She blinks up at me. Even drunk, she catches the possessiveness in my tone. "Why do you care?"
Because the thought of anyone else touching her makes me want to break things. Because I've spent days watching her walk around in next to nothing and keeping my hands to myself. Because she's mine to protect even if she doesn't want to admit it.
"Get in the car, Elena."
The drive back to her apartment is quiet except for her occasional sighs and mumbled complaints about ruining herfun. When we pull up to her building, she's barely able to walk straight.
I help her inside and up to her apartment. She stumbles through the door and collapses on the couch.
"I had so much fun tonight," she says in a sultry voice that does things to my self-control. "Too bad you ruined my happy ending."
I lock the door deliberately. "Please. That needle dick wouldn't have given you a happy anything."
"What's wrong, Marco? Are you acting like the protective babysitter, or are you jealous?" She looks up at me with hooded eyes, and I can tell she's tipsy and probably exhausted, but still determined to push my buttons.
She runs her hand up my chest, cups my cheek, and then drags her thumb across my lower lip. Her eyes follow the movement of her own touch, and I feel my resolve starting to crack.
"Well, which is it?" She licks her lips and looks up at me expectantly.
I lean in close to her mouth, close enough that she parts her lips and her breathing becomes heavier. For a moment, I consider closing that last inch of distance between us.
"Keep pushing, Elena," I say instead, stepping back from the temptation she represents.
She grins like I just said something incredibly sweet instead of issuing a warning. She turns and sways her hips deliberately as she walks toward her bedroom, and I watch every step.
CHAPTER 9
Marco
Sunlight streamsthrough every window in the apartment. I made sure of that this morning—opened every blind, pulled back every curtain. Let the bright afternoon sun flood the space.
Call it petty revenge for last night's performance.
I've been up since six working through calls and delegating tasks I normally handle in person. Being stuck in this apartment means everything takes twice as long, but I can't leave Elena alone. Not when she's clearly planning something.
It's been eight days since I moved in and she hasn't met with anyone. No secret phone calls. No mysterious trips to seedy bars. Which means either Vito was wrong about her activities—unlikely—or she's getting restless and will make a move soon.
There's no doubt she's hiding something significant. Rafa confirmed her father is indeed off the grid, but the question remains: why is she going to such lengths to find him? From what I've heard Rina mention over the years, Elio pops up periodically to check in with Elena. So why is this absence different?
I'm delegating what I can but some things require my personal attention. Tomorrow I'll take Elena with me to see Vito. Get an update on our Irish situation—someone has to be running things now that Kieran is dead but we haven't identified the new leadership yet.
From what I can determine, Elena doesn't have traditional employment. She had that brief stint at RRE but nothing since. Her bills get paid from a trust fund her mother set up when she was born. Bianca added portions of Elio's salary to it over the years. Elena is the sole beneficiary.
When Bianca passed away, Vito was appointed trustee per her wishes. He and Bianca had been friends since childhood—long before she met Elio. That friendship is actually how Elio got his position in the Rosso organization in the first place. Bianca vouched for his skills and intelligence.
Those same skills ultimately led to his exile. Elio's deception ran deep, but Vito could never bring himself to kill the man. He cared too much for Bianca's memory and for Elena's wellbeing. Killing her father would have left Elena completely orphaned. Exile became the compromise.
Vito never told Elena he's the trustee of her trust fund. Bianca specifically requested that Elio never have access to those funds because of his gambling problems. All Elena knows is that her bills get paid monthly. As far as I know, she's never questioned the arrangement.
Movement from the bedroom catches my attention. Elena finally emerges holding her head and groaning dramatically. She's squinting like the daylight is personally offensive to her.
Which it probably is.
I smile to myself. I knew she'd be hungover after last night.
"Afternoon, sunshine," I say with obvious amusement.
She groans again and shuffles to the kitchen for water. Then she collapses onto the couch next to me, resting her head back and covering her eyes with her arm.
