"This pervert!" His voice rumbled low. "This fucking pervert! When'd he take these? Shit, he was in your bedroom!"
"And an email this morning. Real explicit. He knew what I was wearing today."
Marco's head snapped up, eyes blazing. "Show me."
I opened the laptop, pulled up the email. He read it, slammed the screen shut hard.
"That bastard." Deep breath, fighting for control. "He's stalking you, watching you, even—"
He eyed the stains on the sleep shots, face darkening. "He might have cameras here."
Marco's gaze turned deadly focused. He set the photos down, started inspecting the studio. Bookshelves first, then curtains, every ceiling corner. He knew what to look for, better than me. Five minutes in, he found the first one behind a decorative vase on the shelf top—button-sized, camouflaged.
"Damn." He plucked it carefully, showed it in his palm. "Not easy to get gear like this."
Kept searching. Found a second at the curtain rod end, third in the corner smoke detector.
"Three." He lined them up on the table, voice ice-cold.
My stomach churned again. I'd been under watch all along. It wasn't cold out, but I shivered. Marco came over, pulled me into his arms.
"I'll protect you." His voice firm in my ear. "I'll call guys in Cosa Nostra—they know how to track scum like this. If he wants to hurt you, he'll go throughme first."
I nodded. Stayed in his hold a bit, calming down.
"Stella—" It hit me. "I need to arrange her pickup. Nanny's free today, but I should call."
"I'll do it." Marco pulled out his phone. "Give me her number."
I recited it. He dialed, told her to pick up Stella on time from kindergarten, no strangers near the kid, straight home after, lock up, call cops if anything off.
Hearing his clear instructions eased my heart a little. At least Stella was safe.
After hanging up, Marco took my hand. "It's almost noon. You need to eat—your color's bad."
I nodded, followed him downstairs.
The restaurant's warm yellow lights and food smells helped me unwind a bit. Marco ordered my usual pasta and soup, steak for himself.
"Eat." He pushed the pasta over. "Keep your strength up."
I forced a few bites; it tasted like sawdust. But under his encouraging eyes, I ate more.
"It'll be okay," I said, mostly to myself. "Just a creepy stalker. Cops'll handle it."
"I don't trust cops." Marco shook his head. "They botch cases like this—you know how Italian police are. But my guys? They got ways."
I knew what he meant. Mafia handled things their own way, no legal bullshit.
"Marco."
"Don't worry." His hand reached across, stroked my hair. "Just having them check who this guy is, where he is. Your and Stella's safety comes first. No one's touching you with me around."
I met his brown eyes, full of worry and care. All these years, Marco'd been there when I needed him most.
We finished lunch slowly. Food helped; my stomach didn't feel so hollow. Marco insisted on tiramisu, said sweets lift moods.
"As kids, whenever you were down, I'd sneak you candy." He smiled. "Remember? We were broke, but I'd save up for you."
