Chapter 6 Mara
Mara
That evening, the bathroom mirror in the penthouse shows a stranger staring back at me. I've changed my look so many times that I sometimes forget who I was before all this began. Before I left him. Before I started running.
I touch the sleek bob I still haven’t gotten used to, tucking a strand behind my ear in a way that feels both strange and familiar.
Even here, forty floors above Manhattan in a building owned by one of Chase Callahan's shell companies, I feel the weight of Emilio's digital eyes watching me.
I tried to evade him, but there's no escaping Emilio Rosetti.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself against the mahogany countertop.
My reflection shows flawless makeup, perfect clothes, not a hair out of place, the armor I've built to face the world.
But under it, exhaustion shows in my eyes.
Years of running, changing myself, and watching out for both Callahan's enemies and Emilio's watchful eyes have worn me down.
The burner phone on the counter buzzes with a text from Connor Callahan: Meeting pushed to 9. Be ready.
My stomach tightens. More time to prepare, but also more time to think. More time to doubt. I text back a simple acknowledgment and put the phone down.
In the living room, I check for surveillance devices, even though I swept the penthouse thoroughly yesterday after the jasmine incident.
I look towards the ceiling corner where a tiny camera would probably be hidden, even though I failed to find one.
Is he watching now? Has he already sneaked past building security to set up his own surveillance?
The thought makes my heart race, skin tingling with awareness.
This invasion of privacy is disgusting, this electronic stalking.
Yet, I find myself standing taller, moving more deliberately, a performer aware of her audience.
I head to the bedroom and open the closet, thinking about what to wear for tonight's meeting. Connor Callahan might be a psychopath, but he's a predictable one—he reacts to power, confidence, and hints of skin.
And Emilio? He reacts to something else entirely. The thought comes to me before I can stop it, reckless and dangerous. What if I gave him something to watch? More than just security footage and metadata? Something to remind him of what he lost when I left?
A warmth spreads through me at the idea, followed by cold fear.
This is dangerous ground, mixing professional manipulation with personal desire.
I should forget the idea completely. Somehow, I’m reaching for the black dress with the slit up the thigh, the one that falls off one shoulder, revealing the freckles Emilio used to trace with his fingers in the dark.
I lay it on the bed and then head to the bathroom to shower.
Under the hot water, I close my eyes, trying to focus on tonight's goals.
I need to convince Chase and Connor that I'm not funneling information to the Rosettis.
I need to make sure they still need me alive.
And most of all, I need to make sure they keep up their side of the bargain, the whole reason I'm doing this. Nothing is more important than that.
Yet my thoughts keep returning to the burden of Emilio's watchful eyes.
I have a growing sense that wherever I go, whatever I do, he's observing.
The water splashes against my skin. Standing here, naked and exposed with steam swirling around me, the reality hits hard: I've never truly been in control.
Not really. He's always been better at this than me, always one step ahead, even when he seemed behind.
I step out of the shower, wrapping myself in a soft towel.
As I wipe condensation from the mirror, I find myself looking at the corners of the bathroom, searching for the glint of a camera lens.
Is he here? Has he already invaded this space?
Hidden cameras where even I can't find them?
The thought makes me shiver despite the steamy room.
Back in the bedroom, I let the towel fall and stand before the full-length mirror, examining myself without emotion.
Time has changed and toughened me. New scars tell of experiences Emilio knows nothing about, a thin white line along my ribs from Zurich, a small scar near my shoulder from Paris.
Marks from battles he can't understand, fighting unseen enemies.
I dress slowly, skipping underwear, sending a silent message to Emilio if he's watching.
See what you've lost. See what you can't have.
The black dress hugs my body, revealing and hiding at the same time.
Suitable for a business meeting, yet provocative enough to distract.
I apply makeup carefully, darkening my eyes, painting my lips a deep red that I never wore with him.
Another change, another layer of protection.
I style my hair, missing its length for a moment before appreciating how the bob frames my face, making me look sharper, more dangerous. Good. I need to be dangerous tonight.
I check my watch. Still an hour before I need to go. Time stretches out, empty but full of possibilities.
My eyes wander to the security pad by the door, controlling the penthouse's electronic systems, including the cameras.
The idea forming in my mind is reckless, foolish. Utterly impossible. But…
I find myself approaching the control panel, fingers tapping the touchscreen as I access the penthouse's security system.
I find the interior cameras, installed by building management as a "security feature" for the wealthy tenants, but really a surveillance tool for those with the right access.
Like Emilio. The one set of cameras I know for sure exist.
I don't turn them off. Instead, I make sure they're working, running a quick check that would alert anyone monitoring them. A digital hello. A deliberate invitation.
My heart races as I go back to the bedroom, checking my reflection one last time. The woman looking back at me seems confident and in control. Only I know the trembling underneath, the fear and anticipation battling in my chest.
If Emilio is watching, I'm about to give him a show he won't forget. Something to punish him for watching me. To make him feel as bad as I do.
I move to the center of the room where the camera in the smoke detector has the best view.
Slowly, I slip the dress off one shoulder, revealing the constellation of freckles he used to kiss.
My fingers trace the pattern, remembering how his lips felt against my skin, the way he'd whisper Italian phrases only I could hear.
"I know you're watching," I say softly, eyes focused on where the camera should be. "You never could help yourself, could you?"
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I look over and see a message from an encrypted number.
I see you.
The confirmation sends heat spiraling through my belly. He's not just watching, he's responding. Acknowledging the game.
The phone buzzes again before I can fully process the first message.
Take the dress off. Slowly.
