Chapter 8 Marco
Marco
I'm not an idiot. I saw the way Elena's face lit up when I took a seat at the bar instead of hovering over her table like some kind of bodyguard. She actually looked surprised—like she expected me to ruin her night by inserting myself into every conversation.
The truth is, I don't need to sit at her table to know what's happening. From my position at the bar, I have a clear view of the entire place. I can see her laughing with her friend. Can read her body language. Can track every person who approaches their table.
And more importantly, I can give her the illusion of freedom while maintaining complete control.
She needs this. Needs to feel like she has some autonomy even if we both know it's temporary. The past few days cooped up in her apartment have been eating at her—I can see it in the way she paces, the way she stares out windows like a caged animal plotting escape.
So tonight I'm choosing my battles. Let her have girls' night. Let her drink and laugh and pretend I'm not watching. As long as she stays in my sight, we're good.
I order a whiskey and deliberately don't look at her table. Not at first anyway. I want her to relax. Want her guard to drop just enough that I might actually see the real Elena instead of the defensive, combative version that's been sharing my living space.
When I finally do glance over, she's mid-laugh at something her friend said.
Her whole face transforms—eyes sparkling, smile genuine and unguarded.
This is the Elena I've been catching glimpses of when she doesn't know I'm watching.
The one who hums while watering her plants.
The one who gets completely lost in her romance novels.
She's beautiful like this. Vibrant and alive in a way I haven't seen since I moved into her apartment.
Elena immediately starts scanning the room with those sharp eyes of hers. She spots one of my backup guys positioned by the door and actually smiles. Shakes her head like she's disappointed in his obviousness.
Then she continues looking around until her gaze finds mine across the bar.
Our eyes lock. The noise of the bar fades into background static. There's a question in her expression. I don't look away. Don't give her anything except steady eye contact that says exactly what I mean: I see you. I'm here. Get used to it.
Elena breaks our stare and pulls her friend toward the dance floor.
At first it's just the two of them moving to the music. Laughing and carefree. Completely lost in the moment.
Then I watch three men circle them like sharks who've smelled blood in the water. They insert themselves into the dance without invitation. One of them—tall, blond, way too pretty for his own good—positions himself behind Elena. Gets closer than he has any right to be.
My hand tightens around my glass.
Elena hasn't looked in my direction once since hitting the dance floor. She's completely absorbed in the music and the attention. Her hips move in ways that make my jaw clench. The blonde guy's hands hover near her waist like he's trying to decide if he can get away with touching her.
He's about to find out the answer is no.
I'm off my barstool and cutting through the crowd. The blonde guy has his hands on Elena's hips now. She's laughing and swaying against him like she doesn't have a care in the world.
Like I'm not standing fifteen feet away watching this happen.
When I reach them, I don't say a word. Just position myself between Elena and pretty boy with enough menace in my posture that he immediately steps back.
"Hey man, we're just dancing—" he starts.
"Not anymore." I turn to Elena. "We're leaving."
Her eyes are glassy from alcohol but there's still plenty of fire in them. "I'm not done dancing."
"Yes. You are."
"Actually—" The blonde idiot puts his hand on my shoulder. Big mistake.
I grab his wrist and twist just enough to make my point without breaking anything. "Touch me again and you'll be leaving in an ambulance."
He stumbles backward.
Elena sways slightly. Her friend Becca appears at her elbow looking concerned. "Elena, you okay?"
"She's fine. I'm taking her home." I signal to Lorenzo who's been watching from across the room. He nods and moves toward Becca. "My guy will make sure you get home safe."
"No!" Elena reaches her hand out for the blonde guy, who's face goes instantly pale. "He's coming home with me."
Absolutely fucking not.
"Elena—" Becca starts.
"I'm fine! Marco's just being—" She giggles, leaning into the pretty boy. "He's being Marco."
I've had enough. I pull Elena away from him with more force than necessary. She stumbles into my chest and I have to catch her to keep her upright.
"We're leaving," I tell her again. Then I look at the guy. "And you're going to walk away and forget you ever met her."
His eyes dart between Elena and me. "Is this guy for real?"
"You better go before he kills you," Elena laughs like this is hilarious.
Smart kid. He takes off without another word.
I keep my arm around Elena's waist and guide her toward the exit. She's unsteady on her feet and trying to turn back to the dance floor. Behind us, I can hear Lorenzo doing the same with Becca—much more politely since she's actually cooperating.
"I was having fun," Elena whines as we hit the cool night air.
"You were making a spectacle."
"So? It's girls' night!" She tries to pull away but I tighten my grip. "You're not supposed to be here anyway. You're supposed to be at the bar minding your own business."
"You think I was going to sit there and watch some asshole put his hands all over you?"
She blinks up at me. Even drunk, she catches the possessiveness in my tone. "Why do you care?"
Because the thought of anyone else touching her makes me want to break things. Because I've spent days watching her walk around in next to nothing and keeping my hands to myself. Because she's mine to protect even if she doesn't want to admit it.
"Get in the car, Elena."
The drive back to her apartment is quiet except for her occasional sighs and mumbled complaints about ruining her fun. When we pull up to her building, she's barely able to walk straight.
I help her inside and up to her apartment. She stumbles through the door and collapses on the couch.
"I had so much fun tonight," she says in a sultry voice that does things to my self-control. "Too bad you ruined my happy ending."
I lock the door deliberately. "Please. That needle dick wouldn't have given you a happy anything."
"What's wrong, Marco? Are you acting like the protective babysitter, or are you jealous?" She looks up at me with hooded eyes, and I can tell she's tipsy and probably exhausted, but still determined to push my buttons.
She runs her hand up my chest, cups my cheek, and then drags her thumb across my lower lip. Her eyes follow the movement of her own touch, and I feel my resolve starting to crack.
"Well, which is it?" She licks her lips and looks up at me expectantly.
I lean in close to her mouth, close enough that she parts her lips and her breathing becomes heavier. For a moment, I consider closing that last inch of distance between us.
"Keep pushing, Elena," I say instead, stepping back from the temptation she represents.
She grins like I just said something incredibly sweet instead of issuing a warning. She turns and sways her hips deliberately as she walks toward her bedroom, and I watch every step.