3. Elena
Chapter three
Elena
This is almost impossible.
My jaw drops open as I scroll through the engagement chart forwarded by my business analyst, Sheila. The engagement keeps tanking, and sales for my newest setting spray aren’t hitting the target.
I do have my loyal following, and the sales from them are great, but I expected more… more reach. Apparently, I can’t have that because Camila decided to launch her own fucking setting spray around the same time I launched mine.
I know she’s doing all of this intentionally. That bitch.
A dull ache strikes my forehead, and I’m instantly reminded of my healing wounds. The doctor has advised me to be consistent with my meds…and has also gently urged me to reach out if I ever have PTSD from the attack.
PTSD. I scoff, setting Puddles onto the floor beside me. As if I didn’t go through worse at the hands of Father.
A particular memory hits me, and suddenly I’m transported to the time when I had to rot in a mental asylum because the bastard deemed it necessary to keep me silent.
Exhaling deeply to calm my nerves, I push my chair back, rising to my feet.
I need a cup of coffee. Trudging tiredly to the door, I’m about to grab the handle when a better idea hits me.
Why don’t I go over to Annora instead? She’d devise five hundred ways to make me feel better instantly, plus I feel stifled being holed up here alone.
We both agreed not to be seen around with each other so she doesn’t become a target for the death threats too, but I could really use her bright smile and snarky remarks right now. Besides, it’s 5:30 a.m. Who’d make out my identity anyway?
Grabbing a pair of black leggings, I pull them on, throw on a black tank top, and wrap a black scarf tight around my head and neck to conceal my identity. This is enough… right?
I head to the door, but when my fingers wrap around the handle, I remember him. Adrian Cole.
Embarrassment flushes my cheeks at the crude remark he made about my ass yesterday! Ugh.
God, I hate him. I hate this. I hate that he was supposed to be a one-night stand, and now I have to deal with his annoying presence till God knows when.
And I most certainly hate that I can’t figure out his schedule yet.
Since he recently started working as my bodyguard, I’ve not been able to predict that…
but I do know he takes breaks. Sometimes he isn’t glued to that spot in front of his door, and another guard replaces him. I just hope somehow he isn’t there now.
Clearing my throat, I pull the scarf tighter around my face, stepping out of my room quietly. I’m half surprised to see that the hallway is dimly lit and empty.
Ah, a breath of fresh air.
Hunching slightly, I fist my phone close to my belly and tiptoe toward the stairs. Suddenly, the light flicks on, startling the shit out of me.
I lift my head to see Adrian, leaning casually against the balustrade, one hand shoved in his pants pocket and the other holding a burning cigar to his lips. Then my traitorous heart starts to race for another reason entirely.
His hair is messy, with a few stray tendrils spiking out to give him this rugged look. And fuck, the way his smooth jaws catch the light as he blows a cloud of smoke doesn’t help the wild stir in my stomach.
“What,” he deadpans, brown eyes holding mine darkly, “exactly are you doing?”
And suddenly I’m back to my senses. I scoff. Why is he smoking on duty anyway, and indoors for fuck’s sake?
“Question is what are you doing?” I retort, gesturing to the cigar etched between his knuckles. “Polluting my air with that cancer stick.”
He doesn’t answer. Just dips his eyes, assessing my outfit from head to toe. For some reason, I feel… stupid, so I quickly say, “I was going for my daily run.” The excuse sounds pathetic even to me.
He glances at his wristwatch but still doesn’t reply. It’s infuriating the way he uses silence like a weapon. His face looks carved from stone, jaw set, eyes dark and assessing as he brings them back to my face.
Let me give him something to be really quiet about.
“How do you think the Don would feel when I tell him the man who should guard his cherished Princess was busy choking on his own—”
“Careful, Principessa (Princess),” he interrupts roughly. “I hate lies.”
“Then it’s a pity I don’t,” I smirk in his face, half expecting him to flare up. But instead, he pulls the cigar from his lips with careful precision, then eyes my frame again, and this time I feel naked.
“My patience is thinner than that disguise, Elena. Turn the fuck around.”
My name rolls off his tongue with a certain cadence that weakens my legs. “I wasn’t sneaki—”
Something snaps inside me. Oh, hell no; he doesn’t get to talk to me like I’m some fucking teenager.
“You have no right to order me around,” I grit out.
He chuckles dryly, the sound making my outbursts seem completely foolish. When he straightens himself from the railing and takes a hand out of his pocket, I swallow.
“Oh, Principessa, I do,” he smirks, then starts stalking toward me until I’m crowded against the wall. “And I own the consequences when you break them.”
My pulse stutters as he raises two strong arms to cage the side of my head. Smoke mixed with the scent of cologne wafts through my nostrils, and for a split second, I almost melt into him.
As if sensing my internal battle, he rumbles, and I quickly snap my eyes open, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of defeat.
“Move,” my voice is as tight as can be. “I’m taking my run… without you.”
I try to sidestep him, but that’s a wrong move as one of his hands falls from the wall to wrap around my waist while he growls.
“Your freedom ends where my responsibility begins. You don’t draw a damn breath unless I approve.”
My blood boils at his words. “You must be forgetting that you fucking work for me.”
“Then that makes you mine to protect,” he smiles devilishly. Then his gaze drops to my lips. “To command...”
It takes sheer willpower not to fall apart from the intensity of his gaze. I scoff. His to command? Oh, his ego is as big as his dick.
“You’re messing with my schedule. I wonder what Enzo would say when I te—”
“Your run is scheduled for 6:30. Don’t fucking test me.” His nostrils flare in anger as he slams a fist beside my head. I pause but don’t back down.
“Get off me, Adrian.”
He arches a brow, amusement replacing anger.
“Try again.” He tightens his hold on my waist, and to my shame, heat pools between my thighs.
I need to get the hell away from him now. Heck, I need him gone—something valuable I can hand over to Enzo to reveal his incompetence.
“I’m a mafia princess, you psycho!” I scowl, slapping his chest when he doesn’t budge. “I wasn’t exactly asking for permission.”
There’s silence for a while as he watches me struggle against him. Something flashes in his eyes, and I swear I feel the air between us shift.
“Then run, little Princess,” he smiles darkly. “But when I catch you, I’ll turn every scream of rebellion into a prayer with my name on it.”
His voice is primal and raw, making a gasp catch in my throat. I don’t know if I imagine it, but he leans in ever so slightly.
I try to talk, but my tongue feels tied. Heat rises up my neck, spreading across my cheeks. His gaze narrows on my reddened face briefly before he straightens, releasing me from his arm cage.
“Go back to your room, Elena.”
He says it with a tone of finality that I’m compelled to oblige.
“And what are you going to do? Report me?”
His dry chuckle pinches my chest as he stares at me as if he knows something I don’t.
“You’ll learn that I don’t need permission to keep you alive.” Then he returns his attention to his cigar as if I don’t exist.
“Screw you.”
“Already did,” he rasps, eyes glinting in the smoke that he puffs. “Keep running that mouth, and I’ll ruin it with something other than my fist.”