Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

DARIO

“ K eep looking for Vincenzo,” I snap at the phone as I drive through the city, returning to the townhouse after a long day of work.

“We are,” Paolo replies. “The little rat might’ve fled the city.”

“Maybe, or he’s regrouping and getting ready for another stunt. Any news about the aunt’s place?”

“We’ve got around-the-clock security. Our men say the aunt isn’t too pleased about it. She has a real distaste for us Mafia types.”

Like aunt, like niece. “As long as she’s safe.”

When I get home, I wonder if it’s worth checking in on Elena again. She hasn’t even replied whenever I’ve knocked on her door these past three days. I wonder if it’s what she saw me do to that kidnapping lowlife. Perhaps it’s how eager I was to indulge in her body or a mixture of both. It might be everything else that’s constantly weighing down on us.

I walk through the house to her bedroom. The door’s open. That’s different. As I poke my head inside, panic grips me when I don’t see her. Where the hell is she?

“Elena,” I snap, rushing to the en-suite bathroom. “Elena!”

She’s not here, either. I raise my voice, my throat tight, devastation slamming into me. There’s no damn way I’m going to get lucky twice. We could only save her because we found that farmhouse. He won’t make the same mistake again. He’s going to hurt her.

Then I hear it through the open window—Elena’s laughter.

I rush to the glass and stare down in awe at my mother and Elena sitting on the back porch. My mother says something, and Elena laughs again. It’s a quiet laugh, though not carefree. It’s still sweeter than any sound I expected to hear from her after the chaos she’s experienced.

Heading downstairs, I join them on the porch. Elena has showered and changed into a loose-fitting dress, her hair wavy around her shoulders. Her smile falters when she sees me, but she doesn’t look away. Her eyes still hold some confusion and fear, but maybe not as much. Or perhaps that’s just my hope talking.

“I thought something had happened to you,” I whisper.

“I’m okay,” she murmurs. “Maria persuaded me to get some sun. I think it helped.”

“Yeah. You look better.”

Her lip twitches, eyes gleaming briefly. I almost think she’s going to sass me like she did before the kidnapping. But the experience has taken something from her, at least for now. “Maria told me how you used to play soldier and how seriously you took it.”

My mother’s smile is full and bright. I feel like I’ve walked into a different house. The atmosphere over the last three days has changed. The depression, a weightiness that reminds me of how much things have changed between Elena and me, seems to have dissipated. Not entirely, but enough to give me a jolt of foolish optimism.

“He’d march up and down like a little soldier,” Mother says. “If we didn’t play our roles correctly, he’d be quite angry, wouldn’t you, Dario?”

I join them at the table, letting a fond smirk cover my face. When my leg brushes against Elena’s, and she doesn’t move away, I count it as a small, petty victory.

“I was a little tyrant,” I say, risking a laugh. “Wanting everyone to play my silly games with me. I won’t deny that, Mother.”

“Now you’re a big tyrant,” my mother says, and we all laugh.

“Your laughter is the most beautiful sound in the world,” I say, turning to Elena.

She bites down, her cheeks infusing with that tempting redness. Still, she’s holding something back or reliving what happened in real time. Yet she’s trying, and I’m so damn grateful for that.

“My son, the romantic,” my mother says lovingly.

“I’m right, though,” I say. “I’m tempted to ask you to let me record your laughter, Elena, so I can listen to it when I’m down.”

Her smile feels like a hard-fought victory. I caution myself against getting too hopeful.

Elena glances at my mother. “Should we tell him?”

“I think we should.”

“Tell me what?” I ask.

Mother says, “I know you hired Elena for a fake marriage, but don’t worry. I can see something real here, and Dario, there’s something else. Something I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

I lean back, reeling from the news my mother has just shared with me. “I thought it was an arranged marriage. I thought you married for an alliance.”

“That was the story we invented. Over time, those who knew the truth learned to keep their mouths shut.”

