Chapter Twelve

Ican hear Marco moving around in the living room. It's been a couple of hours already, and my arm has gone numb.

I know I fell asleep after hearing him sleeping in the other room, but I've been awake for at least an hour.

I heard him coming back into the house, although where he went, I have no idea.

I'm so confused again by the way his mood changed so suddenly this morning.

How he could come in, ravish my body, and then go crazy in the morning and accuse me of trying to trick him?

I'd love to hear about what he thinks I can actually do to trick him.

I will admit that I had thought I would win him over and sneak out when I first got here, but I have since realized that is not possible.

I might still be able to make him like me enough to ensure myself some safety, but that is all I can hope for in this situation.

I thought he was going to leave me here, go back to his house and wait for my brothers to finally arrive.

Hearing him fall back to sleep in the next room shocked me, but it also gave me hope.

If I can reason with him, maybe I can get him to at least undo these handcuffs.

"Marco?" I call out to him, risking another outburst, but needing him to help me. I hear his heavy footsteps walking down the hallway.

"What?" he barks at me. Clearly, his mood has not improved.

I want to make a joke about him waking up on the wrong side of the bed, but I'd rather not antagonize him.

"Could I please get a glass of water?"

He doesn't answer me, but he walks away, and I hear the fridge opening.

He brings me back a bottle of water and opens it for me.

"Thank you." I gulp it down.

My throat is so dry that the one bottle isn't really enough, but I don't want to ask him for more right now.

"Are you ready to tell me the truth now?"

"I have told you the truth, Marco. You can keep me locked to this bed, hurt me, kill me if you must, but I didn't try to trick you. You had a lot of tequila last night, I think that maybe you just had too much. Maybe it's making your paranoid today."

"So, you're saying I can't handle my alcohol?" He is yelling now, and I can't stop myself from flinching.

"And Luca and Enzo think I can't tell time. All of you Baldinis are infuriating."

"They're being cautious, most likely to ensure everything goes smoothly. There are always other stakeholders to think about." I ignore his insult. He didn't think I was infuriating last night.

"Your brothers and their damn caution! They"re jeopardizing everything, and I"m sick of waiting around for them to make a decision."

"Marco, they"re just trying to be careful. It"s a significant deal…"

"I don"t give a damn about their caution! They"re dragging their feet, and I can"t afford to wait any longer!" he cuts me off, his impatience spilling over.

"And Carlos," I can see him seething now. "My own cousin, refusing to share the spoils. Family should mean something, but all he cares about is himself."

"Family should mean everything."

I change my tactic and agree with him, which seems to work almost immediately because his demeanor changes, and he sits down on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry that you feel like everyone is against you. I can understand that more than you know," I admit.

I look down at the bedspread and sigh. I can feel tears prickling in my eyes, and it makes me annoyed with myself. Haven't I already cried enough over the past week?

"I actually thought we had a good night last night, and it sort of hurts that you don't agree."

I think about how amazing it was that he listened to me and that he let me set the pace while we had sex.

Seeing him so angry because he was vulnerable might be understandable to me in one sense, but it hurts my heart more than he can ever know.

He"s quiet now, staring out of the glass door, so I take the chance to speak to him and hope that my words can penetrate his brain and make him trust me somehow.

"You're a smart man, Marco, and you deserve all of the power you're asking for. I don't doubt you'll get it, too. My brothers won't ignore that video you sent them. They will arrange things and you'll have your own business to finally control. And Carlos will wish that he had seen your potential before this all happened. Because you'll be making so much more money than he is."

He nods, listening to me, and I imagine he's seeing this future play out in his head.

I know now that he's a daydreamer. Underneath the logistic planning he does, there is a whole lot of hope and optimism.

I watch Marco, the frustration on his face revealing deeper wounds.

He takes a deep breath before speaking, his eyes distant, as if he is revisiting a painful past.

"I guess you probably do understand," he begins, his voice carrying the weight of memories.

"I was a lonely kid. I lost my parents early on, and no one was there to pick up the pieces. I had to learn to be tough, to make things happen on my own. My cousins…they taught me how to survive in this world. Trusting them was my way of creating a sense of belonging. But then Carlos... I trusted him, believed he had my back. But he screwed me over, Grazia. Family or not, he left me hanging when I needed him the most."

I reach out with my free hand and softly touch his arm.

He continues, "This deal with your family, it"s my last chance to make a legacy, to start my own family business. It"s not just about the money; it"s about creating something that lasts, something I can pass down."

I can hear the pain in his voice and see the desperation so evident in his eyes.

"I need this deal to work, Grazia. It"s my shot at a future and a chance to build something real."

"I want that for you, too," I say to him, my voice as genuine as it can be.

I mean what I'm saying. I don't think my family will suffer much by giving the routes to Marco, and I can see that he needs this.

He looks at me and seems to decide that he believes what I'm saying.

He gets up and walks over to the dresser again, picking up the keys for the handcuffs to let me free.

I rub my wrist and massage the blood back into my arm.

"I guess it never occurred to me how much danger there is in trusting the women around you," I say softly.

"What?" he says, sounding like he's suddenly paying attention again.

I shrug. "We don't really know what's going on, but we are easy to use as pawns in the bigger games you are all playing. Loving someone must make you incredibly vulnerable in your line of work."

He looks down at his hands. "You aren't wrong about that."

I sigh and lean back against the headboard.

