Marco
MARCO
M orning hit me like a truck. I hardly slept. Couldn't . Not when sunshine lay in my bed. My arm was wrapped around her, her body curled into mine like she belonged there. The warmth from her skin seeped into me, and I absorbed it all like a starved hound.
She moved, her dark lashes fluttering open, and those big doe eyes locked onto mine. Contentment warred with a gnawing unease in my gut. This thing between us was thrilling but dangerous as hell. I half expected Hunter to be sitting in my chair, ready to sink that knife into my gut.
" ..." Her voice was husky from sleep, hitting me right in the chest. " Why do you like me?"
Fuck . That question. It was simple but loaded. I searched for words, but they were slippery bastards. My throat closed up, every muscle in my body tensing. Clearing my throat, I hoped to buy some time.
I traced the line of her jaw with a calloused finger, trying to communicate with touch what my voice couldn't manage. The curve of her cheek felt soft under my rough skin.
" Rosie ," I finally managed. " You're ...you're... you make me feel like I'm more than the man I am. Ever since the moment I laid eyes on you. The way you'd stare at me... I felt like the sun was shining directly on me."
It was true. She did. But admitting it felt like handing over a loaded gun—with my heart as the target. She didn't say anything, just waited. Could probably tell the war going on in my mind as I wrestled with whether or not I should tell her I've loved her most of my life.
My hands, scarred and weathered from years of bloodshed, cradled her face, the stark contrast between my life and her innocence never more apparent. The weight of my confession hovered between us.
" Since we were kids," I murmured, gaze locked on hers. " I'd see you with Lucia , all smiles and laughter. It fucking killed me."
Her brows furrowed, confusion lacing those depths that saw too much yet not enough. " But why? Why even bother with someone like me? You barely know me, yet you were willing to die to defend me. Why ? "
" Your brother," I started. I really didn't want to get into this, but starting off on a lie wouldn't bode well for the future. " We grew up together—more than friends, less than blood. But it was always clear, his world, my world—it wasn't meant for you. You probably don't remember me. You were always so caught up in the sun and the waves. Trying to be all bossy and shit, it was cute. The day your brother tried to sell a night with you to a rival for peace... I snapped. I did a lot of things I'm not proud of, but I'd do them all over again if it meant protecting you."
" What do you mean?"
" When your brother died, we were right about turning 19. Your dad was ready to hand over The Black Hands , but Tony ... he was making reckless decisions. The others wouldn't listen to him, Hunter included. We'd had a whole plan. The Black Hands and The Cinder Crew would become one, ruled by Tony , Hunter ... and me. But Tony ... fuck, that kid. He promised someone that you'd be able to fulfill his fantasy and..."
" And ?" Her eyebrows raised, her eyes wide. She'd never heard this, and I didn't know how to say it gently.
" I killed the fucker. Strangled him to death. The next one, same deal. I kept killing them, and Tony never figured out who was doing it. Until one day, I killed the wrong person, and their clan got pissed. Killed your brother. I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not."
She paused as she absorbed my words before she smiled gently, placing her hand on my shoulder. " I don't blame you. Tony was... he was something else. He lived his life and paid the price. Much like we all will, eventually."
" I never wanted you to become a part of this. I tried so fucking hard."
She pulled back slightly, studying me as if piecing together a puzzle where the pieces didn't want to fit. " And yet, here we are."
" Here we are," I echoed, a rueful snort escaping me. " Hunter , he doesn’t do attachments. Women —they come, they go. But with you..." My voice trailed off. I hated rooting for the competition, but... he really did love her in his own fucked up way.
" Tell me, ," she pressed.
" Never seen him give a damn like he does about you," I admitted, the words grating against my insides. " Not once. It's always been...temporary. Fuck and chuck, no looking back. I know he's harsh with you, but... the man does love you."
Rosalind absorbed my words, her eyes wide, searching mine for the lies that didn’t exist. Her touch, light on my chest, felt like a brand, burning to whatever part of me had managed to remain untouched by this life.
" ," she whispered, and Christ , the way she said my name—it was a plea, a prayer, a condemnation all at once. " I ... I don't know what to say."
The room closed in around us, the walls witnesses to confessions and crimes alike. With her, it was different. She was the flicker of hope. And me— I was the bastard who'd drag her down into the abyss if I wasn’t careful. She'd only seen the parts of me I let her see. I had ugly parts, just as bad, if not worse than Hunter . There's a reason I'm his right hand.
