Chapter 9 Marco
MARCO
I toss another file onto the growing stack on my desk, checking my watch for the third time in twenty minutes.
Two days down, one to go before Antonio makes his decision about Gabriella.
I should have given him forty-eight hours, not seventy-two.
Every hour that passes is another opportunity for her to cause trouble.
The knock on my door is followed by Roman’s entrance. “You look like shit,” he says, dropping into the chair across from me.
I rub my eyes, not bothering to deny it.
Sleep has been elusive, my mind constantly circling back to Gabriella, her defiance, her accusations, her body that haunts me in dreams. “You haven’t heard from Antonio, have you?"
Roman slides a folder across my desk. "Not directly, but I have this. Isabella had lunch with Gabriella and Elena yesterday."
"Fascinating." I don't even try to hide my sarcasm. "Should we discuss their fashion choices next? Or perhaps their favorite Christmas cocktails?"
"Don't be an ass. Isabella said Gabriella was fishing for information about you and a certain FBI agent."
This catches my attention.
I can’t imagine Gabriella telling anyone she’d talked to an FBI agent. "What did Isabella tell her?"
“Just that Gabriella shouldn’t trust his intel. She did mention our theory that someone is working to bring La Corona down and could be feeding the Feds information.”
I shake my head and rub my temples. Right now, I’m so tired of this shit.
“Elena apparently mentioned that Dom has concerns about Antonio. I’m not sure how much longer you’ll be able to keep Antonio’s health a secret, but getting that out into the open could be a good thing.”
"Did Isabella mention anything else?"
"Just that Elena got worked up about Luca. Said something about Gabriella being just as smart and too bad she couldn’t take over."
I snort. "God help us, but she’s not wrong. Gabriella has what it takes."
Roman raises an eyebrow. "High praise from you."
"Acknowledging someone's intelligence isn't praise. It's a threat assessment." I stand, walking to the window.
Snow falls outside, dusting the area out back in white. "Gabriella's intelligence is precisely what makes her dangerous."
"Or valuable," Roman suggests.
I turn to face him. "We've had this conversation. I'm not marrying her."
He tries to hide a grin. “You’re the one with marriage on the mind. I didn’t say marriage. But having her on our side would be an asset."
"She thinks I'm plotting against her father. There is no 'our side' with Gabriella Monti."
"Not immediately, but Isabella can be persuasive. She shared her own experience with Blackwood, how he manipulated her with questionable evidence about her mother's death."
"And she bought that?" I ask, not buying it myself. Gabriella's suspicions of me run too deep to be overturned by one lunch conversation.
"Isabella thinks she planted seeds of doubt, at least." Roman leans back in his chair.
"Even if she's having doubts about Blackwood, that doesn't mean she trusts me," I say flatly. "She's been convinced for a year that I'm trying to steal her father's territory."
"True." Roman shrugs. "But she's smart enough to recognize when facts don't add up. If she questions Blackwood's evidence—"
A sharp knock interrupts us, and Carlo opens the door without waiting for a response.
"Don Calabresi, Gabriella Monti is here to see you."
I freeze, momentarily caught off guard. "Here? Now?"
"Yes, sir. She's quite insistent."
Roman and I exchange glances. "Show her in," I tell Carlo, then turn to Roman. "Stay."
I hate that I need Roman to remain with me.
It makes me feel weak, like I can't handle Gabriella on my own.
But the truth is, I can't trust myself around her.
Not completely.
She gets under my skin in ways no one else can, and that makes her dangerous.
The door opens, and there she is.
Gabriella Monti, with snow melting in her dark hair and determination in her eyes.
Beautiful and fierce, and completely unaware of how much power she holds over me.
"Don Calabresi," she says formally, nodding to me, then to Roman. "Mr. Ginetti."
"Miss Monti," I respond, matching her tone. "This is unexpected."
“My ears are burning. It seems you can’t stop talking about me.”
“Do you need a plane ticket to Italy?” Please, God, have her tell me she’s leaving town.
"I have a proposal for you," she says, her chin lifting slightly.
I raise an eyebrow. "I'm not marrying you."
A ghost of a smile touches Gabriella's lips. "That's not what I'm proposing."
Roman clears his throat, probably to cover the smirk. I’ve been caught twice assuming people are talking about marriage.
"I should check on that shipment issue." Roman nods Gabriella. "Miss Monti."
The door shuts behind him, leaving us alone.
The room suddenly feels smaller, charged with an electricity that seems to supercharge when we’re in proximity to each other.
"Well?" I keep my voice neutral, leaning against my desk and crossing my arms. "What's this proposal that couldn't wait?"
Gabriella steps closer, her dark eyes fixed on mine with unsettling intensity. "I want to help protect my father," she says. "And I think we can work together to do that."
I laugh, short and sharp. "You've spent the past year convinced I'm plotting against him. Now you want to work together?"
"I'm not saying I trust you. But I trust the FBI even less. And if someone is targeting my father's business, I need to be involved."
"Involved?" I repeat. "Antonio wants you nowhere near this." I don’t want her anywhere near this.
"That's not his decision to make anymore." Her voice softens. "We both know he's not well, Marco."
The truth of her words saddens me.
Antonio's condition seems to be deteriorating faster these days.
"My proposal is simple," she continues. "I'll stay with you. You can be the misogynistic guardian you all seem to think I need, keeping me in line as La Corona wants. But I'll also be keeping an eye on you, and together, we can protect my father."
"Guardian?" I nearly choke on the word, heat rushing through me at the memory of her naked beneath me last Christmas. I can’t be a “guardian” after fucking her. "It would be inappropriate."
"Why?" She tilts her head. "Because we slept together?"
