Chapter 12
GAbrIELLA
The door clicks shut behind Marco, and I blow out my breath.
The snap, crackle, pop between us is stronger than ever.
Good lord, I nearly kissed him.
And if I had, I would have probably dragged him into this room and had my way with him.
Amped up on arousal, I decide to take a warm bath to settle my nerves before going to bed.
I run the bath as hot as I can stand it, pouring in scented oils I found in the bathroom cabinet.
I can’t imagine Marco ordering bath oils, so it must be something his staff takes care of.
Sinking into the water, I close my eyes as heat seeps into my muscles, releasing tension from the day.
What a crazy day it’s been.
For so long, I’ve been waging a war against Marco, convinced he was plotting against my father.
I've gathered evidence, stalked his businesses, even entertained an FBI agent's proposition.
Not once did I second-guess myself.
Not until this week.
Not until tonight.
Working with Marco in his office this evening felt different. Not the battlefield I expected, but something closer to collaboration.
He listened as I explained what I’d discovered, and while he grew tense, he didn’t get defensive or angry at all the information I had that implicated him.
Instead, he methodically explained his side and while a week ago, I wouldn’t have listened, tonight, I did.
And now, the evidence against him seems flimsy when viewed through this new lens.
Or, more accurately, it seems obvious and neat, much like what Agent Blackwood shared.
My chest tightens with an uncomfortable realization that I've been wrong.
For a year, I've built an entire narrative around Marco's supposed betrayal.
I've questioned his every move, assigned sinister motives to his actions, convinced myself he was the enemy.
And yet, when given the chance to explain himself, his answers made perfect sense.
He showed me ledgers I didn't know existed.
Pointed out patterns I'd missed.
Demonstrated how he'd been protecting my father's interests all along.
I slide deeper into the water, letting it cover my shoulders, trying to ease the tension of guilt.
My suspicions, my accusations, my stubborn refusal to ask questions before jumping to conclusions created this rift between us. Why?
Why had it been so easy for me to believe Marco betrayed me and my father?
Why hadn’t I forced him to explain then?
The only reason I can come up with is fear.
Fear that I'd fallen for a man who could never love me back.
My mind replays our interaction tonight.
The almost-kiss at my door.
The way his eyes darkened before he pulled back.
There's still something there, something neither of us seems able to extinguish.
And yet, nothing has changed.
He might feel this pull between us, but he won’t see where it goes.
He’s deeply entrenched in bachelorhood, something I knew when we started our affair a year ago.
And something I think I punished him with when I believed the worst and left.
If I was wrong about Marco, I need to accept that responsibility. I should probably apologize.
Last Christmas flashes through my mind—Marco's library, the way he looked at me like I was something precious.
Something worth breaking his own rules for. And break them we did.
When I think about it, Marco took a huge risk to be with me knowing it would ruin his relationship with my father, knowing it could cause a rift in La Corona.
It proved how much he wanted me, and yet, he didn’t want me enough to keep me.
The way he pulled back tonight tells me nothing has changed.
He wants me, but he won’t ever allow himself to love or be loved.
It’s good he didn’t kiss me.
I need to be strong too.
Resist the pull. Focus on why I’m here.
Yet even as I resolve to keep things professional, I know I'm lying to myself.
My feelings for Marco never died.
They just went dormant.
And now, one near kiss is the spark to reignite everything I’m feeling.
Even after determining I can’t give in to my desire for him, I close my eyes and imagine him kissing me.
Imagine his intensity, his overpowering need for me.
He pulls me into the room, shutting the door and using his body to pin me to it.
Yes, yes, yes, is all I can think.
My hands… his hands… they’re everywhere.
My body heats up from the inside out.
My hand drifts below the water's surface, trailing down my stomach.
I shouldn't be doing this in his home, in his bath, but the memories are too vivid to resist.
He drops to his knees, his tongue sliding through my folds and then sucking on my clit.
My fingers find their target, circling slowly as I remember how he touched me.
Always confident, always knowing exactly what I needed.
The scene changes, and we’re naked on the bed, his body over mine. “Tell me what you want.”
“Fuck me.”
His eyes flash with wild heat when I say that. He grips my hips and plunges inside me.
I increase my pace, water lapping against the sides of the tub.
In my mind, he’s slowly losing control as he thrusts again and again, each time a little faster, a little harder.
