Chapter 21
Marco
Elena and I have spent the past few days locked in a cold war, barely speaking beyond the absolute necessities. We're back to hating each other, it seems. But I don't hate her—not even close. I care about her wellbeing, probably more than she cares about her own.
After discovering that the debt threatening her isn't even hers, but her father's debt to the Irish, I'm on constant high alert.
Elena's in serious danger if the Costellos are involved.
They don't negotiate. They don't show mercy.
They take what they want, and right now, they want to use her as leverage against Elio.
I've also figured out her communication method.
Every time she visits her favorite cafe, she either escapes or attempts to escape within twenty-four hours.
I don't know exactly how she's receiving messages there—maybe it's coded in her order, maybe someone's slipping notes into her bag—but the pattern is undeniable.
Rafa's investigating the cafe's staff and regular customers, but I decided to test my theory directly. This morning, I offered to take Elena there myself.
"I thought we could grab coffee," I'd said casually, watching her reaction. "That place you like."
She'd looked at me with deep suspicion, those caramel eyes narrowing like she was trying to read my mind. But eventually, she agreed. I caught a hint of a smile when we walked out the door—not at me, but at some private thought that made my chest tighten with unease.
We spent about an hour at the cafe. Elena ordered her usual latte and grabbed one of those chocolate croissants she's always buying. She didn't speak to me the entire time, not even after we returned to the apartment. Not even a thank you for the outing.
Brat.
But I got what I needed. Confirmation that something passed between Elena and someone at that cafe. I just couldn't figure out how.
Now it's past midnight and Elena retired to her room hours ago. The apartment is dark except for the city lights filtering through the windows. I'm stretched out on the couch, fully clothed, pretending to sleep while every muscle in my body stays coiled and ready.
I know she received a message today. I know she's planning to sneak out. And this time, I'm going to let her think she's succeeded.
The soft creak of her bedroom door makes my pulse spike but I keep my breathing steady and even. I hear her bare feet on the hardwood floor, moving silently toward the front door. She's good at this—too good. How many times has she done this before I moved in?
She pauses near the couch. Probably checking to make sure I'm really asleep. I let my lips part slightly, add a soft snore for effect. After what feels like an eternity, she moves to the door.
The click of the lock turning is barely audible. Elena eases the door open and closed with surgical precision, taking care not to let it slam.
The moment it clicks shut, I'm off the couch and at the window. I watch her emerge from the building and walk to the street, where she hails a cab with the confidence of someone who's done this countless times.
I'm out the door and down the stairs before the cab even starts moving. Tony pulls the black Range Rover up to the curb just as I hit the sidewalk.
"You saw her get into the cab?" I ask, jumping into the passenger seat.
"Yes, sir," Lorenzo confirms from the back. "We've been tracking it since she left the building."
Tony floors it, weaving through late-night traffic to keep the cab in sight. My hands are clenched into fists in my lap. Every instinct screams at me to call this off. To have Tony ram the cab and drag Elena out before she gets herself killed.
But I need to know what she's walking into. Need to understand the full scope of the threat she's facing.
The cab winds through Manhattan. Past Times Square with its garish lights.
Through the theater district. Finally stopping in front of an upscale club in Midtown.
Even from a distance, I can see the understated elegance that screams money and power.
No gaudy neon signs or velvet ropes—just sleek black facades and doormen in expensive suits.
"Oh shit," Lorenzo breathes from the backseat.
I recognize the place now. My blood turns to ice.
It's owned by the Irish. A legitimate business on the surface, but everyone in our world knows it's a Costello front. They launder money through the bar. Hold meetings in the private rooms upstairs. Use the basement for things that would make a normal person lose sleep.
Elena just walked into the lion's den. Alone.
"Yeah, oh shit is right," I mutter, checking my weapon before stepping out of the SUV. "Stay here. Be ready to move if this goes south."
The doorman recognizes me immediately—the slight widening of his eyes, the way his hand drifts toward his jacket. But he doesn't stop me. Smart man. Starting a fight on the sidewalk would draw too much attention.
Inside, the club is exactly what I expected. Low lighting. Expensive whiskey. Beautiful people who are probably armed to the teeth. An undercurrent of violence permeates every conversation. I can feel eyes tracking me as I move through the space.
They know who I am. They know I shouldn't be here.
Good. Let them worry.
I scan the room methodically, looking for Elena while projecting the kind of casual menace that keeps people from asking questions. My hand stays close to my weapon. Every sense is heightened. Alert.
I find her in a back corner booth, talking to a middle-aged man who keeps glancing around nervously. He's sweating despite the air conditioning. His hands shake slightly as he gestures. When he looks over Elena's shoulder in my direction, recognition hits me like a punch to the gut.
Elio.
The bastard actually showed up.
White-hot rage floods through me. Part of me wants to march over there and put a bullet in his head for dragging Elena into this mess. For abandoning her. For making her clean up his debt while he hides like a coward.
But I force myself to stay back. To observe and gather information.
Their conversation grows more animated. Elio is pointing his finger at Elena, his face flushed with what looks like anger or desperation. Elena's body language tells me she's upset—her shoulders are tense, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
She looks small. Vulnerable. Nothing like the fierce woman who fights with me every day.
