Page 50 of Crimson Vows

I hated going to Vincent’s home. Even though he was on the other side of the world, his fortress oozed his essence. As much as I loathe being there, I want to spend more time with Marco. “Want me to bring you lunch?” I offer.

He studies me for a moment. “Really?” He knows how I feel about being in that place. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough the last time I went to see Marco.

I assure him the offer is genuine.

“Don’t go getting a big head or anything, but I miss you. I’d love to have a little more time with you.” I smile at him.

“I’d love that,” he answers before suggesting a time and leaving.

As I wait for the time to approach, I receive word from two soldiers that multiple vehicles matching the requests on the list have been located. Despite the dangers that are always present in our lives, it’s starting to feel like trusting in Marco was the right decision. He has given me authority over my father’s team, and I will always be grateful to him for that.

After finishing up a few details at the auto body shop, I leave and make my way to the deli a few blocks away from the King’s penthouse. The bell above the door announces my arrival. The scent of fresh bread and herbs swirls around me, a comforting embrace.

“Hey, Gia!” the owner, Tony, calls out from behind the counter. “The usual?”

My stomach sinks when he makes the offer. The usual included the sandwich that I used to pick up for my father. “Hi, Tony,” I greet him in response, trying to keep my voice from cracking. “Actually, can I get two of the turkey gobblers today?”

“Coming right up.” He gets to work slicing, layering, and wrapping with practiced ease.

I text Marco that I’ll be there soon, but he doesn’t respond. I’m sure he’s hard at work as the leader this family desperately needs. I wish he could see what Nico, Dante, and I see when we look at him. Marco is the only person holding this family together since Edward died and Amelia joined the Ivanovs.

“Here you go.” Tony hands me the package, the weight of it reassuring in my grasp.

“Thanks.” I pay, leaving cash on the counter.

I slide into my car, the leather cool against my skin. I set the package on the passenger seat. My phone is heavy in my hand. The screen lights up at my touch, my fingers hovering, then diving in.

Me: Can’t wait to see you. On my way. -G

Send.

I pull away, the streets unfurling before me, leading me to Marco, to us. When I arrive, Nico is standing by the security desk chatting with Walter, the man who has worked at his post since I was a little girl.

“Hey,” I greet, shifting the carryout to one hand.

Nico’s head lifts, a grin breaking his stoic facade. “Gia! Here for Marco?”

“Yup, I convinced him to take a break long enough to actually eat a meal with me.” I laugh.

“After Bobby left, he mentioned that you would be stopping by. Come on, I’ll swipe you up,” he offers, moving toward the elevator.

“Do you want to join us?” I offer, happy to share my meal with him.

Nico’s eyes soften at the invitation. “I appreciate it, but duty calls. Next time, though.”

I nod in understanding and step into the elevator. He swipes his card, and the doors close, leaving him in the lobby. The familiar sensation of being whisked upward washes over me, anticipation building with each passing floor. When the elevator doors open to Vincent’s opulent penthouse, I can’t help but feel a pang of discomfort.

My hand grips the carryout tighter as I step out, calling Marco’s name. A moment later, he emerges from the living room.

“Hey you,” he chimes with a smile, and in two long strides, he closes the distance. We collide, an inevitable force, my name on his lips as he wraps me in his arms.

As much as I didn’t want to have feelings for Marco, how he cares for me has made it impossible not to. “I missed you,” I confess into his neck, inhaling the scent of his skin, a mix of sandalwood and danger. I don’t want to let myself get carried away by the emotions I experience when it comes to Marco, but his actions have shown me he really is different than most men in our world. He means what he says, and his promises can be relied on.

“Me too, every second,” he replies, his breath hot against my ear, sending shivers cascading down my body.

We pull away just enough to drink each other in, faces inches apart. His fingers trace the line of my jaw, gentle yet possessive. He takes the carryout from me and guides me into the living room with a hand on my lower back.

A few minutes later, the food is splayed out on the coffee table, and we sink onto the couch, our legs touching each other, both desperate for contact.

---