Page 47 of My Merciless Don

“It's going to be alright,” he murmured softly and somehow, I knew that he would make it so.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

MARCO

I've never felt such tenderness towards a criminal; especially one who stole from me.

As I guided Audry to the car, all I could think was that I wanted to take care of her. She was obviously in a state of shock, and quite frankly so was I. Sophia, who knew?

The whole tragedy of Sophia’s condition slapped me in the face once again. To find your daughter who you thought was dead, and then not remember it. It was a fate worse than death, in my opinion. I helped Audry into the car and ordered my driver to take us to my Hollywood apartment.

Clearly, she needed some time to decompress, and I needed some time to make a plan.

If I had been reluctant to hand over Audry to the mercies of the Cosa Nostra’s judgement before, I was even more reluctant to hand over Amy's sister now.

Might as well kill her all over again.

If I was being very honest with myself, I was very glad to have a rock-solid excuse to protect Audry. I had looked into James Martin when she told me that she was his daughter, and I knew for a fact that he would not lift a finger in her defense if she had been in trouble.

I thought about her words, the ones she had said as we traveled to go meet Sophie, about what a mother meant to her. Those words were even more heartbreaking to remember now. Audry needed somebody who was on her team one hundred percent, and I realized that I could be that somebody. We could be that somebody for each other.

Somewhere in the universe, I could hear Valerio laughing his ass off.

My driver dropped us off at my apartment and then drove back to the compound. I led Audry to the elevator, pressing the biometric key that would allow the elevator to rise to the penthouse. All this time she had not said so much as a word. Her face was pale, and her eyes looked sunken in her face, just staring out at nothing.

Shock.

I mentally reviewed the contents of my pantry, remembering the chamomile tea that my cleaning lady brought me once. She had been about to open a new business and I was her Guinea pig. I also always had whiskey on hand, and a warm blanket shouldn't be a problem. I figured that would have to do for first aid.

The elevator dinged, opening into my foyer. Putting her hand on her back, I gently propelled her into my apartment, helping her to take her shoes off before taking her hand and leading her to the living room. I seated her on the plush sofa with a view of Hollywood to keep her entertained while I went to the kitchen to make her some tea.

Due to the open plan of the kitchen, I was able to keep an eye on her. She didn't move so much as an inch the entire time. I mixed her a cup of chamomile tea with a generous splash of whiskey, and then placed it in her hands. Grabbing the shawl from behind the sofa, I put it over her shoulders, before coming to sit down next to her.

She drank the tea wordlessly as I watched, and then put the cup down on the coffee table.

“Feeling better?” I asked.

She shook her head slowly.

I sighed. “Can I get you anything?”

She shook her head again.

So we sat quietly, she staring at nothing, with her hands folded in her lap, while I watched her anxiously.

“Do you wanna watch some TV?”

Again, she shook her head. I hated feeling helpless, but there was literally nothing else I could do for her.

After some time, she turned slowly to look at me. “Why are you helping me, Marco?” She asked.

It was the last question I was expecting or wanted to answer.

I gave a half-hearted smirk, “You're a damsel in distress. I'm your Prince Charming.”

“Funny,” she said with just a hint of her former spirit.

I expelled a slightly annoyed breath. “What did you expect me to do? Abandon you on the sidewalk?”

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