Page 72 of Stolen By the Enemy

We’re both buzzing with excitement and a little tipsy.

Marco is still surprisingly sharp and attentive, though, acting like I’m a collaborator now and no longer a captor.

His respect for my ideas soothes the sting of my wounded pride. It’s a tiny sliver of validation that tells me I'm more than capable of steering the ship if I need to.

Although, looking at Marco and hearing his thoughts, I wouldn’t mind letting him steer the ship.

Amid the strategic talk, I find myself opening up to Marco, sharing my frustrations with my brothers, and my dreams of leaving my own legacy to leave behind.

I talk about the moments when I felt confined within the suffocating boundaries set by my family. And he listens, not just to our plans for revenge, but to my deeper desire for change.

Tonight, it's my turn to open up to him. It feels odd at first, but I feel more like his equal tonight.

As we wrap up our planning and the wine bottle empties, I lean back, feeling calmer.

If this plan works out, it will bring all of the success that Marco craves. He’ll finally feel equal to Carlos and be able to make his own rules in his own life.

I’d be happy for him to receive all of that.

But I can’t help but wonder what all of this means for me.

Will he finally see me as an equal, someone he can share his life with? Will he realize that I can be there for him in both the good and the bad times, and let me help him?

Or will he send me back home, where I’ll need to try and find my place all over again?

I can’t be sure, but I am holding out hope that Marco can see that we make a good team, and that he won’t be so quick to throw me away as soon as he gets what he wants.

I have some idea of what is waiting for me back home and it’s not appealing to me.

Even though I miss being in my own space, and having the freedom that I used to have, I also know that I’m a different person now compared to when I was last in my home.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Marco

In the living room, an ambiance of organized chaos reigns supreme.

Papers, integral to an intricate plan, are scattered across the floor like a mosaic of thoughts waiting to be connected.

The room, bathed in the soft glow of dimmed lights, exudes an air of intense focus, which is exactly what Grazia and I have shared this evening.

The hardwood floor, usually pristine, is now a canvas of ideas sprawled out in disarray.

Sheets of paper overlap, creating a patchwork of diagrams, charts, and meticulous notes.

We have shared two bottles of wine already, although half of one is spilled all over the rug.

Grazia knocked it over and was so upset, thinking I would be angry with her. I told her it was just a rug and there are plenty more where it came from.

She’s still very much on edge, and I am hoping to calm her down, get her to trust me, and know that she is here as a guest now, since her brothers don’t want to come and get her anymore.

There’s no solid plan about what to do with her, where to send her, or how much longer to keep her here.

I could send her home now, but that doesn’t send a good message to her brothers. If I send her somewhere else, I can’t keep an eye on her and make sure she’s safe.

Plus, it might start an all-out war between the Baldinis and my family if they think that the reason she is gone is because I’ve hurt her.

For now, the safest thing is to keep her here and figure out what to do with her later.

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