"What time is it?" Her voice is barely above a whisper.
"Almost one."
"The room is too loud." She doesn't move the arm from her face.
I actually laugh. "That's what happens when you drink too much. Did you take the aspirin I left on your bedside table?"
She removes her arm and looks at me with surprise. "I didn't see any when I woke up so I must have. Thank you."
"You're welcome."
We sit in silence for a moment. She seems to be gathering the energy to move or speak or exist. Then she sits up and turns toward me, crossing her legs on the couch.
"Can I ask you something?"
I nod for her to continue.
"Why did you come to the bar when you already had one of your guys following me? He would have reported everything to you."
She's looking at me with genuine curiosity. I realize I don't know how to answer this question honestly.
I'm supposed to protect her—it's my job. But that's not really why I went to the bar last night.
The truth is I wanted to watch her outside of this apartment. We've been cooped up together for over a week with tension building between us. She needed a night out and I was happy to observe her in her natural element.
She was so genuinely happy and carefree with her friend. Her smile could light up an entire room—a shame since most of the smiles I see are teasing smirks designed to provoke me. The way her hips moved to the music. The slight sheen of sweat that made her skin glow. I wanted to taste every inch of her.
At least until that asshole showed up and ruined my fantasy.
I still haven't answered her question. She's looking at me with a slight frown now. I decide my actual thoughts should stay private. She doesn't need to know why I was really there.
"Only I can do the job correctly," I say flatly.
She closes her eyes and sighs. I wonder if she was expecting a different answer. But this is the safest response if I want to continue doing my job effectively. Feelings cause mistakes and I can't afford to make mistakes. Vito and the family depend on me to be the best at what I do.
She finally opens her eyes and stands. Turns to face me with an expression I can't quite read.
"So I'm just a job then?"
"Yes." I answer without hesitation and watch something shift in her eyes. Sadness maybe. Or perhaps the realization that whatever this tension is between us can never lead anywhere.
She walks away without another word. I hear her bedroom door close.
The sound echoes through the apartment and I'm left wondering why telling her the truth feels so much like lying.
CHAPTER 10
Elena
It's perfectly clear nowthat all the flirting and stolen glances have been for nothing. Sure, they were entertaining, but I was hoping Marco was starting to enjoy our time together beyond mere professional obligation.
Clearly not.So I'm just a job then? Yes.Message received.
I don't want a relationship with Marco—that would be complicated and probably impossible given our circumstances. But a physical arrangement would have been nice. I've been attracted to him for years, though the age gap made me dismiss any possibility. But now we're trapped in my apartment together, alone, with tension building daily and our clothing becoming progressively more minimal.
Yesterday when he emerged from my bathroom wearing only a towel, his impressive anatomy barely concealed, I nearly combusted. God, what I wouldn't give to experience what that man could do to me. And if he was that substantial while soft, I can't even imagine him fully aroused.
Stop it, Elena. He just made it clear you're nothing more than work to him.