“I suppose my father helped with that.”

“Yes, of course,” Mother says, nodding, “but you need to know the truth. You need to know there’s hope for the two of you.”

I want to believe it’s true so badly, but Elena’s expression is doubtful. She doesn’t know how to feel about it.

“Father would exile me from the Family if he learned who Elena actually was. He would never approve of this. Even if his relationship started under similar circumstances, we both know it’s true, Mother.”

She sighs. “There’s a possibility you’re right.”

“You just said there’s hope for us,” I growl.

“I just said there’s a possibility you’re right. Possibility means there’s a chance that the opposite could be true.”

“So, what do you suggest?”

“That depends.” My mother looks at me seriously. It brings me back to the days before I fully comprehended what I was—the weight that would rest on my shoulders. “Do you want to change your deal? Do you want to make this marriage the real thing, or is it still going to be …” she hesitates, “… an act ?”

She could’ve used the word scam , but she’s being nice.

I look at Elena. She lowers her gaze, staring at the table while biting her lip. I wonder if she knows how beautiful she is when she does that. However, that’s not saying anything because she’s always so damn gorgeous.

“It’s more than an act,” I murmur.

“But a wedding is a big step,” Elena mutters.

“We haven’t known each other very long,” I agree, though, somehow, the words feel false and wrong—almost like a betrayal, which is complete insanity. “If you’re asking if there’s something real here …” I take a risk, reaching across the table and gently laying my hand on Elena’s. When she doesn’t cringe away, I consider it another victory.

After a pause, she turns to my mother. “Maria, can we maybe answer that question later? This is the first time I’ve even left my bedroom in days. It all feels like too much. I don’t know. I’m not explaining it very well.”

My mother nods. “I won’t pester you for now,” she says. “I understand how difficult this must be, but soon, Salvatore’s deal will be complete. He’ll pay more attention to matters like these. You can’t hide forever.”

“I get that,” Elena says, turning her hand so that she can grasp onto me. A thrill shimmers through me at the action.

Maybe my mother can sense it because she stands. “I’m going to leave you two lovebirds to it,” she says.

“Thank you, Mother,” I say, “for understanding and not hating me.” I stand and hug her. “I never thought I’d want to be with anybody.”

“Why?” Mother asks, and I realize it’s the first time she’s ever outright asked this.

“Our life is too dark. I’m too dark, and I’ve never felt a thing for anyone. I never imagined I could. Until …” I look at Elena, at her radiant flushed cheeks, the way she bites down as if the weight of my gaze is still too heavy for her. “Until you, Elena. Shall we have something to eat? A date—an actual date?”

“Where?” she asks nervously.

“Wherever you want,” I tell her. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Mother says goodbye, and then I sit beside Elena and wrap my arm around her. For a moment, she cringes, and I think she’s going to tell me to move, tell me I’m pushing her too fast. Instead, she sinks against me.

“How can you scare me and still make me feel warm and safe?”

“I don’t want to scare you,” I whisper.

“I know.”

There’s a long pause, and I’m unsure what else to say or what words I can mash together to make this right. Perhaps I should accept that it will never be as simple as that.

“We can have a date,” she goes on. “Just give me a couple of hours to get ready and straighten my head.”

“Why don’t I book a restaurant for us, just me and you, nobody else? I’ll make it a secure, safe location, with my most trusted men keeping watch. Nobody will be able to touch you.” My voice grows husky as I lean in close for a kiss. “Elena, nobody’s ever going to touch you again. Just me.”

At the last moment, she turns away, meaning my lips connect with her cheek instead of her mouth. She moans as I kiss her cheek, then down toward her neck. I’m getting carried away again.

“Stop,” she says.

Without hesitation, I let her go and move away from her. I have to lean back in my chair and put my hands in my lap. Being close to her after three days is enough to get my blood pumping hotly, my insistent thickness throbbing.

“I’ll make arrangements,” I say, standing.