"Because I'm not your damn babysitter," I snap, though that's only part of the truth. "And because having you in my house would be—"
"Would be what?" she challenges.
Distracting. Maddening. Dangerous.
I can't form the words. "This isn't negotiable, Gabriella. You're either going to Italy or marrying Dominic."
"No, I'm not." Her certainty is infuriating.
“I’m no guardian. Jesus fuck, Gabriella. You’re not a child.”
Her eyes shine with amusement. “No, but you are nearly old enough to be my father.”
"Nearly old enough to be your father?" I scoff, trying not to show how her words sting. "I'm forty-six, not sixty."
"And I'm twenty-eight. Do the math, Don Calabresi. You could've fathered me when you were eighteen. Perfectly possible."
I clench my jaw, hating that she's technically right.
The age gap between us has always been there, making me feel a little perverted for having a powerful attraction to such a younger woman.
Not that it stopped me from fucking her last Christmas.
"The guardian thing is only creepy if you tell my father we had sex," she says like it’s nothing. "Which we both know you'd never do."
"Your father would kill me," I mutter, though we both know that's not entirely true. Antonio might be furious, but he wouldn't move against me.
I would be forced to marry her, though, to make it right.
"No." Gabriella steps closer. "But you would have to marry me,” she echoes my thoughts. “And I'm the last woman on earth you'd ever want to marry. Isn't that what you said to my father?"
Her eyes flash with something that looks like hurt.
Or maybe it’s anger?
I can't tell, and I hate that I care enough to wonder.
"I meant what I said," I reply coldly. "This arrangement you're proposing won't work."
"Why not? You get to keep an eye on me, making sure I don't run to the Feds. I get to protect my father's interests. It's a perfect solution."
"Perfect?" I laugh harshly. "Having you in my house, under my roof? There's nothing perfect about that scenario."
"Afraid you can't control yourself around me?" she challenges, tilting her chin up.
The truth hits too close to home, so I deflect. "Afraid you'll go through my office again the moment my back is turned."
"I'll stay out of your office," she promises. "But I want access to information about what's happening with my father's business."
I study her face, seeing a woman with determination and a fierce protectiveness for her father.
I move away from her, needing distance to think clearly.
The rational part of my brain recognizes the strategic advantage of her proposal.
Keeping Gabriella under my roof would solve multiple problems at once.
I could monitor her activities, prevent her from meeting with Blackwood again, and keep her safe from whatever threat is targeting the Monti family.
"Is your father aware of this crazy plan?" I ask.
"Not yet." Gabriella shrugs. "But I'm sure he'd be okay with it."
"You're sure?" I repeat, incredulous.
"Of course." Her smile is all innocence, but her eyes hold a challenge. "After all, he trusts you completely, Marco. With his business, his territory… his daughter. Of course, that’s only if he doesn’t know the truth about you and me."
The emphasis she places on those last words feels like a threat.
She could tell Antonio about last Christmas, about how I took his precious daughter in my library while he enjoyed holiday music downstairs.
I clench my jaw, imagining Antonio's face if he learned what happened.
While Gabriella might face his disappointment, I would confront something far worse.
I'd be seen as betraying Antonio's trust, disrespecting him in the most fundamental way.
"That's blackmail," I say quietly.
"I prefer to call it leverage. But I won't tell him. That's not my goal."
"Then what is your goal?" I demand, needing to understand what game she's playing.
"I told you. Protecting my father. His legacy. Our family business." She holds my gaze steadily. "The same things you claim to be doing."
I turn away, hoping it will break the urge to agree to this crazy idea.
Having Gabriella in my house would be torture.
Every morning, every night, knowing she's just down the hall.
Remembering how she felt in my arms.
Wanting what I can't—shouldn't—have.
But as much as I want her gone, I have to agree with Roman’s earlier assessment that Gabriella could be an asset in finding out who’s fucking with Antonio’s business.
"One week," I say finally, turning back to face her. "You stay here one week while we figure out a permanent solution."
Gabriella's smile is triumphant, and I already regret my decision.
"Since I’m just a little ole woman, you’ll have to negotiate this with my father, but I can pack and be here this evening."
"This isn't a victory, Gabriella," I warn her. "This is a temporary truce. Nothing more." God, I feel like I’m drawing and the arrangement hasn’t even started yet.
"Of course," she agrees. "Just two people working together for a common cause."
"There will be rules."
Her eyes widen slightly, more in amusement and intrigue than concern. "What rules?"
"You don't leave without security. You don't meet with anyone I haven't approved. And you stay the hell out of my office unless I'm in it."
Gabriella crosses her arms. "And in exchange?"
"I'll include you in discussions about your father's business. Limited discussions," I clarify when I see triumph flash in her eyes. "You'll get enough information to understand what's happening, not enough to interfere."
"That's not good enough."
"It's all you're getting." I step closer, using my height to intimidate her. It's never worked before, but old habits die hard. "Take it or leave it."
She holds my gaze, unflinching. "I'll take it. For now."
What the hell am I doing?
Having Gabriella in my house is asking for trouble.
Not just because of La Corona or Blackwood, but because of what happened between us last Christmas.
Because of what I still feel when she looks at me like that.
"This is business," I say firmly, more for myself than her. "Nothing more."
"Of course," she agrees too quickly. "I wouldn't expect anything else from you."
There's an edge to her voice that unsettles me.
I've spent a lifetime building walls around myself, learning not to care what others think.
Yet somehow, her disappointment challenges my defenses.
"I'll call Antonio and have a room prepared," I say. "You can move in tonight."
God help me.
One week with Gabriella Monti under my roof, and I'll either kill her or kiss her.
Neither option ends well for either of us.