Page 11 of Darkness and Duress

I shook my head with a laugh as I read the front of the box. Kashi seven-grain crackers with sesame. Okay then. Marco was evidently a fucking health nut. I opened the box and peered inside with a huff.

“Do you have anygoodfood?”

He eyed me with a frown that pinched his face in all the wrong places. His answer was a faint grunt as he moved toward the dryer. I continued my slow perusal of his space as I munched the disgusting crackers, but as I moved, something strange caught my attention. Seemingly without realizing it, or perhaps intentionally, no matter where I shifted, he adjusted his stance to keep me in the corner of his field of vision.

I watched as he meticulously folded each item, including my clothing. At a quick glance, I wouldn't even know he was concentrating on anything but the task at hand, but withoutfail, every step I took resulted in him repositioning his body in return. God, he was wound so tight, I didn't think he even realized he was doing it. I decided to test my theory by breaking the silence.

“Yo, where’s my phone?”

There it was again—the flick of his attention toward my voice was instantaneous and reactive. He covered it quickly with a narrowing of his eyes. He folded the last garment and slammed the dryer shut.

“Console table by the front door. Your keys, jewelry, and wallet are there too.” He pushed the stack of my clothes across the island toward me.

“Thank you, Marc.”

Finally, he made full eye contact. The way he searched my face with such intensity unnerved me. There wasn't the typical anger or rage or disgust. This was stone-cold, wary, unrevealing scrutiny that left me feeling stripped raw and flayed open. It was like every thought was on full display in neon lights as his gaze bored into me.

“My help was reluctantly given and my hand was forced by yourfriends.” When he finally spoke, the venom dripping from his voice has my spine tensing and my body growing cold.

“Thank you anyway.”

He grunted.

“The typical response to that phrase is ‘your welcome,’ in case you forgot.” I held the box toward him with a grin to try and ease the sudden change in the temperature of the room.

He snatched it from my grip faster than I could blink. “You should go.”

“Jesus, man. You really don't know how to chill—”

“Leave!” A faint waver at the end of his shout had alarm bells ringing in my head. The white-knuckled grip had the sides of the cracker box buckling between his hands. The visible tick in hisstrong, square jaw line revealed how close to going apoplectic he was. Something had pushed him to his limit and a needling sense of guilt told me that something was me.

Normally, I'd push it. I'd push and push and push some more until I broke through the walls like a wrecking ball hellbent on destruction. My gut told me if I did that here with this man, the destruction might not be repairable. I scanned his features, licked my lips, and with a silent nod, I collected my clothing and left. Just like he demanded. From the foyer, his weighted exhalation was audible. So was the sound of a box of crackers hitting the floor. The ragged sound of his erratic panting followed me all the way through the door until the finality of it locking behind me drowned out the noise. I wondered, for the briefest of moments, if anyone truly knew how close to the edge Marco was. The thought was a strange one. I pushed it from my head, all the while knowing it would likely lurk in the recesses for a long time.

Chapter Seven

Marco

Bright and early, fueled by caffeine, irritation, and very little sleep, I blew through the door of my father’s office and strode straight toward his desk, foregoing all pleasantries. I was not in the mood for any shit today. Hell, I was rarely in the mood but more often than not, I could fake my way through it. Not today. Not after the shit show I'd witnessed.

“We need to talk,” I ground out, planting my hands on his desk with more force than needed.

Pops held up an index finger and continued his phone call as if I wasn't even there. “That's correct. We’ll have a team ready to accept the first shipment by the end of the week. Once I have a location for you, I'll be in touch.”

He skimmed my expression, unimpressed, as the man on the other end of the line said something. I wasn't surprised he didn't take the bait. He’d been dealing with far worse temper tantrums from Gianluca all these years. It served to piss me off even more.

“Very good. Wait for my call. If everything goes according to plan, this will be a beneficial transaction for both of us. I see alot of money in our future. Ciao, signore. Do not call again.” The phone clattered back into the cradle as my father hung up. He jerked his chin toward a chair and leaned back in his. “Sit, my son.”

With a roll of my eyes better suited to a teenager, I pushed off the desk and collapsed into the chair as directed. I rubbed my palm over the stubble I'd neglected to shave and expelled a heavy breath.

“Tell me what is bothering you, Marco.” The picture of calm and collected, Pops folded his hands over his stomach. “You did well yesterday. The reports from the street are all as I expected.”

“I'm not working with those idiots you call a team. I refuse.”

“Too bad. Make it work.” My father cocked his head and squinted. “I know you're capable.”

“It's not about me. These men… these children… are not capable. They're animals. Reckless, deranged, incompetent—”

“Enough,” Pops barked, leaning forward to place his palms on the desk. “This will all be yours one day, son. Get the job done. No fuck ups.”

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