9. Elena
Chapter nine
Elena
I was first told about my chlorine allergy when I was ten, which is why I only swim in exclusive, private pools that have strictly verified, chemical-free sanitizing protocols. Still, I cannot deny that maybe all this could have been avoided if I’d simply used the Rossi mansion’s pool.
Staying in that mansion—death threats or not—is a daunting reminder of everything I’d deliberately walked away from years ago. It brings back the suffocating feeling of the time when my life was never truly mine.
But swimming is one of the few things I do simply because I want to. It’s supposed to feel exhilarating. And I just couldn’t stand the thought of even that feeling belonging to the Rossi Mafia world again.
I’d been swimming underwater, and the next thing I knew, I couldn’t breathe. I used the last surge of adrenaline to speed-dial Adrian on my Apple Watch, barely managing to gasp out a few words before I blacked out.
If he hadn’t come exactly when he did, it might have been too late to resuscitate me.
I shut my eyes tightly, the events playing vividly in my mind. I thought I was going to die. The heaviness in my limbs… the dizziness in my head.
Not many things scare me… because I like to think I’ve been through it all. My father using me as an object of beauty to seal deals with powerful men, my sister despising me, and the whole world just being against me…
But dousing the pool water with chlorine was a stark reminder that all of this could end in a split second… and it doesn’t need to be violent. Somehow, that terrifies me even more than the attempt at the studio parking lot.
Bringing the glass of champagne to my lips, I close my eyes as the familiar burn slides down my throat.
Puddles reaches out to grab my blouse between his teeth. I know he wants my attention, so I throw a lazy hand over him, lacing my fingers in his fur with my free hand.
I need something… someone to clear my head. I reach for my phone and dial Annora. It rings so long I don't think she'll pick up, but she eventually does.
“Hey, Nora,” I chirp.
“Hey,” she replies, and I instantly sit up. I know that voice—it’s the voice she uses whenever she’s trying to hide something.
“Annora, what’s up?”
“Oh, please, you called, so I should be the one to ask—”
“Cut the bullshit, Annora.”
It takes a moment, but she finally says, “Mom had a seizure last night.”
I hold my breath. Her mom has early-onset Alzheimer’s and her deadbeat stepfather is more of a liability than an asset. That’s what she’d said when I asked about her family. That’s the only background she’d ever revealed to me, despite being friends for about two years.
“I’m so sorry. Is she okay?”
“They’re transferring her to Silver Care Facility upstate. They have a specialized neuro unit there.”
“I- I-” I don’t know what to say. “I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I could do to hel—”
“Yeah, it’s fine. Her Alzheimer’s is progressing faster than we thought, but it’s fine,” she says. “Look, I-umm, gotta go. This audit is kicking my ass. I’ll call you once I’m done.” She tries to throw in a laugh, but it does nothing to diffuse the situation. I still let her go. She ends the call.
As usual, she doesn’t let me share in her burdens, or at least, let me in fully. I wish I could press further and make sure she’s really okay, but Annora is… a tough nut to crack.
I sigh, needing something else to clear my head.
Setting down the wine glass and grabbing my iPad from my bag, I pull up the international market reports I bookmarked a week ago, scrolling through my sales projection and brand penetration matrix.
The last six months of relentless shoots, launches, and collaborations have all been tailored toward one particular goal: getting recognition on the Forbes list.
Swiping through my contact list, I initiate a call to the London-based international agency I’ve been reaching out to for months now.
I want my brand to attain sustainable global recognition, not just a single-season surge.
Hopefully, I can schedule a formal session with them and make them see how lucrative a mutual partnership would be.
“Servtrix Agency, how may I help you?” a receptionist calls out.
“Elena Rossi, I’d like to speak with the partnership manager, please,” I say, keeping my fingers crossed that this time they actually put me through.
“Please hold.”
My eyes drift to the jet window beside me, and I see that the cityscape of New Orleans is sprawling beneath us. This blue line snaking through the city must be the iconic Mississippi River.
When Enzo first told me of the plan to send me to New Orleans, I was a little angry. Once again, I felt things were out of my control, but I listened because I understand that he’s doing this for me, and because he cares for me.