That's when I notice them. Two men moving through the crowd toward Elena's table. I recognize them immediately. Costello soldiers. They move with the predatory grace of men who've killed before and will kill again.
My pulse spikes. Every muscle in my body tenses.
Elio's back is to them so he doesn't see them coming. They're almost at the table when I realize I have to act. Now.
I move quickly but carefully through the crowd, projecting calm authority even though my heart is pounding.
Elio spots me first and the look of pure terror that crosses his face would be comical if the situation weren't so deadly.
Without even checking to see who's behind him, the coward bolts toward the back exit.
He doesn't look back. Doesn't check if Elena is safe. Just runs.
Abandoning his daughter to face the consequences of his debts alone.
He probably lured her here on purpose to sell her out. Fucking pussy.
Elena is so focused on the approaching Irishmen that she doesn't even notice her father's hasty retreat. The fear in her eyes makes something primal and protective surge through my chest. She knows exactly who these men are and what they're capable of.
I reach the table just as they do. Without thinking, I drape my arm over Elena's shoulders and pull her against my side. She startles at the contact, her body going rigid with shock. But she recovers quickly when she sees it's me.
The relief that flashes across her face does something to me. Makes my grip on her tighten possessively.
"Everything alright, sweetheart?" I ask, making sure my voice carries enough intimacy to be heard by our unwelcome visitors.
Elena nods and leans into me. Her arm slides around my waist. The contact sends heat racing through my bloodstream. She fits against me perfectly. Like she was made to be there.
Mine. The thought hits me with startling clarity. She's mine to protect.
I smile at the two Irishmen, letting them see the predator behind the civilized facade. They know who I am—I can tell by the way their expressions shift from confident to wary. They thought Elena was here alone. Vulnerable and unprotected.
Wrong.
I pull Elena closer and press a kiss to the top of her head. The scent of her shampoo fills my lungs—jasmine and vanilla. My hand splays possessively across her shoulder, thumb stroking her collarbone. Making my message crystal clear to everyone watching.
Touch her and you start a war with the Rossos. Elena belongs to us now. Belongs to me. And I protect what's mine.
"This isn't over, Miss Messina," one of them says. "Do you think Daddy Rosso will save you?" the same man continues, his Dublin accent thick with mockery. "Because Elio sure as shit doesn't care. Look how he scurries away without protecting you."
Elena's grip on my waist tightens. I can feel her trembling slightly. The trembling makes me want to break both these men in half.
I pull her from her seat and position her behind me. Use my body as a shield between her and the Irishmen. My hand goes to my weapon automatically. Not drawing it. Just making sure they see where my hand is.
"You know who I am, yes?" I ask them conversationally.
They laugh but there's an edge to it that tells me they're not as confident as they're pretending to be.
I lean in closer, lowering my voice so Elena hopefully can't hear what I'm about to say.
"Elio is a piece of shit. He's the one who owes the debt, not her.
Now fuck off and go after him for your payment.
Go on, little boys, go get him." I gesture toward the back exit where her father disappeared. "He went that way."
I let my hand rest on my weapon now. Let them see it. Let them understand exactly what I'm promising.
"This is your only warning. I don't give second chances. Leave Elena alone."
I straighten up and stare at them. Let them see exactly what will happen if they don't heed my advice. I've killed men for less. Will kill them without hesitation if they so much as breathe in Elena's direction again.
Both men look back at me with expressions that are equal parts frustrated and calculating.
The second man speaks up and his words send ice through my veins. "This is much more than that, Mr. Conti. We thought you'd be smart enough to realize that."
They turn and walk away. Melt back into the crowd like they were never there.
But their parting words echo in my head, setting off every alarm bell I have.
Much more than that.
If this isn't just about Elio's debt, then what the hell is it? What does Elena have that they want badly enough to threaten her? To follow her? To corner her in public places?
I look down at her, still pressed against my side. My arm is still around her. I realize I don't want to let go. Don't want to put any distance between us.
She's mine. The thought comes again, stronger this time. Mine to protect. Mine to keep safe. Mine.
"We need to talk," I tell her quietly. "Tonight. No more games. No more secrets."
She looks up at me with those caramel eyes. For once, I don't see defiance or anger. Just exhaustion and fear.
"Okay," she whispers.
I guide her toward the exit, my hand firm on her back. Possessive. I notice several other patrons watching us with interest. Word of this confrontation will spread through the Irish community by morning. Which means we need to be prepared for whatever comes next.
Outside, Tony has the engine running. I help Elena into the backseat and climb in beside her. She's shaking now. The adrenaline wearing off. Making her realize how close that was.
I reach over and take her hand. Thread my fingers through hers. She doesn't pull away. Just holds on tight.
"Drive," I tell Tony. "Take us home."
The ride is silent but our hands stay linked. Her thumb brushes across my knuckles. A small gesture that feels enormous.
Whatever the Costellos really want from her, it's bigger and more dangerous than a gambling debt. But they're going to have to go through me to get to her.
And I'll die before I let that happen.