16. Chapter 16
16
Bella
“ A helicopter.” Elena’s spoon clatters against her acai bowl as she stares at me across our usual corner table at Zen Garden Yoga & Juice Bar. “A fucking helicopter .”
I push my sunglasses higher up my nose, trying to hide the dark circles from last night’s adventure. “Can we not?”
“Oh, we absolutely can.” She leans forward, nearly knocking over her green juice. “You broke into a mansion, had sex with a portrait—”
“I did not have sex with a portrait!”
“—got caught by the actual man from the portrait, lost your green monster to said man, and then got picked up by a helicopter.” She ticks each point off on her perfectly manicured fingers. “In the rain. During a thunderstorm. On your birthday.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds crazy.”
“Because it is crazy!” She slams both hands on the table, making the yoga moms at the next table jump. “You rode in a helicopter . You! The same woman who won’t even use the express elevator because it ‘goes too fast’!”
I stab at my avocado toast. “Honestly, after everything else that happened, the helicopter wasn’t even in my top five most surreal moments of the night.”
Elena’s eyes gleam with unholy delight. “Speaking of surreal moments…” She pulls her chair closer, lowering her voice to a stage whisper that probably only the next three tables can hear. “Should we call the police?”
I choke on my green juice. “And say what? ‘Hello, officer, I broke into this man’s house, masturbated to his portrait, and then he confiscated my vibrator’?”
“Don’t forget your wallet.”
“Yes, thank you, Elena. That’s definitely the most pressing issue here.”
She grins, stirring her acai bowl thoughtfully. “You know what this means, right?”
“That I should move to Alaska and start a new life as a salmon farmer?”
“No, dummy. He has your address.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “All your… personal details .”
My head thunks against the table. “Oh God.”
“And your green monster.”
“Stop calling it that!”
“What else should I call it? The Incredible Bulk? The Mean Green Pleasure Machine? Kermit the—”
“I will literally pay you to stop talking.”
“With what? Your wallet’s probably sitting in some fancy Russian billionaire’s drawer right next to your new favorite toy.” She pauses, wiggling her eyebrows. “Though with that whole dark, brooding vibe and that mansion straight out of a mob movie, maybe he is some sort of sexy criminal mastermind—”
“He’s just some rich guy with an absurd amount of money, Elena. Not everything is a conspiracy.”
She takes a slow sip of her matcha, swallows, then murmurs, “ And let’s be real—normal businessmen don’t have one-way mirrors and private helicopters. I’m telling you, he’s giving major mafia vibes—”
“You’ve been writing too many fantasy columns.” But even as I say it, I remember the way his presence filled the room, how his accent wrapped around each word like silk over steel…
“Oh, my God,” Elena gasps, derailing my thoughts. “What if he’s using it?”
I shoot upright, horrified. “Why would you put that image in my head?”
“I’m just saying he seemed very… interested in keeping it.” She takes a long sip of her juice, eyes dancing. “Maybe he’s conducting a thorough investigation. For security purposes, of course.”
“I hate you so much right now.”
“No, you don’t. I’m the only one who knows you spent your birthday getting helicoptered home by the Russian mafia after an impromptu solo show.” She tilts her head. “Speaking of which, was he hot? Like, in person? Because that portrait was giving some serious daddy energy—”
“Elena!”
“What? It’s a valid question! If some scary-hot mafia daddy confiscated my vibrator, I’d want a full review from my best friend.”
A woman walking past our table nearly trips over her yoga mat.
I sink lower in my chair, wishing I’d worn a bigger hat. Or a paper bag over my head. “Can we please talk about something else? Anything else?”
“Fine.” Elena sits back, crossing her arms. “Let’s talk about how you’re going to get your wallet back. Because unless you’re planning to live off smoothie bowls and my generous nature forever, you might need those credit cards back.”
I groan, realizing she’s right. “Maybe I can just… cancel everything and get new cards?”
“Or,” she leans forward, eyes sparkling with mischief, “you could go back. Front door this time, like he said.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not? He literally invited you.”
“He did not invite me! He…” I pause, remembering his exact words.
Elena must see something in my face because she practically squeals. “Oh my God, Isabella Marquez,, do you want him to invite you?
I glance around the juice bar, but everyone seems absorbed in their own post-yoga bliss. “Shut up. I’m not going back there.”
“Even though he has your wallet? And your green monster? And probably knows your credit score by now?”
I close my eyes, remembering the way he’d looked at me. The scar above his eyebrow. The dangerous curve of his smile.
“I’ll figure something out.”
Elena snorts. “Right. Because you have so many options. What’s your Plan B? File a police report? ‘Yes, officer, I’d like to report a stolen wallet. Last seen in the pocket of a scary-hot Russian man, right next to my confiscated vibrator. No, I can’t press charges because I was technically breaking and entering at the time, but I’d really like my Sephora rewards card back.’”
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Of course I am! This is better than every column I’ve ever written!” She claps her hands together. “Oh, my God, can I write about this? Anonymous, obviously. ‘Dear Readers: This Valentine’s Day, my best friend learned that breaking and entering can lead to some very interesting positions—’”
I throw a piece of avocado toast at her head.