My hands tighten around her. " This thing between us?—"
The shrill ring of my phone interrupts me, a jarring counterpoint to her soft breaths against my skin. My hand shot out, fingers closing around the device like a vice. Rat's voice buzzed through the speaker, each word slicing into the quiet morning.
" Boss , it's now or never. The Black Hands —they're sniffing around again. Got to get our shit from the warehouse to the docks, pronto. They just fuckin' blew up the east side warehouse. Gunna lose millions if they catch wind of this one. "
" Be right there. Start packaging. Call Stilt and bring the truck. Gunna move shipping day to tonight."
The urgency in Rat’s tone was like a punch to the gut, dragging me back to reality. I hung up with no goodbyes.
" Trouble ," I grunted, casting a glance at Rosalind as she lay there, a sliver of sun painting gold on her dark curls. " Gotta move. Now ."
I swung my legs out of bed, feet hitting the floor with a thud. Her fingers brushed my arm, a silent plea to stay that I had to ignore. I was a man divided—duty pulling me one way, desire the other.
" Get ready, Rose . I have to go, and so do you," I told her, my voice gravel, my mind already racing through the logistics of moving thousands of pounds of contraband under the nose of the enemy. The wrong person at the wrong time would see me in a body bag. Or worse.
She slid out of bed, the sheets falling away from her body, leaving nothing to the imagination and everything to want. But the sight couldn't hold me—not when a war was brewing outside these walls. I had a job to do. A woman to protect. She moved to dress, and I turned my back, not out of decency but necessity. I had to switch. To stay sharp, hard, unyielding.
I was the shield and the sword for the Cinder Crew , and today, I’d bleed for them if I had to .
Her footsteps were quiet as the door clicked open, and she made her way downstairs, leaving an echo of her scent and a fucking chasm in the room where she stood seconds before. I wanted to say something. Anything that was sweet and kind, but this was business.
Her shoulders were tense, her eyes were glued to the spot she had vanished from, and I was torn between the softness of her skin and the hard reality waiting beyond these walls. My chest tightened—a vise of longing squeezing around my heart.
Footsteps broke the silence— Hunter’s unmistakable loud tread. The air changed, charged with tension, heavy with unspoken shit we couldn't ignore. He stopped outside my door, leaning against the frame.
" Got a plan for the warehouse," I muttered, standing to face him—the solid ground beneath me, shitty situation ahead. " I’ll take care of it."
His near-black eyes flicked past me, searching for something that wasn't there. " Rosalind —" he started, his deep voice rough. Man looked like he hadn't slept. Had a lost puppy look to him. Almost felt bad for fucking his wife, but not bad enough to wish it didn't happen. Or enough that I wouldn't do it again.
" Talk to her," I cut in, blunt as a hammer to the face. " Fix your shit. She ain't just some piece to play with. She loves you, dumb fuck. Stop treating her like trash and start shining her like the diamond she is."
He grunted, the sound loaded with a threat or maybe an apology—hard to tell with Hunter . But he nodded once, tight-lipped, and moved on. No thanks, no bullshit—it wasn't our way.
I turned back to the empty space where Rosalind had been, my mind a fucking battlefield. Loyalty to Hunter and my desire for her—clashed inside me. Guess I don't have anything else to do but wait. Wait for the shoe to drop. Wait for him to kill me. Wait til someone else kills me. Fuckin ' wait.
" Have to keep you safe," I whispered to the ghost of her touch lingering on my skin. " Keep all this shit from tainting you."
But I knew the truth—this life stains you, seeps into your bones until you're nothing but a twisted version of yourself. I shook off the thought, resolve locking into place.
Time to move product, time to be the monster the Cinder Crew needed. And when the dust settled, maybe then I'd find some peace—in Rosalind's arms or alone in the dark.
The warehouse was a fortress, teeming with my men hauling crates like they were nothing but cardboard. The air reeked of diesel and sweat, the gritty tang of determination mingling with the stench. I stalked through the chaos, every step calculated. My eyes darted from face to face, scars to tattoos—each one a soldier in this dirty war to see who came out on top. Good men. Each and every one of them brothers I'd bled beside. That I'd bleed for.
" Keep it tight," I grunted, my voice barely rising above the clatter and hum of forklifts. Men nodded, their movements sharpening under my gaze. Thousands of pounds of drugs and guns, each crate promising riches, waiting to be sent off to safer ground before The Black Hands got wind and turned the place into rubble.
