got here too late."
"You didn't. You got here right in time." I was shaking in his arms. "But... how'd you even know I was here?"
"I put a tracker in your phone." He admitted it straight up, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "When I flew back from New York, I saw you'd come here. It's a weekday—you should've been at the studio. I knew something was wrong."
I didn't even grill him about the tracker. All I felt was relief. If it wasn't for that...
"Igor, I was so scared earlier." I sobbed into his chest. "I thought—I thought..."
"Shh, don't. It's over now." He kissed my hair, and I could feel his hands trembling. "I'm here. No one's gonna hurt you. Not on my watch."
That's when I finally noticed the red stain blooming on his shirt sleeve. "Your arm—it's bleeding?"