I pull the covers up over my naked body. I wonder what my brothers think about that video Marco sent them with my tits on full display. I sigh.

"I always wanted to be loved," I whisper, my voice breaking a little on the last word.

"Doesn't your family love you?" he asks me. He sounds like he's actually curious.

I smile a little, but the expression is more like a grimace. "My Nonna did," I say.

"I'm sorry she passed away," he says back to me. He sounds sincere, and I let a tear slide down my cheek.

So much for not crying again. I feel like my heart is full of wounds that just won't heal.

"Dinner?" he asks, and I just nod.

There's such a fine line of trust happening right now. I don't want to disrupt it with my words.

I watch Marco leave the room, and look down at my naked body.

I hate being reduced to a sexy figure and a willing pussy.

I feel disgusted with everything about my current situation, but I'm also cautiously hopeful that Marco is coming around.

I slide out of bed, and find some clothes to put on. I shake my long hair back and lift it up into a dark brown messy bun on top of my head.

It smells like Marco's aftershave, and I smile a little in spite of myself.

If we were really a couple, I would get him more of this scent. I really like it.

I go into the kitchen, and I sit on the counter and watch as he moves skilfully around, taking some steak out of the fridge, adding vegetables to the pan, and pouring us each a glass of wine.

I'm not sure that alcohol is a good idea right now, but I don't interrupt him to refuse my glass.

"Tell me about what you want from life," he says, looking up from the pan he's cooking with.

"Oh," I say. I'm surprised by his words. Maybe he's taking pity on me since I was visibly sad earlier.

"Well, I love sketching, and I'd like to go to art school, maybe. I've also always wanted to travel before I settle down and have a few kids. Maybe I can raise them by the sea."

I say the last part while staring out at the ocean.

It's not something I had thought of before, but being so close to the water for this long has deepened my love of the sea air and sounds.

Marco clears his throat and continues cooking. He doesn't answer me.

When he's done, we take the food into the dining room and eat at the table, opposite each other.

The conversation is easier than it was in the bedroom.

We speak about the places we've each traveled to, what our favorite kinds of places are, and where we'd love to go next.

This feels a lot more like it did the first night I met Marco, way before he had even thought of kidnapping me.

He still seems a bit wary, though, and I notice he barely touches his wine tonight.

I also don't drink much, feeling sick from this morning's events and just needing some calmness to relax my nervous system.

When dinner is done, Marco asks if I want to sit in the living room, but this time he opens up the big glass doors so that the evening air can flood the room.

This seems to be an act of trust because he doesn't look worried that I'm going to run out of the doors.

Although I did notice that he brought his gun into the living room with us, so maybe that is what makes him feel so secure, sitting here with the doors wide open.

He sits on the single chair, and I curl up with my legs underneath me on the big couch.

We continue talking, there seems to be so much that he needs to get off his chest.

I ask him to tell me about his childhood. He looks hesitant at first but then takes a deep breath.

"Carlos and I, we grew up together," he begins, a nostalgic smile playing over his lips.

"Back then, everything was different. We had each other's backs, and we shared dreams of a future where we could make our mark."

I nod, listening intently as he delves into the past.

"We used to sneak out of the house at night, exploring the neighborhood, dreaming big. Carlos was the daring one, always pushing the boundaries. I was more reserved, trying to balance his impulsiveness."

He chuckles, a mix of fondness and regret in his voice. "There were tough times, but we got through them together. I could always count on Carlos, and he knew I had his back too."

"You still had his back as an adult, though," I say to him. He nods.

"Yeah, it's him who got distracted by the good life and left me behind."

"What do you remember about your parents?" I ask, not sure if this is digging too deep, but there's a feeling in my gut that this is the time to get him to open up about older wounds.

He begins talking almost immediately. I assume that's because, as an orphan, you always want to talk about your parents, you just need to find someone who will listen.

"They were good people, hardworking and determined. We were well-off, since my father worked with Carlos' parents, but they made sure that we lived a simple life, never too fancy. We were never too busy to spend time together. My dad, he had this knack for telling stories. He used to spin these tales about our family"s roots, the struggles they faced, and how we were meant for something greater. My mom was the heart of our home. Always there with a comforting word or a warm meal, even when times were tough. They were my foundation, Grazia. The constant in a world that could be uncertain. But then, life took an unexpected turn, and they were gone. It happened so suddenly. A car accident, and just like that, they were taken away from me. I was left alone, navigating a world that suddenly felt so much colder."

I let him continue uninterrupted.

His anger from earlier now seemed to be completely gone, and he had even finished half of his glass of wine.

When he had been quiet for a while, I return the trust and start to tell him stories about my own parents.

We laugh, and I end up crying, but the whole night is spent sharing stories.

I can feel Marco letting his guard down again, and I'm careful not to do or say anything that might cause him any concern again.

This emotional rollercoaster has exhausted me, but I prefer it when I have a little bit of control over the situation.

It's past midnight when he looks at the time and decides he needs to leave.

I nod and yawn, eager for bed anyway.

A part of me is holding my breath in case he wants to handcuff me again while he's gone.

He doesn't, though, and as he's leaving the house he stoops down and kisses me quickly.

"Thank you for listening, but don't try anything stupid while I'm gone."

My heart sinks. He still doesn't really trust me.

I wonder if he ever will, or if the fact that I am a Baldini means that I will forever be the enemy in his eyes.