My hands itched for the feel of cold metal, for the assurance of a loaded piece at my side. But my mind... it was back in that bedroom, in between the ivory of her legs. Her dark eyes, her long black hair spread across my pillow, looking at me like I'd given her the world.
" Move your asses; we don't have all day!" I barked, snapping back to now. My crew jumped to, no questions, just action. My kind of language. I paced the perimeter; muscles coiled, every sense on high alert. This was my world—grit, and gunpowder, where every movement could be a countdown to hellfire.
" , crate's secured," Rat's voice cut through the din, a beacon of focus. I gave him a nod; my approval was silent but clear as day. My boys respected me and feared me when they had to. And they'd die for me because they knew I'd do the same for 'em. That was the code—unwritten, unbreakable.
I stood there, watching sin unfold, orchestrated by my hand. Every crate loaded onto trucks was a victory, and every successful move was a spit in the face of those who dared come against us. We were The Cinder Crew —kings of New Mexico .
A shadow flickered across my vision, not real, just a memory. Rosalind's laugh, the way her chest rose and fell under heavy breaths. Her body wrapped around mine, taking me, giving to me. Could I keep her safe?
" Ship these f**kers out!" I roared, throwing my weight behind the words. My men scrambled, the urgency clear.
I watched the trucks roll away, heavy with contraband. For a second, my heart hitched—caught between loyalty to Hunter and the pull of something softer, something that felt dangerously like love. Goddamn weak. Get your head in the fucking game.
The air was thick with sweat and gunpowder; it stuck to the walls of my throat. Looking over the warehouse, I saw that it was almost empty. Then , the beeps that signaled a truck backing up. Sighing , I turned. Forgot we had merch coming in today .
" Boss ."
Rat’s voice irritated me. Pulling me out of my reverie. I turned and found him standing there, all wiry tension and nervous energy, next to a stack of crates stamped " Florida : Live Animals . Handle With Care ". I snorted. Live animals.
" New shipment," he said, jerking his chin towards the pile. " Guns . Fresh from our brothers in Florida ."
" Open 'em up," I commanded, stepping closer. The clink of metal echoed as crowbars pried wood from wood, revealing sleek barrels and cold steel. A grin split Rat's greasy face, but mine stayed stone. This was power, pure and simple, and it demanded respect, not glee.
" Check each piece," I directed. " Serials scratched off? Good . Oil 'em. Load 'em. I want 'em ready to fire before they're packed." Action , reaction—no hesitation.
" Got it, boss." Rat nodded, already barking orders at the men nearby. He was good at his job, hungry for approval, but it was fear that made them move fast, fear of Hunter , fear of me.
No room for mistakes. No room for doubt. My hands itched to wrap around a gun and fire it, but instead, I clenched them into fists and kept my eyes roving. Every step had to be precise—a misstep here could cost more than just money or product. It could cost us everything .
" Move your asses!" My shout ricocheted off the walls, a commandment from on high. They jumped to it, the sound of crates sealing shut a hymn in the church of crime we worshipped in.
This was the life I was born into. My father was Vitto's right hand before he married my mother, Hunter's aunt. It confused things. Made us outcasts in both clans until they all saw how well Tony and I made out. That's when the plan to unite happened. After he died... it all fell apart. Cinder Crew grew, and The Black Hands weakened over time. Hunter had the money. Vitto didn't. He just had old blood loyalty. It made him strong, but ultimately, they would fall. Hunter was relentless. All he had to do was call the other chapters. The Black Hands would be nothing. Not even a memory.
" Keep it tight, boys," I muttered under my breath. " We're almost home free." With one last look at the operation, I stepped back, letting the shadows reclaim me, a ghost in the machine of the Cinder Crew .
" Yo , , these ARs secure?" Rat yelled, slapping one before firing it off in the air. Man was a fucking idiot, but better to have a loose cannon than be against one. He hauled over a crate stamped with danger, its contents worth more than most would see in a lifetime .
" Yep ," I shot back, eyes scanning the arsenal. " Pack 'em tight. Send them when Stilt gets back with the truck."
The warehouse grew quiet, the storm of activity ebbing away as trucks rumbled off into the dawn. Alone in the silence, I sat on the empty crate in the middle of the floor. This was the last of it, and I was bringing it home with me. Gunna teach Rosie how to shoot. Her father probably made her learn, but the thought of her tight little ass against me as I breathed in her hair made me hungry to make it a reality.
A satisfied grunt escaped me. Work here was done. Time to get back to her, to that feeling she ignited inside me. Hopefully , Hunter had fixed things, and we could be a happy brotherhood again.