Chapter 28
Elena
I never go back to sleep. I can't. My mind races, replaying my conversation with Marco. To give him credit, he was very attentive and non-judgmental. He didn't yell at me or get frustrated, just asked questions here and there.
I lie in bed for about an hour before finally giving up. I sit up and stretch, removing the sheets and getting up. After using the bathroom, I walk down the hall and stop short.
One of Marco's men is sitting in my living room, looking at something on his phone. The same man I gave the slip to at the cafe weeks ago.
"You." I point at him. "Bathroom guy."
He smirks but doesn't say anything.
"Do I at least get to know your name now that you're sitting in my apartment?"
Still nothing. Just that infuriating smirk.
I roll my eyes and walk to the kitchen for a protein shake. "You know, the strong silent type only works if you're actually mysterious. Right now you just look constipated."
I hear him chuckle as I blend my shake.
Marco walks through the door a minute later. He starts to walk toward me but hesitates, glancing at his man on the couch. He turns back and nods for him to leave. The guy gets up, gives me a little salute, and walks out.
"His name is Tony, by the way," Marco says once the door closes.
"Tony. The guy who couldn't figure out I was behind the bathroom door." I take a sip of my shake. "Stellar security you've got there."
Marco locks the door and comes over to me, wrapping me in his arms. "Sorry I had to leave you with him. Vito came by. I had to fill him in."
I stiffen and push him away. "What? You told Vito?" Tears begin to fill my eyes and I start to shake. No no no no no. Vito's going to have me killed or locked up or banished like my father.
"Elena." Marco's voice is stern, pulling my attention back to him. "Vito is on our side, okay? I told him what he needed to know. He's not angry at you. He's angry at the Costellos. At your father."
I walk over to the couch with my protein shake and sit down heavily. This is all so messed up.
"What do you want to do today?" Marco asks, sitting next to me.
I sigh. "Can we just stay in and veg out with some movies?"
He chuckles and grabs my hand. "Sure."
We start with an action movie—something with explosions and terrible dialogue. I'm curled up on one end of the couch, Marco on the other, my legs stretched across his lap. His hand rests on my ankle, thumb making absent circles on my skin.
"This is so unrealistic," I say when the hero jumps from a building and lands perfectly in a helicopter. "That would break every bone in his body."
"It's a movie. You're supposed to suspend disbelief."
"I can suspend disbelief. I can't suspend basic physics."
Marco laughs, and the sound does something warm to my chest. "You're one of those people who ruins movies, aren't you?"
"I prefer 'enhances with commentary.'"
"Uh-huh." His hand slides higher up my calf. "What about this?" He gestures to the screen where the hero is now defusing a bomb with thirty seconds left.
"Oh please. The red wire, blue wire thing? That's not how bombs work."
"How do you know how bombs work?"
"I read." I take a sip of water. "And I had a very educational childhood in a mafia family."
His expression darkens slightly. "Did Elio teach you?"
"Some. Mostly I learned by watching. Listening." I shrug. "You pick things up when you grow up around people who solve problems with violence."
"Like how to shoot."
"Like how to shoot," I confirm. "My dad might be a coward, but he at least made sure I could protect myself."
Marco's quiet for a moment, then: "Show me."
"What?"
"After the movie. Show me what you can do."
I raise an eyebrow. "You want me to shoot up my apartment?"
"I want to see you handle a weapon up close."
"I'm an excellent shot. Vito uses me as a sniper. You know this."
"Prove it."
The challenge in his voice sends heat through me. "Fine. But when I do, you have to admit I'm better than you."
"We'll see about that, little fox."
The movie continues, but I'm hyperaware of Marco's hand on my leg now. How it's slowly moving higher. How every touch feels deliberate.
"You know what I think?" I say during a particularly ridiculous fight scene.
"What?"
"I think you're trying to distract me."
"From what?"
"The movie. With the..." I gesture to where his hand is now resting on my thigh, dangerously close to the hem of my shorts.
He grins. "Is it working?"
"Maybe."
"Good." His hand squeezes slightly. "Because you've been distracting me all day in those shorts."
Heat pools low in my belly. "These shorts?"
"Mmhmm. You wore them on purpose."
"Maybe I did." I shift slightly, pressing into his touch. "What are you going to do about it?"
His eyes darken. "Watch the movie, Elena."
"I thought you wanted to prove I was ruining it with my commentary."
"I changed my mind. The commentary is growing on me."
We make it through another twenty minutes before the tension becomes unbearable. When the hero and heroine have their inevitable kiss, Marco pulls me fully onto his lap.
"This is not watching the movie," I point out.
"No, it's not." His lips find my neck. "Problem?"
"Not even a little bit."
We don't finish the movie.
Later, after we've thoroughly distracted each other and ordered takeout, we're back on the couch. Different movie. Same comfortable position.
