"Oh please. You've probably already made a list." I lean against the counter and cross my arms. "Let me guess—no goingout after dark. No meeting friends without supervision. No bathroom breaks longer than three minutes."
"Four minutes." His eyes glint with amusement. "I'm not unreasonable."
"How generous of you." I roll my eyes but I can't quite suppress my own smile. "And here I thought living under constant surveillance would be terrible. Turns out it's just mildly soul-crushing."
He takes a sip of his coffee and watches me over the rim of the cup. "Apparently I'm not the only one who pays attention."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You knew how I take my coffee." He gestures with the mug. "Black. No sugar. No cream. How'd you know that?"
Heat creeps up my neck. Damn it. "Lucky guess."
I make my own coffee with a splash of milk and one packet of raw sugar, and we both sip in comfortable silence for a moment. Then Marco breaks it.
"Are you going to tell me who Marcello Farina is?" he finally asks.
I huff, having enjoyed the brief peace between us. "Why don't you tell me what you know, since you've obviously done your research?"
"I research everyone that Rosso family members meet with—friends, dates, lovers." He gives me a look that clearly asks whether I'm sleeping with Marcello.
"Ew! I am not fucking Marcello, okay?" I fake gag, and Marco actually chuckles. The sound makes me smile despite myself. It's nice to hear him laugh—he's always so serious.
"Marcello is a friend of my father's," I explain, which is mostly true. "I haven't talked to my dad in over a year, and I wanted to ask Marcello if he'd heard from him. I know my father isn't in Vito's good graces, and neither are any of his associates.I didn't want Vito to think I was working against the family, so I kept the meeting private."
It's not the whole truth, but it's all I can give him right now. Marco studies my face like he's trying to determine whether to believe me.
"You don't have to believe me," I continue, "but I really don't know where my father is, and I'm worried about him."
"Why didn't you ask me or Vito to help you find him? We have resources you don't."
The question hits too close to home. "What was I supposed to say? 'Hey Vito, remember Elio Messina, the guy who betrayed your family? I can't find him and was wondering if you'd use your resources to track him down for me?'"
I turn toward the sink and start cleaning up, scooping out the used coffee grounds for my plants and scrubbing the French press. Marco remains quiet, and there's nothing more to say. He knows exactly how that conversation would go. My father is a disgrace to the Rossos and the Commission. No one will help me, so I have to help myself.
This conversation is getting too heavy. I never talk to anyone about my father—the subject is too painful, too complicated. I dry my hands and walk toward my bedroom without another word to Marco.
A few moments later, there's a knock on my door. When I open it, Marco is standing there shirtless again. I have to bite back a groan.
Can't he keep his clothes on in my apartment?
"Can I use your shower? You have the only full bathroom and I need to get my day started."
"And if I said no?" I cross my arms and lean against the doorframe. "Would you just stand out here looking all broody and half-naked until I cave?"
His eyes darken slightly. "I'd find a way to convince you."
"That sounds vaguely threatening."
"Does it?" He steps closer. Not enough to invade my space but enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "I was thinking more... persuasive."
My heart does an annoying flutter thing. "Fine. Yes. Whatever. Use the shower before I change my mind."
"Appreciate it." The smirk on his face tells me he knows exactly what effect he's having on me.
I point toward the bathroom with more force than necessary. "Extra towels are in the closet. Try not to use all the hot water."
"No promises." He's already moving past me. "I like long showers."