Elena picks the avocado from her hair, inspects it, then pops it in her mouth. “Wasting perfectly good avocado? Now there’s a scandal worthy of my column. ‘Local woman assaults food instead of getting laid on her birthday.’”
“You have no idea.” I slump forward, forehead hitting the table. “Betsy’s still up there.”
“Betsy?” She adjusts her messy bun, red lips curving into a smirk. “Your car? The one held together by prayers and duct tape?”
“The very same.” I lift my head just enough to give her a pathetic look. “She died right outside his gate. In the rain.
“Honey, that car’s been begging for a dramatic death scene since you got her.”
I sit up, running my hands through my hair. “But this is worse. The tow truck alone will cost more than what Betsy’s worth. And now I can’t even pay for it because—”
I gesture vaguely at the universe. “Because I have no wallet, no cards, no cash, no dignity—”
Elena taps her chin. “Dignity was lost way before last night, babe.”
I groan, dropping my face into my hands. “This is a disaster. I can’t even afford to get Betsy back, let alone fix her.”
“Fix her?” Elena snorts. “Bella, she’s dead. Let her go. It’s time.”
I glare at her. “I need that car, Elena. How else am I supposed to get to work? Hitchhike? Take the bus? Walk?”
“Or,” she drawls, “call your sexy Russian captor and ask him to tow it back for you. Maybe he’ll even buy you a new car as a sorry-I-confiscated-your-vibrator gift.”
I grab a napkin and chuck it at her. “I hate you.”
Elena dodges effortlessly, sipping her matcha like a woman with zero shame. “No, you don’t. You love me. And you trust me to never share your filthy secret.”
I slap both hands over my face. “Oh, my God, Elena, what have I done?”
She hums, completely unbothered. “Had a truly cinematic Valentine’s Day, for starters.”
“That is not what happened.” My voice is muffled against my palms. “I mean—okay, yes, I broke into a mansion, got caught, lost my wallet, and my… thing —”
“ The Green Monster. ”
“—stop naming it—but none of this was planned!”
Her phone pings. She glances at it, lips curling in amusement, before putting it down again.
I frown. “ Who keeps texting you?”
She smirks. “My latest mistake.”
I drop my hands from my face. “Oh no. Do I want to know?”
“Probably not, but I’ll tell you, anyway.” She leans back, eyes practically glowing with mischief. “Remember how I actually went to The Crimson Room last night? Unlike some people who ditched me for a surprise rendezvous with a mafia daddy?”
I groan. “It was not a rendezvous. Or a mafia daddy situation.”
She waves me off. “Whatever. Point is—I met someone. And not just someone, Bella. Someone .”
I squint at her. “You sound weird .”
“Because I feel weird.” She exhales, pressing a hand to her chest like she’s been through battle. “Bella, this man… He ruined me.”
I choke on air. “ Excuse me? ”
“You heard me.” She places her hands on the table. “He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever been with. He wasn’t just hot—he was dangerous . Not in a ‘he might steal my credit card’ way. In a ‘he might steal my soul ’ way.”
I stare. “You like that?”
She shrugs. “Apparently?”
I lean back, utterly baffled. “ Who is this man?”
“That’s the thing—I barely know.” She bites her lip. “He was already at the private lounge when I got there, brooding in the corner like some gothic nightmare in a suit. Tall, built like he wrestles bears for fun, scarred knuckles like he’s been in too many fights to count. And his voice , Bella—low, rough, like a cigarette and a secret.”
I blink. “ You stayed the night with that ?”
“Not just stayed,” she says dreamily. “I lingered .”
I gape. “You never linger. That’s, like, your entire thing.”
“Exactly! That’s how you know I’m in trouble.” She gestures at her phone. “And now he’s texting me, and I don’t know if I should text back, but my fingers keep hovering over the keyboard like I’m possessed.”
I exhale. “Okay, real talk—do you think he’s a serial killer ?”
“Possibly,” she says, far too casually. “But honestly? If I go out, I want it to be his hands around my throat.”
I slam my forehead onto the table yet again. “We need therapy.”
“You need to call your mafia daddy and get your wallet back.”
“Stop calling him that!”
Before Elena can respond, the yoga instructor’s voice cuts through the cafe. “ Five minutes until Hot Power Flow! ”
Elena jumps up. “Shit! I can’t miss another class—they’ll give my spot to that bitch with the designer yoga mat!” She shoves her bag over her shoulder, then points at me. “This isn’t over. We are making a plan.”
I groan. “ I am making an escape plan. You are making poor life choices with men who sound like assassins.”
She winks. “You love me for it.”
I watch her stride toward the class, shaking my head.
I wish I could be as carefree as Elena right now. But unlike her, I am currently being haunted by the aftermath of the worst (and possibly hottest) mistake of my life.
I sigh, pressing my palms to my face. What the hell am I going to do? I need my wallet. I need my car. And I need to somehow pretend last night never happened .
But before I can spiral too hard, a strange sensation prickles down my spine.
Something shifts in the air.
I lift my head—and that’s when I see them.
Two men.
Dressed all in black, standing just outside the cafe.
Not in the casual rich-guy-athleisure way. No, these men look like they were born in the dark, tailored suits cutting sharp against broad shoulders, posture too stiff, gaze too intent .
And they are watching me .