“Come, Gabriella. Come on my cock…”
My breath catches as pleasure builds, coiling tighter with each stroke.
I bite my lip to stay silent, knowing he’s just down the hall. The thought of him so close only intensifies everything.
I arch against my hand, remembering the weight of him above me.
The intensity in his eyes when he'd watch me come undone.
The rare, genuine smile afterward, not the calculated one he shows the world, but something real. Something just for me.
I pinch my nipple as my fingers furiously rub my clit.
“Yes… yes… Mine.” He drives in, coming apart over me.
I gasp as my own release washes over me in waves.
I think back to the times he’d look at me afterward.
I swore I could see something vulnerable through his carefully maintained control.
Those rare moments when Marco Calabresi, the feared Don and ruthless businessman, would let his guard down just for me.
I realize now that it gave me hope that he’d change his mind.
That he’d allow himself to love me.
Allow me to love him.
But it wasn’t to be.
Even if I hadn’t overheard his conversation and taken it wrong, Marco won’t ever open up to me.
It would be wise of me to remember that this week because it’s clear to me that while I’ve spent a year trying to hate this man, my body, my heart remember the truth.
I wake the next morning to sunlight streaming through the curtains.
I stretch like a cat in the luxurious bed.
For the first time in months, I feel like myself again.
The Gabriella who embraces each day with enthusiasm rather than suspicion.
I feel lighter. Optimistic.
Not about me and Marco, of course.
I’ve accepted who he is.
But the weight of hate is gone.
The drive to live full-throttle, seize the day, is back.
I dress for the holiday, choosing an emerald cashmere sweater that looks great, but more importantly, it is comfortable.
I slip on dark jeans and ankle boots.
Perfect for a day of sifting through papers and sleuthing to find out who is targeting my father.
I head downstairs. The scents of fresh coffee and pastries greet me.
Marco's housekeeper, Maria, smiles warmly as I enter the kitchen.
"Good morning, Miss Monti. Breakfast is ready whenever you'd like. You can eat here or the dining room is set up.”
"It smells amazing," I say, peering at the spread of pastries, fruit, and what looks like a perfect frittata. "Is Marco joining me?"
"Don Calabresi has been in his office since five this morning. He asked for coffee but declined breakfast."
I can’t help but wonder if avoiding breakfast is designed to avoid me.
Too bad, if that’s the case. "Could you prepare a tray? I'll bring breakfast to him."
Maria looks surprised but quickly composes herself. "Of course, Miss."
Minutes later, I'm balancing a tray loaded with coffee, frittata, and pastries outside Marco's office.
I could knock, but where's the fun in that?
Instead, I push the door open with my hip.
"Breakfast delivery," I announce, striding in.
I act like I own the place, partly because I know it annoys him, but also, I think deep down, he’s amused by how I charge through life.
Marco looks up from his desk, momentarily startled.
His hair is slightly disheveled, as if he's been running his hands through it.
"I didn't ask for breakfast," he says, voice gruff.
I set the tray down on his desk, making space among the papers.
"No, but you need it. And I refuse to eat alone in that cavernous dining room. Really, Marco, for a man who’s hell-bent on being alone, you have way too much space."
His eyes narrow slightly, assessing. I meet his gaze without flinching.
“I wouldn’t mind a pastry.”
I startle and turn to where Roman is sitting on the couch, his phone in his hand. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Ginetti, I didn’t see you there.”
"It’s Roman, and good morning," Roman says, his tone neutral but eyes watchful, bordering on amused as he takes in Marco.
Heat rushes to my cheeks.
Of course Marco would have business meetings first thing.
I should have knocked.
"I'm sorry to interrupt. I'll leave you to—"
"Stay." Marco gestures to the empty chair in front of Roman. "We were discussing matters that concern your father's interests as well."
I hesitate, surprised by the invitation.
As involved as I am in my father’s business, it’s not usual for a woman to be included.
It’s one thing when it’s just me and Marco and he’s relaying information.
It’s another to be a part of the meeting with Marco’s second in command.
I settle into the chair, trying not to show how much this inclusion means to me.
Marco pushes a folder across the desk.
"We were reviewing potential threats to La Corona," he explains, his voice businesslike. "Particularly, those who might be targeting your father's operations."
Roman gets up and grabs a pastry from the tray. "After what happened with Salvatore Abruzzo, we've been watching several individuals who had connections to him."