The meeting takes place in the observatory. The discussion is productive but frustrating—the Commission has no new intelligence about the Irish. We're essentially conducting this investigation alone.
When we join the family for dinner, I notice Elena has strategically seated herself next to Sofia, as far from me as possible. Throughout the meal, she doesn't look at me once. Just laughs with Sofia and Rina, genuinely enjoying herself.
I should be glad she's relaxed. Instead, it pisses me off.
After dinner, everyone moves to the grand salon for drinks. I'm making small talk with one of the Commission heads when I notice Elena slip away down the hallway.
I give it a few minutes before following. When I reach the guest rooms, I find her in one of them, sitting on the bed with her head in her hands.
I knock softly before entering. She jolts upright, pressing her hand to her chest.
"Jesus, you scared me." The anger returns quickly. "Can't you leave me alone for five seconds?"
I close the door behind me, ensuring privacy. "No, I can't. It's my job, remember?"
The words taste bitter.
"Right. Your job." She stands and walks to the window. "Because that's all I am to you."
I follow her, and for a moment we just stand there. The tension between us is suffocating.
She turns to face me, determination in her eyes. "What are we doing, Marco?"
"What do you mean?"
"This." She gestures between us. "The hot and cold. The touching and not touching. The wanting and walking away. What are we doing?"
I run a hand through my hair. "I don't know."
"That's not good enough." Her voice cracks slightly. "I need to know if you actually want me or if I'm just some... some momentary lapse in judgment you keep regretting."
"I don't regret it," I tell her honestly. "Any of it."
"Then why do you keep walking away?"
"Because you're lying to me, Elena. Because you're in danger and you won't tell me why. Because Vito specifically told me to keep things professional and you're his wife's cousin. Because you're sixteen years younger than me and this is complicated in about a dozen different ways."
"I'm twenty-three years old, Marco. I can make my own decisions."
"Can you? Because from where I'm standing, you're making a lot of bad ones."
She flinches like I've slapped her. "Fuck you."
"I'm trying to protect you?—"
"I don't need your protection! I need..." She stops, takes a breath. "I need you to be honest with me. Do you want me? Yes or no."
The question hangs between us.
"Yes," I admit. "I want you. More than I should. More than is smart or safe or professional."
"Then why?—"
"Because wanting you and being able to have you are two different things. You're keeping secrets. You're in danger. And I can't—I won't—cross that line until I know you trust me enough to tell me the truth."
She stares at me for a long moment. "The truth is I'm scared. The truth is I don't know who to trust anymore. The truth is my father has fucked up my life so badly I don't know how to fix it."
"Then let me help you."