It's about nine PM and Marco has drifted off to sleep, his head leaned back against the couch, still holding my legs across his lap. I watch him sleep and he looks so peaceful. Soft snores, mouth slightly open. He's a dream I never want to wake up from.
As if the universe senses my peace and decides it's time for chaos, the lights and TV suddenly go out.
I look around. The other side of the street still has power.
That's not good.
I carefully remove my legs from Marco's lap. He startles awake. "What's going on?"
"Power just went out. But only our building—"
He puts his finger over my mouth, silencing me. Every trace of sleepiness is gone. His entire body has gone tense, alert.
He pulls a gun from under the couch cushion.
Jesus. How long has that been there?
He listens, then points down the hall. Mouths: Bedroom. Now.
I start to stand but he pushes me down, showing me he wants me to crawl. I drop to my hands and knees and start moving.
When I glance back, Marco is still by the window, scanning the street. Then I see it—a red laser dot appear on his chest.
"Marco! Down!" I scream.
He drops just as the window explodes inward, glass showering the living room. The bullet buries itself in the wall where his head was a second ago.
"Elena! Go!" He's crawling after me, returning fire out the window.
We make it to my bedroom. He slams the door and pulls out his phone.
"I don't care! Just get here! Now!" He hangs up and looks at me. "Listen to me. If you do everything I say, we're going to get out of here alive. Understand?"
I nod. My heart is pounding but my hands are steady.
The front door explodes open. Automatic weapons fire tears through the living room.
Marco crawls to my closet and pulls out a lockbox from under some shoes. Two more guns. He hands me one.
"You still remember how to shoot?"
"Better than you do." My voice is steadier than I feel.
"That's my girl." He checks the magazine. "Anyone comes through that door, you shoot. Center mass. No hesitation."
"Got it."
He moves to the window to check for more shooters. The gunfire stops suddenly. Ominous silence fills the apartment.
Then the bedroom door explodes inward.
Three men in tactical gear rush in. I don't think. Just react.
I fire twice. The first man goes down.
The other two pivot toward me, raising their weapons. I drop behind the bed, bullets chewing up the mattress where I was standing.
Marco takes out the second man with a headshot. Clean. Professional.
The third man gets a shot off. It whizzes past my ear so close I feel the heat.
I come up from behind the bed and put two rounds in his chest. He drops.
The silence after the gunfire is deafening.
Marco is already moving, checking the bodies. Making sure they're dead. "Bathroom. Now. Lock the door."
"What? No—"
"There might be more. If anyone but me comes to that door, you shoot through it. Understand?"
I want to argue. Want to stay and fight beside him. But I can hear more footsteps in the living room.
I slip into the bathroom and lock the door. Press my back against the shower wall. Gun raised. Hands steady.
More gunfire. Shouting. The sounds of a fight.
Then silence.
"Elena?" Marco's voice.
I don't answer. Don't move. This could be a trick.
The door handle turns.
I open fire, emptying the magazine. The bullets punch holes through the door.
Click. Click. Click. Empty.
"Elena?" Marco again. He peers around the doorframe, hands up. "It's me. It's over."
I'm still holding the gun. Still pointing it at him even though it's empty.
He walks toward me slowly. Takes the gun from my shaking hands. Cups my face.
That's when I break.
A sob tears out of me. All the adrenaline, all the fear I've been holding back, it crashes over me at once.
"We're okay," Marco murmurs. "We're both okay."
I throw my arms around his neck, holding on like he's the only thing keeping me anchored to reality.
"We need to leave," he says after a moment. "There might be more coming."
I nod. Force myself to let go. "I need another gun."
He hands me his backup weapon, and something like pride flickers across his face.
We move through the bedroom. Four bodies now. Marco quickly cuts something from each one—fingers, I realize with a sick lurch—and puts them in a plastic bag.
Fingerprints. For identification.
I don't ask. Just follow him to the front door.
He clears the hallway, then leads me to the window with the fire escape. The same one I used weeks ago to give Tony the slip.
We climb down to the alley. Marco presses me against the wall behind a dumpster while he scans for threats.
A car screeches to a halt at the alley entrance. I raise my gun.
"It's Ren!" Marco grabs my wrist, lowering the weapon.
Ren is out of the SUV, his own gun drawn. When he sees us, he opens the back door.
We run for it. Marco covers me, his body between me and any potential shooters.
I dive into the backseat. Marco follows.
"Go!" he shouts, and Ren peels out.
I'm still holding the gun. Staring at it in my lap. My finger is still on the trigger.
Marco places his hand over mine but when he tries to take the gun, I won't let go.
My grip is like a vise. I can't seem to make my fingers work.
He leans close and whispers, "Give me the gun, baby."
The word breaks through whatever's keeping me frozen. I take my finger off the trigger. Release my grip.
He sets the gun aside and pulls me into his arms. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on.
"Don't call me baby if you don't mean it," I whisper. My body is trembling now. The adrenaline finally leaving my system.
He smiles against my neck and hugs me tighter. "I've never meant anything more in my life."