Chapter 017
1103 Words
HARRIET'S POV
I woke up to sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows and the sound of Marco on the phone. He stood by the window in just his pants, all lean muscle and dangerous grace as he spoke rapid Spanish into his cell.
Last night felt like a dream. The kind that leaves you breathless and aching when you wake up. Except the aching was real, and so was the silk sheet wrapped around me.
"—entiendo. Manténganme informado." Marco ended the call, turning to find me watching him. Something softened in his face. "Sleep well?"
"What time is it?"
"Almost noon."
I sat up fast, clutching the sheet. "Noon? I was supposed to open the café!"
"Relax." He sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to tuck my hair behind my ear. "James handled it."
Right. Because Marco owned the place. Because he owned everything, including, apparently, me.
The thought should have made me angry. Instead, it sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the air conditioning.
"That was about Martinez, wasn't it?" I asked, nodding toward his phone. "The call?"
His hand stilled against my cheek. "You understand Spanish."
"Some. My mom was Mexican." I caught his wrist before he could pull away. "Don't shut me out. Not now."
He studied me for a long moment. "His people crossed into our territory last night. They're getting bolder."
"Because of Lady One? Because of what she told them?"
"Partly." He traced my collarbone with his free hand, making it hard to concentrate. "Martinez has always wanted Vegas. What Lady One told him just gave him an excuse."
"What did she tell him?"
Marco's eyes darkened. "Everything. About my operations, my weaknesses." His hand slid lower. "About you."
"Me?" I tried to focus as his fingers drew patterns on my skin. "What about me?"
"That you're important to me. That hurting you would hurt me." His voice turned dangerous. "That you're how he can finally get his revenge."
A chill ran through me despite the heat of his touch. "Like he did with Sylvia."
"You're not Sylvia." His grip tightened possessively. "And I'm not the same man I was then. Martinez won't get near you."
"Because you own me?"
"Because I—" He stopped, jaw clenching.
"Because you what?"
Instead of answering, he kissed me. Hard and deep, like he was trying to brand me from the inside out. I melted into it, my body remembering last night, wanting more.
When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard.
"Get dressed," he said roughly. "We need to talk business."
I blinked, still dazed. "Business?"
He stood, grabbing a shirt from a nearby chair. "You're involved now, whether you want to be or not. Time you understood exactly what that means."
Twenty minutes later, I sat in his study wearing borrowed clothes – designer jeans and a silk blouse that probably cost more than my old monthly salary. Marco had changed into one of his perfect suits, all traces of the passionate man from earlier hidden behind his Don facade.
"Martinez controls most of Mexico's west coast," he explained, spreading a map across his desk. "Drugs, weapons, human trafficking – the worst of everything."
My stomach turned. "And you?"
"I keep that filth out of Vegas." His voice was hard. "My business is legitimate – mostly. Casinos, real estate, imports. The occasional protection racket."
"And The Golden Spoon?"
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Money laundering. Very profitable with the right clientele."
"Jesus." I rubbed my temples. "So I've been serving cappuccinos to criminals."
"You've been serving cappuccinos to businessmen who prefer to keep their transactions private." He sat on the edge of his desk near me. "There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yes." He caught my chin, making me look at him. "Just like there's a difference between Martinez and me. Between what he does and what I do."
I wanted to argue, but I remembered the photos Sierra showed me. The cold violence in Martinez's eyes, the way his men looked at women. Whatever Marco was, he wasn't that.
"So what happens now?"
"Now?" He traced my lower lip with his thumb. "Now you stop pretending you can walk away from this. From me."
"I'm not pretending anything."
"No?" His eyes held mine. "Then say it. Say you're mine."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "Marco..."
"Say it, Harriet." His voice dropped lower, sending shivers through me. "Admit what we both know."
"I—"
A knock at the door cut me off. Edward burst in without waiting for permission, his usually calm face tight with worry.
"Sir, we have a problem." He glanced at me. "Lady One made contact."
Marco straightened, all softness vanishing. "When?"
"Ten minutes ago. She wants to meet." Edward hesitated. "She says she has proof that Martinez plans to move on the casinos tonight. All of them."
"It's a trap," I said immediately.
"Obviously." Marco was already moving, grabbing his phone. "But we can't ignore it. If he hits all the casinos at once..."
"You'll lose everything," I finished.
He shot me a look that made my breath catch. "Not everything."
Edward cleared his throat. "Sir, she wants to meet at The Golden Spoon. In an hour."
"No." I stood up. "Marco, don't."
"Call everyone in," he told Edward, ignoring my protest. "I want full security at every casino. And get Sierra somewhere safe."
"What about Miss Blackwood?"
Marco turned to me, his expression unreadable. "She stays here."
"Like hell I do." I stepped closer to him. "It's my café too, remember? I work there."
"Not today."
"Marco—"
"I said no." His voice could have frozen fire. "You're staying here, under guard. That's not a request."
Before I could argue more, he strode out, Edward right behind him. The door locked with a final-sounding click.
I stared at it, fury and fear mixing in my chest. He thought he could just lock me away like some princess in a tower? After everything he'd just told me about Martinez and Lady One?
My phone sat on the desk where I'd left it earlier. Next to it was Marco's laptop, still logged in to the café's security system.
A plan started forming in my mind. A stupid, dangerous plan that would probably get me killed – or worse, prove Marco right about needing to protect me.
But I wasn't some helpless possession to be locked away. And if Marco thought he could keep me out of this, he was about to learn exactly how wrong he was.
- Writer
