Alessia
Marco had already told me earlier, I was getting off my shift on time today. He had something to show me. And trust me, I had been anticipating this moment for a long time. The past few days have been… interesting.
Marco and I had gotten close, closer than I ever expected. He was careful with me, never letting his guard slip too much, but he was also intrigued. I could feel it in the way he looked at me, the way he spoke to me.
Isabella called every now and then, checking in on me, pretending to care. Or maybe she actually did, I couldn't tell yet. She kept telling me to reach out if Marco ever started "marketing" me. Whatever the hell that meant. And of course, she kept bringing up our fake engagement.
"Why would you still agree to work for him if you're his fiancée?" she had asked yesterday.
Good question. Maybe Marco was still playing games with his sister. Or maybe he was testing me. Either way, I wasn't going to lose.
Stepping out of Inferno, the evening air was cool against my skin. A black car was already waiting at the curb. Salvatore stood by the door, his sharp eyes scanning the street before nodding toward me. I slid into the back seat.
Marco was already inside, his eyes moved to mine the second I settled in. And then he smiled. A lazy, confident smile, like he knew exactly what was running through my mind.
"On time for once," Marco murmured, his voice smooth, low.
"Not much of a choice when my boss calls the shots," I said, crossing my legs.
He chuckled. "Smart girl."
The car pulled away from the club, racing through the streets of the city. I didn't ask where we were going. I already knew it wasn't his house. Fifteen minutes later, the car slowed as we approached a high, black iron gate.
Beyond it, a sprawling estate loomed, bathed in golden light. Marco's private residence. I had seen pictures. I had heard one time from Elena. But nothing really prepared me for seeing it in person.
The gates opened, and the car rolled forward, racing down a long, paved driveway. The mansion was something out of a dream. Sleek black stone, massive glass windows, modern and cold, yet undeniably powerful. Just like Marco.
"Impressive?" Marco asked, watching me.
I met his gaze. "I've seen better."
He smirked, shaking his head. "You really don't scare easy, do you?"
"You should know that by now."
His smirk widened, but there was something else in his eyes. Amusement and maybe curiosity.
Inside, the house was just as extravagant as I imagined.
Marble floors. High ceilings. Chandeliers that probably cost more than most people made in a year. Expensive, cold, lifeless.
"Let me show you something," Marco said, leading the way.
I followed him through a hallway, my heels clicking softly against the polished floors. We stopped in front of a massive door. Marco pushed it open, stepping aside to let me in first. I walked inside, and froze.
The room was lined with glass cases. Inside them? Weapons. Guns. Knives. Artifacts. Some old, some new. Some that looked like they belonged in a goddamn museum.
Marco leaned against the doorframe, watching me. "I collect things."
I turned, raising an eyebrow. "Murder weapons?"
He laughed. "Power, Leona. That's what I collect."
I ran my fingers along the edge of one of the cases. "Must be exhausting."
He stepped closer, his presence pressing against me.
"You get used to it," he murmured.
I glanced at him. "Or you lose yourself in it."
Marco tilted his head. "Are you afraid of losing yourself, Leona ?"
I shrugged. "I'm afraid of a lot of things."
He smiled, but his eyes darkened. "Good."
A beat of silence. Then he stepped back, gesturing for me to follow him out. There was something about the way he moved, the way he carried himself, like he knew he's always in control, always one step ahead. But I had learned something about men like Marco. They never really saw the knife coming until it was already at their throat.
We ended up in his lounge, a private room filled with plush leather seating, dim lighting, and a fully stocked bar. He poured two drinks, handing me one.
"To what?" I asked, lifting an eyebrow.
Marco studied me for a second, then smirked. "Loyalty."
I sipped, letting the whiskey burn down my throat.
"Loyalty," I repeated. "Funny thing, isn't it?"
Marco leaned back against the bar, swirling the liquid in his glass. "It's everything in this world."
"Some would argue power is everything."
"Loyalty is power," he said simply.
I held his gaze. "And what happens when someone betrays yours?"
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Then they don't live long enough to regret it."
The words sent a slow chill down my spine. Was that a warning? Did he suspect me? I had been careful. I had played my part well. Maybe I shouldn't have said that. So I smiled, raising my glass.
"Good thing I have nothing to worry about, then."
Marco watched me for a moment, his gaze sharp, assessing. Then he clinked his glass against mine.
"Good thing," he murmured.
But something told me he wasn't convinced. And neither was I.