Chapter 23
Marco
Things between Elena and me have been less than ideal since that night against her door. If she's not responding to me in short, clipped phrases, she's avoiding me altogether. I much prefer the flirty, bratty side of her to this arctic treatment.
Our kiss was electric—I know she felt it too. I felt like I was going to combust from her touch, and goddamn does she look stunning when she comes. I wanted so badly to strip off her pants and thrust into her, to feel her come around my cock instead of just against me.
But I walked away instead.
Because she's still lying to me. Still keeping secrets that could get her killed. And until she trusts me with the truth—all of it—I have to be the rational one. We can't keep playing these games when there's so much deception between us.
The frustrating part is that she's only given me fragments. She won't tell me the context of her meetings with Marcello, Ronan, or her father. She didn't even mention the asshole who grabbed her.
Tonight, Vito has a strategy meeting with the heads of the Commission. He's invited family to join us for dinner afterward, which means I'll be escorting Elena. I've reminded her twice today what time we need to leave, but she's ignored me both times.
The sound of her bedroom door opening breaks through my thoughts. When she comes into view, I nearly lose my breath.
She's wearing a long gold dress that brushes the floor, with one strap sliding off her shoulder to expose smooth, tanned skin. The fabric clings to every curve, and I want nothing more than to grab those luscious hips and pull her against me.
I clear my throat and force myself to stop ogling her, but it's too late. She's already caught me staring. I stand from the couch and button my suit jacket.
"You look beautiful," I tell her honestly.
I lean in to give her a kiss on the cheek—something that would be perfectly normal—but she steps back and thrusts her overnight bag at me instead.
"Would you carry this for me... please?" The word sounds like it physically pains her to say.
"Sure," I reply flatly.
The ride to Vito's is silent except for the soft tapping of Elena's fingers on her phone. I glance over and see she's texting Becca, sending photos of her dress.
When we arrive at Central Park Tower, I step out first and turn to offer Elena my hand. She doesn't take it. As she maneuvers out on her own, I notice she's wearing bedazzled sneakers with her formal dress.
Despite my frustration, I smile. This girl wouldn't wear heels to save her life.
In the elevator, she looks around curiously. "We aren't going to Vito's penthouse?"
"Vito’s trying out a new location. Something about wanting to respect Rina’s wishes that there be a little less business conducted at their home."
"Oh." That's all I get from her.
The elevator doors open and we walk toward the grand salon. I keep my hands to myself—very deliberately. Vito's warning echoes in my head: Keep it professional. She's family.
So that's exactly what I do. I don't touch her back. Don't take her hand. Don't make any of the possessive gestures that are screaming to get out.
Elena notices. I can tell by the way she glances at me sideways, confusion flickering across her face. She expected me to stake some kind of claim like I did at the club. Instead, I'm treating her like a distant cousin I'm obligated to escort.
Everyone offers polite waves or nods. Rina rushes over to hug Elena enthusiastically.
"I'm so glad you're here!" Rina grabs Elena's hand. "Come on, I need girl talk."
Elena lets herself be pulled away without looking back at me.
The meeting takes place in the observatory. The discussion is productive but frustrating—the Commission has no new intelligence about the Irish. We're essentially conducting this investigation alone.
When we join the family for dinner, I notice Elena has strategically seated herself next to Sofia, as far from me as possible. Throughout the meal, she doesn't look at me once. Just laughs with Sofia and Rina, genuinely enjoying herself.
I should be glad she's relaxed. Instead, it pisses me off.
After dinner, everyone moves to the grand salon for drinks. I'm making small talk with one of the Commission heads when I notice Elena slip away down the hallway.
I give it a few minutes before following. When I reach the guest rooms, I find her in one of them, sitting on the bed with her head in her hands.
I knock softly before entering. She jolts upright, pressing her hand to her chest.
"Jesus, you scared me." The anger returns quickly. "Can't you leave me alone for five seconds?"
I close the door behind me, ensuring privacy. "No, I can't. It's my job, remember?"
The words taste bitter.
"Right. Your job." She stands and walks to the window. "Because that's all I am to you."
I follow her, and for a moment we just stand there. The tension between us is suffocating.
She turns to face me, determination in her eyes. "What are we doing, Marco?"
"What do you mean?"
"This." She gestures between us. "The hot and cold. The touching and not touching. The wanting and walking away. What are we doing?"
I run a hand through my hair. "I don't know."
"That's not good enough." Her voice cracks slightly. "I need to know if you actually want me or if I'm just some... some momentary lapse in judgment you keep regretting."
"I don't regret it," I tell her honestly. "Any of it."
"Then why do you keep walking away?"
"Because you're lying to me, Elena. Because you're in danger and you won't tell me why. Because Vito specifically told me to keep things professional and you're his wife's cousin. Because you're sixteen years younger than me and this is complicated in about a dozen different ways."
"I'm twenty-three years old, Marco. I can make my own decisions."
"Can you? Because from where I'm standing, you're making a lot of bad ones."
She flinches like I've slapped her. "Fuck you."
"I'm trying to protect you—"
"I don't need your protection! I need..." She stops, takes a breath. "I need you to be honest with me. Do you want me? Yes or no."
The question hangs between us.
"Yes," I admit. "I want you. More than I should. More than is smart or safe or professional."
"Then why—"
"Because wanting you and being able to have you are two different things. You're keeping secrets. You're in danger. And I can't—I won't—cross that line until I know you trust me enough to tell me the truth."
She stares at me for a long moment. "The truth is I'm scared. The truth is I don't know who to trust anymore. The truth is my father has fucked up my life so badly I don't know how to fix it."
"Then let me help you."
"I can't." Tears shimmer in her eyes. "If I tell you everything, it becomes your problem too. And I won't do that to you."
"It's already my problem, Elena. The moment Vito assigned me to protect you, it became my problem. The moment I started caring about you—" I stop, realizing what I've just admitted.
"You care about me?"
"Of course I care about you. That's the whole fucking problem."
She closes the distance between us. Looks up at me with those caramel eyes. "Then stop walking away from me."
"Elena—"
"I know all the reasons this is a bad idea. I know Vito told you no. I know it's complicated. I know I'm keeping secrets." She reaches up and touches my face. "But I also know that I want you. And I'm tired of pretending I don't."
Every rational thought in my head is screaming at me to step back. To maintain the boundary. To be professional.
But then her thumb brushes across my lower lip and all rational thought evaporates.
"We can't," I say, even as my hands move to her waist.
"Why not?"
"Because—" I can't even remember the reasons anymore.
"Marco." She says my name like a prayer. "Please stop fighting this."