After losing his wife to cancer, he made her one dying promise—to keep their daughter safe. Years later, a brutal hit meant for him took their daughter’s life anyway. I think some part of him still carries that guilt, and somehow, it comes out as love toward me and my sister, Bella.
A sudden change in cabin pressure shakes me from my thoughts as the engines roar, signaling our final descent. Moments later, the jet touches down smoothly on the tarmac, bringing our three-hour journey to an end.
The receptionist on the other end has yet to connect me with the manager, so I pick up my Chanel bag and head out of the jet onto the runway. I don’t turn around to check for him; I can tell he’s behind me from that sandalwood fragrance oozing through the air.
Annoyingly sexy.
“Miss Rossi, you’re through to Mark Russel, a top partnership manager with Servtrix,” the operator finally announces.
A rush of excitement hits me; after days of trying to break past their gatekeepers, I’m finally connected to a real decision-maker.
There’s a brief silence before Mark Russel’s voice booms through my AirPods.
“Miss Rossi.”
“Mr. Russel, thank you for taking my call. I’m calling regarding a collaboration with your agency. I’m the CEO of Elané, a makeup and skincare brand—”
“I’ve heard of Elané. Get to the point, please.”
Chewing on my lower lip, I release a deep breath. “As I said, I’d like to initiate a collaborative deal with your agency. I’m not building one of those small-scale businesses for fame and profit, I’m constructing an empire that’ll be reckoned with long after I’m gone…”
“In other words, you’re building a legacy.” Whoever this man is, he’s fond of interrupting.
“Yes. A beauty legacy.”
“Miss Rossi, do you know what it means to build a legacy? The commitments required of you?”
I take a pause. Of course, I have an idea; I was born in the mafia, after all. There, the sacrifices made to build an empire are blood and fury. Here, it’s the dedication of your life itself.
“Yes. I do.”
He sighs on the other end. “I’ll talk to the other partners about your request and get back to you shortly.”
“Thank you very much…”
“Thank you,” he responds, the line clicking dead. He sounded like he was really going to consider what I said. I know my project manager would have my head for contacting them on my own, but I wanted to, and now I have.
***
A few minutes later, we arrive at the villa. Iron gates open up to the cream-stucco villa with wide verandas and a shaded courtyard.
“Miss Elena, welcome to the Rossi villa…” A concierge walks briskly toward me, a professional smile fixed on her lips.
I thank her, walking beside her as she signals for the butler to grab my bags.
“My name is Alessia. Master Enzo instructed me to help you settle in.” She turns to Adrian, “And you must be…?”
“The one who keeps her alive,” he mutters dryly. Annoyance flares in my chest as I whirl around to the concierge.
“Pardon his manners. He’s just my bodyguard. And he has a flair for drama.” I smile sweetly, feeling his heated stare burning holes in the back of my head.
The concierge clearly looks uncomfortable, so she nods firmly and walks ahead, showing us around the villa. But I’m boiling, so I slow my step to be side by side with Adrian.
“Do you always have to show your true self?” I hiss silently.
The slight tick of his jaw is the only response I get. And I hate it. I hate how he gets on my nerves and acts like I’m the problem.
“The one who keeps her alive, really? Reducing me to a fucking damsel in distress?” My annoyance rises, and I throw a weak jab at his bicep. He stops, then he turns to me, releasing a slow, controlled breath as if dealing with a toddler.
“Reducing implies there was something substantial to begin with.”
I gasp. His words shouldn’t get to me anymore, but they do. Oh, they do!
Flashing him a scowl, I point a finger in his face and sneer. “This is verbal abuse. I could file a case against you.”
“Merely stating your current value,” he deadpans like it’s a fact. And God do I wish I had choked on that chlorine and died.
“What the hell is wro—” I stop myself, shaking my head. This fucker is driving me crazy.
“Who the fuck do you even think you are?”
There’s silence for a beat. Then he gives me a slow, annoying once-over as his lips tug into a small smirk. “The one who keeps you alive.”
