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The scrawl on the front is familiar—Enzo.
Opening it quickly, I pull out a little note which has his handwriting over both sides of the page.
Work is busy. I don't owe you anything, not an explanation, but I find myself needing to leave this. My mind has been swamped with memories. I don't like it. I'm not a man who allows emotion into his world because it can be fatal, but you, little dancer, have pranced your way into my ordered life and sent it into a fucking whirlwind.
When I arrive home tonight, I expect you to be at the dining table waiting for me. There is no debate. You will wear black. Your hair will be loose, straightened down your back. And you will not be wearing any underwear. It is time I claimed my soon-to-be wife.
It's not signed.
I shove the small note back into its envelope and close it, setting it on the nightstand as I try to forget his words. The other night seems to have meant nothing because he doesn't want to allow me in. Emotion and I come hand in hand. I never once expected the man to love me, especially when he's been forced to marry me, but he doesn't even consider me a partner.
Taking his last name is the only thing that's left to do, but I have a feeling even though I will be addressed as a De Rossi, my blood will always be Cavallone. I quickly get ready for dance classes, and rush into the kitchen to grab some fruit and a coffee.
But the moment I step foot in my studio, I find Mario settled at a small table, his focus on a laptop and the music gently playing a rendition of 'Monster' by Meg Myers. He doesn't look up when I walk in.
"Hello," I greet, causing him to snap those silver eyes on me. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. It's just... I'm about to have a class." I make my way closer, hoping to not seem like an annoyance if he's working.
"I know." He nods before turning his attention back to the screen.
My brow furrows. "But you can't be in here."
"I can be wherever Boss wants me," he tells me without looking up which rattles me. Boss. Of course, Enzo has his best friend watching me.
"I can take care of myself, it's only a freaking dance class." My voice drips with frustration as I head to the stereo to turn it off. The room is suddenly filled with a heavy silence that makes me nervous.
He types away at his laptop, and I'm convinced he's ignoring me but when I turn to do my stretches, his voice echoes off the walls. "There are threats anywhere," Mario says. "I am here not only to watch you and ensure you're not killed, or maimed in any way, but to also be there for the man who's been my best friend all my life."
I glance at him from over my shoulder. "But I'm nothing to him. I'm a contract. If I were to be killed, he'd be free."
This time, Mario pushes to his full six-foot-five height and stalks toward me as if he's about to strangle me himself. "If you don't realize by now just how much Enzo cares for you, then you're either blind, stupid, or both." The frustration in his voice, etched on his face is clear. He is practically vibrating with rage, but he doesn't once touch me. I wonder briefly if it's an order that comes from above, if Enzo told him he's not allowed to lay a hand on me.
I tip my head back in defiance, my hands landing on my hips. "He has never once let me in. He has never once told me—"
"If you think Enzo de Rossi is going to proclaim his undying love for you, then you'll die before you hear it. The man has built up his walls so high, not many can scale them. But once you've burrowed yourself into his life, there's no going back."
"Are you trying to say your Boss has a crush on me?" I laugh out loud. The disbelief is clear in my tone. "Because all he's ever done is make me come on his fingers, and even then, he put me to bed, and I haven't seen him in two days."
Just then, the door to the studio slams against the wall, sending a trickle of ice down my spine. He doesn't move. He doesn't speak. Mario straightens, his eyes focused above my head, which is easy since I'm so much shorter than him. But there's no mistaking who is at the door.
"Go down to the car and make sure it's ready," his order comes quickly, but still filled with the violence I've come to expect from Enzo. Mario moves without question, and soon, it's only me and my fiancé.
