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-Lilah-
There’s a knock at my bedroom door an hour later, two hours earlier than when I’m due outside for Roddy to drive me to Jerzy Girls for work. I’m cautious when I open the door, leaving the chain in place, unsure of what or who could be there, but relief fills me when Marco’s bulky body comes into sight.
“You ready?” he asks, and my brows furrow.
“I’m not going into the club until noon.”
“Yeah, I know. We gotta different stop first,” he says.
I stare through the crack in the door at the man Dante has trusted with me from the beginning.
The first person I called a friend when I started this insane mission.
The person who, last night, told me he didn’t work for Dante as I assumed. Who told me he works with him, but not for him.
With the chaos of what happened after, I almost forgot, only mentioning it in passing to Dante, but here he is now, wanting to take me from the compound hours before I leave for work, telling me we have some other stop.
My mind battles, trying to decide what the fuck to do.
It would be stupid to go with him, right?
But what if . . .
“You want answers?” he asks, and of course, he knows I do.
I came here to find answers, but I have more questions than I started with. Dante has answered so many, but with each secret revealed, another seems to pile on at the back.
So the question is, I suppose, can I trust Marco to give me answers?
Or on a larger scale, can I trust Marco at all?
I stare through the slit in the door, contemplating what I should be doing, staring at his stern face that is patiently waiting for my answer.
He’s always been that—patient with me. Kind to me.
And then, I think about how he’s called me princess since the day I met him.
How he has protected me, talked to me like an equal.
How he told me Dante was good.
And finally, I remember what he said to me last night.
You really think that family would just ignore your existence all these years?
“You work for the Russos?” I ask, the question coming out without my permission, without the assumption even fully forming in my mind. When he moves those ever-present sunglasses to his head, I know he wants me to see his dark eyes and read the sincerity there.
“Yeah, princess. Have since I was 18.” His voice is low and kind, but in his very Marco way, he doesn’t beat around the bush.
I respect that.
The honesty.
It’s rare that people look me in the eyes and tell me the truth—even Dante doesn’t always do that.
So with that, I close the door and undo the chain, going with my gut. When I open it again, he’s giving me his friendly, easy-going smile.
“So, answers?” I ask, raising my eyebrow. His smile widens, white teeth framed by smooth, dark skin.