My breath catches. This isn't what I expected, him taking charge so quickly, switching our roles in this risky game.
I should ignore it, pretend I'm the one in control here.
Instead, my fingers move to my shoulder, sliding the dress down bit by bit.
I feel his gaze like a touch, heat spreading across my skin as I reveal myself to his digital eye.
Turn around. Let me see all of you.
I turn slowly, the dress still clinging to my hips. His message gives me a jolt, the Ghost giving orders from his digital throne, expecting me to obey. And for reasons I can't quite understand, I am following.
All of it, Mara. Now.
The air feels thick with tension. This is risky, showing too much, revealing weaknesses he could use against me. But there's power in it too. I let the dress drop the rest of the way, pooling at my feet. I stand there naked, on display for his surveillance.
Touch your breasts. The way I used to.
The directness of his command makes my core tighten.
This isn't how our dance was meant to be.
I was supposed to tease, to entice, to stay in control while giving him just enough to keep him chasing.
Yet my hands move to my breasts, holding their weight before my fingers find my nipples, pinching and rolling them the way he used to, firm enough to almost hurt, just the way I like it.
A gasp slips out as pleasure runs through me.
Lie back on the bed. Spread your legs. Let me see how wet you are.
I should stop this. Should take back control.
But there's something thrilling about giving in to his commands after three years of running, of always looking over my shoulder, of staying alert every moment.
I move to the bed, lying back against the silk sheets.
My skin tingles with awareness as I slowly spread my thighs, exposing myself completely to his digital gaze.
"You think you know me," I say, even as I reveal myself to him. "You think because you can track me across continents, hack my accounts, monitor my movements, you know who I am."
Touch yourself. Show me how much you've missed me.
My fingers move down my body, between my thighs. I gasp at the first touch, surprised by how ready I am, how much I've longed for touch after denying myself. Too long without anyone touching me, since I've let myself be this vulnerable.
"You've never seen all of me," I whisper, fingers moving in circles, building pleasure that makes my back arch. "Just the parts I let you see."
The phone buzzes again. I reach for it with my free hand, reading his message while my other hand keeps its rhythm.
Slower. I want to see every reaction. Don't hide anything from me.
A breathless laugh slips out as pleasure grows under my touch. "Always the control freak," I murmur, knowing he can hear me through his surveillance. "Always directing every detail."
Despite my words, I slow my movements, circling my clit with careful pressure, showing him exactly how my body reacts.
Two fingers inside. Now. Curl them the way I taught you.
My body responds to his command before my mind processes it, muscle memory taking over as I slide two fingers deep inside, curling them to find that spot that makes my thighs tremble.
Look at the camera when you come. I want to see your eyes.
My breathing speeds up, body tensing as I push myself toward release, following his instructions eagerly. My free hand moves to my breast, pinching my nipple hard like he used to.
"God, Emilio," I breathe, losing control as I get closer to the edge. "Remember how you used to touch me? How you knew exactly where I needed you?"
Another buzz from the phone, but I don't check it yet, too focused on the building pressure.
"Remember how I felt around you?" I gasp, fingers curling inside. "How tight and wet I was for you? Only you..."
My breathing quickens as pleasure peaks and crashes over me in waves, leaving me trembling. Not calculated, not planned, a genuine moment of vulnerability in a life full of lies. My back arches as I ride out the orgasm, gasping his name again and again.
Afterward, I lie still as reality returns and my breathing steadies.
What have I done? I've exposed myself, both literally and figuratively, to a man who's been chasing me.
A man who doesn't know why I left, who probably hates me for my betrayal.
A man who could ruin everything I've worked for with one phone call.
I reach for the phone, reading his last message:
I'm coming for you. Not just your digital self. You. All of you. Whatever you're hiding, wherever you're running, it's over. I've let you lead this dance for too long. Now it's my turn.
Panic threatens to overwhelm me, but I push it down, sitting up with as much dignity as I can.
I did that on purpose, I tell myself. To punish him for violating my personal space, setting up cameras, breaking in and leaving a fucking flower.
To punish him by showing him what he doesn't have, and never will. To punish him, not me.
I stand up, pick the dress up from the floor, and take it to the closet.
I need a new outfit, something that doesn't remind me of what just happened.
Something that doesn't make me feel so exposed.
The clock reads 8:25. I have thirty-five minutes until I meet Connor Callahan to continue pretending to be a loyal operative.
My fingers tremble a bit as I choose a different dress.
Sleek navy blue, high-necked, long-sleeved. It's armor, not an invitation.
As I get dressed, I feel the weight of what I've done settling in my stomach. I've just handed Emilio power I can't afford to lose. I've shown him that despite everything, I still react to him, still want him, still remember.
I check my appearance one last time, making sure every bit of vulnerability is hidden under perfectly applied makeup and flawless clothing. The woman in the mirror looks composed, professional, ready for whatever comes next. Only I know the chaos beneath the surface.
As I grab my phone and purse, I glance at the bedroom doorway, at the cameras. Despite the risk, despite the fear, a part of me, a dangerous, reckless part, is glad he was watching. Glad the memory of what he saw will haunt him as much as the memory of his touch haunts me.
I activate the penthouse's security system as I leave, knowing that Emilio has the footage and will be analyzing every second, every word, every move. Let him. Let him think he's gaining the upper hand while I carry out the next phase of my plan.
Because despite what just happened, despite the moment of weakness, I still have one advantage: he doesn't know why I left. He doesn't know the real reason, the truth that would ruin everything.
As long as that's true, I still have a chance, even if he never forgives me for what I had to do.