The bullet that killed Mr. Bobby was intentional, only it hit the wrong person. I mean, deep down, I know this. I know it should be me in the morgue, but to have it confirmed like this sends a lump to my throat.
“Is this from the shooter?” His voice is so deep it’s sending vibrations throughout my entire body.
I nod. Unable to speak through the blockage in my throat.
“Okay. I’ll deal with it.”
Just like that, I can breathe again, because this asshole can fix fuck all.
“What are you going to do? Put a hit out on him? We need to tell the police.”
He raises that fucking brow at me again, as if to say, yeah, and what are you going to do about it?
“Seriously, Marco? Don’t be ridiculous, this isn’t the Godfather.”
“I protect what’s mine, Dolcezza. And for the next three to four months, that includes you.”
Rolling my eyes, I lean back on the bed. “I am fake-yours.”
He moves so fast, I almost slip backward, then he’s in my face, his mouth at my earlobe. Taking it between his teeth, he bites down hard, making me squeal and pull away. Then he growls, deep and low before letting go and speaking.
“Get dressed, Dolcezza. I’ll be back in five minutes.”
And he’s gone again. This dude’s giving me whiplash.
I sigh, resigned to my current fate. I agreed to this, and I won’t fail.
I don’t fail.
CHAPTER EIGHT
RIVER
I don’t know how he did it.
Whether he used charm or force. Whether he lied or used loopholes. I suppose it doesn’t really matter since the end result is the same. Marco had a cot brought in and pretended to sleep in the room with me.
I say pretended because anytime I moved, his eyes would pop open and, for a split second, I could see the worry etched on his features. It’s like he cares or something. Why would he be such an asshole if that were the case?
To top it all off, two of his goons were parked outside my door like twin versions of Cerberus guarding the gates of Hell. Marco being Hades, of course.
As I open my eyes this morning, I turn to my side and briefly watch my long-term client before he realizes I’m awake. I didn’t sleep much since the nurses were coming in and out at regular intervals to check on my concussion and to make sure I didn’t fall into a coma—I think.
He’s lying on his back, his suit jacket neatly folded over the hospital chair facing my bed and his shoes are under the chair like two good little soldiers. As my eyes travel down the length of his body, it occurs to me that his clothes aren’t even wrinkled. How is that possible? Maybe he really is the mastermind of evil, able to subdue his wardrobe into doing his bidding.
I snort but am unable to keep the noise down, causing Marco to stir.
Taking this rare moment of peace and quiet, I reach over for my phone and check for any new messages or notifications. Three letters catch my attention. CAG.
Nathaniel tried to reach me, no doubt having heard about the shooting since it’s all over the local news. He and Mr. Bobby had a bit of a man-bond going on; I can only guess he’s grieving our loss as well.
It’s the first time I’ve heard from him since he gave me the ultimatum, after my many attempts to speak to him. Except, this time, I’m the one ghosting him, simply because I have no idea what to tell him. How do I even explain my life right now?
“Sorry, Nathaniel. I know we had a connection but I’ve decided to marry some guy I barely know?” Yeah, that’s not going to go over very well.
So, just like any other normal person, I procrastinate.
As if he knows exactly where I am at all times, Marco’s head turns to the side and his piercing eyes find me immediately.