"It didn't look like it!" He whirls on me. "Meeting with the Irish? And not just any Irishman—Ronan? Do you have any idea how dangerous he is?"
"I know?—"
"Do you?" He steps closer. "Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were about to get yourself killed. Or worse."
The implication hangs in the air. What Ronan would have done if Marco hadn't interrupted.
"Why do you keep putting yourself in these situations?" His voice cracks slightly. "What are you hiding?"
I've never heard him this furious before. Marco is usually so controlled. So measured. But right now he looks genuinely rattled. Scared even.
"I can take care of myself!" The words come out sharper than I intend. "I've been doing it for the last ten years without a mother or father! I don't need you acting like some white knight!"
"This isn't about being a white knight?—"
"No one can save me. I can do it myself."
"Do you think this is a game?" His hands grip my shoulders. Not hard. Just enough to make me look at him. "You're part of the Rosso family and you're meeting with the Costellos? What the fuck, Elena?"
"It's not what you think." My voice goes soft. I press my fingers to my eyes because I can't look at him anymore. Can't see the disappointment and anger and fear all mixed together on his face.
When I finally look up at him, I know my expression is pleading. "It's not what you think. Okay?"
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Doesn't know what to say.
I walk past him toward my bedroom. My hip aches where I hit the table. My ribs hurt where the knife pressed. Everything hurts.
I close the door quietly and lean against it. Slide down until I'm sitting on the floor with my knees pulled to my chest.
Please believe me, Marco. Please.
But I don't even know what I want him to believe. That I'm not betraying the family? That I'm not working with the Costellos? That I'm just trying to fix something that's been broken for years?
All of it's true. None of it matters.
Through the door, I can hear him pacing. Hear something crash—maybe a glass thrown against the wall. Then silence.
I close my eyes and rest my forehead on my knees.
Tomorrow I'll have to explain. Tomorrow I'll have to face the consequences of tonight.
But right now I just want to disappear.
CHAPTER 11
Marco
I standoutside Elena's bedroom door for a long moment. Listening to the silence on the other side. She's in there hurting—I know she is. Part of me wants to break down the door and demand answers. The other part wants to make sure she's actually okay first.
But I can't do either. Not yet.
I pace back to the living room. My hands are still shaking with adrenaline and rage. The image of Ronan's hands on her, the knife pressed to her ribs, her terrified face—it plays on loop in my head.
I grab a glass from the kitchen and pour myself three fingers of whiskey. Down it in one swallow. Then I throw the glass against the wall. It shatters with a satisfying crash but does nothing to ease the fury burning through my veins.
Elena said it's not what I think. But what the hell else am I supposed to think?
She's having secret meetings with the Irish. Not just any Irishman—fucking Ronan O'Callahan. He's ruthless and calculating. A soldier who's been working behind the scenes for years but has never been used on the front lines like this before.The fact that he's suddenly taking point meetings suggests something significant has shifted in their organization.
