"Just let me go," she whispers.
"I can't."
"Why not?"
Because the thought of her out there with Ronan or whoever else she's meeting makes me want to burn down half the city. Because I can't sleep when she's not safe in her room. Because somewhere along the way this stopped being about Vito's orders and started being about her.
But I can't say any of that.
"Because it's my job," I tell her.
Something shutters in her expression. "Right. Your job."
She steps back. Wraps her arms around herself. "Fine. You win. I'm not going anywhere."
She turns and walks toward her bedroom. No fight left. Just defeat.
"Elena—"
"Goodnight, Marco."
The door closes. This time it does slam. Hard enough to rattle the frame.
I stand there in the dark living room, my phone in my hand. I should text Tony. Tell him to watch the fire escape. Make sure she doesn't try to sneak out another way.
Instead I just stare at her closed door.
This bipolar game is exhausting. One minute we're laughing over dinner like actual friends. The next we're at each other's throats because neither of us can be honest about what's really happening here.
I grab my phone and text Tony: Keep an eye on her fire escape. She's too stubborn to give up this easily.
His response comes immediately: Yes, boss.
I lie down on the couch. Close my eyes. Try not to think about the look on her face when I said it was just my job.
Or about the fact that it was never just my job, but I'm too much of a coward to admit it.
CHAPTER 14
Elena
I wakeup still fuming about last night. Marcello finally contacted me, and I had everything planned out perfectly, only to be thwarted by my six-foot-five behemoth of a babysitter. Marco still thinks I'm some helpless child who needs constant supervision.
Yes, I'm still shaken after my meeting with Ronan—I'm not stupid. But I'm also a grown woman who needs to clean up this mess before it gets worse. I thought we'd moved past the babysitter phase and into something more like bodyguard and protector territory. Apparently not.
I need girl time desperately, which is why Rina, Sofia, and Gianna are coming out with me tonight. Of course, we're limited to Vito-approved venues when he's not around, so we're hitting Beehive Nightclub. I'm not complaining—at least it's a night out, and his club is actually amazing.
I've been giving Marco the silent treatment all day. While he worked out in the living room, I cleaned and watered my plants on the opposite side of the apartment. I made lunch and ate in my room, then took a nap to kill time. Now I'm getting ready, and anticipation buzzes through me like electricity.
Marco already announced he'll be joining us tonight. No discussion, no negotiation—just a flat declaration that made my jaw clench. There's no point arguing when he probably has Vito backing him up. So much for privacy with my girls.
I step out of my room and head to the living room, not seeing Marco anywhere. He must be in the hallway bathroom. I catch my reflection in the full-length mirror by the front door and pause to admire my work. The black dress fits like a second skin—knee-length, corset-style bodice with delicate spaghetti straps that show off my shoulders. I've swept my hair into a messy bun with soft tendrils framing my face, and I'm wearing my favorite black flats because comfort trumps everything when you're planning to dance.
I hear the bathroom door open and see Marco emerge in my peripheral vision. I'm still facing the mirror, so I watch him walk down the hallway behind me. His eyes travel over my reflection slowly, appreciatively, and when his gaze meets mine in the mirror, heat flickers between us for just a moment.
Then I remember I'm supposed to be angry with him.
I turn and walk toward the door without a word. I don't need to see the want in his eyes when his actions tell a completely different story. He wants me, sure, but he also hates when I don't follow his precious rules. Well, here's a newsflash—when have I ever willingly obeyed anyone's rules?