I swear to God…
“Oh, I promise you, Adrian. When we get back before Enzo, you’ll choke on your wor—”
In a split second, his hand snaps out, fingers digging into my waist as he yanks me against his chest. I gasp, my heart thudding in my ears as the heat from his body seeps into my skin, but I refuse to be manhandled like this.
“Let me go,” I struggle against him, heat rising in my cheeks. He growls, then a sharp sting lands on my ass, killing the words in my throat.
What the fuck! I gasp as he narrows his eyes darkly on mine.
“You think you have power? Cute,” he rasps, his voice rough and cold against my ear. “But let me give you some news, Principessa. We’re now alone in New Orleans. So behave, or God help me, I’ll fuck you in every corner of this villa and watch the defiance die in your eyes.”
I freeze, my breath catching. Heat burns my cheeks in flames of anger, fear… and something else. I’m torn between slapping him and—
“You have until we get back to New York,” I say, though my voice is weaker than intended. “Then I’ll make you eat every word in front of Enzo.”
I don’t expect him to cower, but neither do I expect the slow, dark smile that spreads across his lips as he pulls back slightly to stare at me.
“The only thing I’ll have on my tongue is the taste of you. And I plan to savor every last drop.”
Against my will, a low whimper clenches in my throat, and I suddenly find it difficult to stand. His breath becomes hotter against my lips, sending my stomach into a tangle of maddening knots.
He groans and presses me closer. And I almost lose it. Sanity, control… myself. Until a voice interrupts us and we quickly detach from each other.
“Oh, Miss Elena,” the concierge smiles nervously, and I hope she can’t see my reddened cheeks from the landing. “I thought both of you were still behind me. I had already shown two rooms.”
I clear my throat and wear a smile. “It’s fine, Alessia. Was just… having a talk with my bodyguard.”
With that, I push past him, almost tripping on my own feet as I climb the staircase and follow closely behind Alessia.
She shows us to our rooms and babbles about how I have everything needed in the villa and must not leave the premises. But I pay her no mind. I can’t.
My wretched mind is on Adrian, who’s a few steps behind me. I knew this was the worst idea, sending me to New Orleans with him, but of course, circumstances would have it no other way.
And I think it’s unfair. That I have no choice, that those people, whoever they are, want to kill me for reasons I don’t even know about… or reasons I probably have no hand in. For all I know, it could be enemies from the mafia.
I shiver at the thought and quickly shake my head—like I do anytime the thought crosses my mind.
It could just be enemies who aren’t pleased with my business success.
I sigh, stealing a glance at Adrian. It’s ridiculous how I hate him and want him at the same time. How he has the power to rile me up, drive me crazy… and make me lose all sense of dignity every time he speaks.
The concierge finally finishes her tour and shows me to my room. I enter, liking the vintage-style settings, then plop on the king-sized bed with a sigh.
These threats have made it impossible for me to hang out with my best friend or my sister. My lips curl in a fond smile when Bella comes to my mind. Reaching into my purse for my phone, I dial her number immediately.
There are angry shrieks and wailing in the background when she picks up.
“Hey, Bell, is everything okay?”
“Lena, thanks for calling, sis. You’re a lifesaver. These kids are on a mission to drive me crazy. They’re always doing something horrifying!” My grin widens. I imagine her scurrying after tiny humans.
“I’ve heard that kids are always trying to kill themselves in their first few years on earth,” I chuckle.
“Oh, you can’t imagine!”
There’s silence for a beat, then she speaks again. “How are you, Elena? Last time you called, you sounded... I’m sorry I haven’t had time to call you and—”
“No, it’s fine. I’m fine,” I quickly cut in. Even with kids, Bella genuinely makes the effort to call, and I’m grateful for that.
“We should hang out sometime. But I’m not in New York right now. I’m traveling for a business deal.”
I used to visit her even when I was in New Jersey… but it’s just been a lot lately.
“Ms. Moneyyyy,” Bella drawls, and that draws a genuine chuckle from my lips.
“I’m proud of you, Elena. I may not say it much, but I am,” she whispers, then a loud scream rips through the phone.