Page 33 of Taking Over the Dark

?*I wish Nash could’ve taken one more day to get back to himself after everything we’ve been through, but he’s already missed way too many practices. Not to mention, Zamir having to deal with the backup quarterback would end in him getting fined heavily for hurting him. I fell asleep last night listening to Zamir explain what’s been happening at practices. I’m surprised he hasn’t gotten in trouble from that whole situation, but I think their coach has a soft spot for him.

He hates that man so much.

That reminds me. I don’t know if Marcello even came to bed with us last night after we untied him and we all showered together. He dipped out and probably spent most of his night in his office trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

I lay there doom-scrolling on my phone for longer than needed, but again, you take these things for granted when yougo without them for days. Giving myself grace, I walk into the bathroom to brush my teeth and, of course, apply my morning skin care.

Then it hits me again that Marcello had every product I own in his bathroom when I got here the night my car exploded.

Every.

Goddamn.

Product.

He had them waiting for me here, in his bathroom. He may not have known they would blow my car up that night, but he had every intention of eventually having me in his space. And where the fuck am I now? In his goddamn bathroom, putting my skincare on like I wasn’t just kidnapped from his club for knowing him, used as bait, and found on the brink of death.

But what’s a bitch to do?

I’ve gotten my anger out at this point, perks of knocking teeth out I guess… I need answers now. What was he thinking when he started stalking me? When did he start? And the biggest question, why?!

Opening the bedroom door, I stop abruptly in the doorway. Marcello’s sitting on the ground with his back leaning up against the wall opposite of his room.

“What, do you draw the line at watching me while sleeping when I’m in your bed? Is it not fun for you anymore since you have me now?” He’s just staring at me a little too sheepishly for my liking. So I add, “We need to talk, Marcello.” I walk towards the kitchen, wanting to grab some food while I torment him a little more this morning. And he follows behind like he knows he should.

Once I have my eggs and toast made up, I get comfortable in one of the bar stools under the huge granite countertop overhang. He’s beside the stove leaning back on it, waiting forme to start with the questions. I eat a few bites, not looking at him until I’m good and ready.

Then I ask the broadest question I can, wanting to see what kind of fuckery this man comes up with. “Why?”

His eyes move from side to side in question as his brows pull together. I wish he wasn’t so pretty. It makes it a hundred times harder to be mean to this man. “I wanted you Ellie… but I couldn’t have you.” I go to interrupt but he keeps talking. “It wasn’t safe for me to have you, clearly, but we had a plan for all of us to be able to have you, and you still be protected.”

“Stop talking in code, Marcello, I’m exhausted.”

“Nash and Zamir were in on the tracking device because it would give us a chance at one of us getting you pregnant as well.”

He’s mentally unwell.

“Barone, this exact statement got your teeth pushed in last night…” I raise my brows, waiting for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t, so I ask, “None of you stupid fucks thought to ask me, the woman, the one with the brain, if this was a good idea? You would think having three of you would make you smarter, but I think it’s just good for my eyes.” Nothing else.

I take that back. My cunt is happy too.

“I know that now, and I’m truly sorry we didn’t just come to you, but I had a feeling you would say all of this. It was for your safety, Elle.”

“Marcello, pregnancy is one of the most life-threatening things to a person with a uterus. I’d much rather deal with your stupid mafia men than have to carry a child. Let alone bring it into this fucked up world. Especially the world that you run. The one that we’re all in now, no matter what. A child would have made everything so much harder.” The confusion lining his face has me adding more fuel to the fire. “Also, that birth control I’m guessing you took out ofmybody”—I practically growl the “my” out—“keeps my PCOS symptoms at bay. And guesswhat?!” I pause a second to make him think he can answer my question but keep talking, “Conceiving a child will not be easy for me, Marcello. I’ve been on hormonal birth control since I was thirteen. I would bleed through super tampons and pads in school so often, my mom would send extra clothes to the office because she didn’t want to have to come and get me when I was on my period. She quickly found out birth control would help the bleeding a little, and that was that. Anything to keep me out of her hair, and I complied, always. Never wanting to be the problem child.” Marcello may know me from then, but he has no fucking clue about some of the foul shit my mom would say to me, and how she treated me with pure disgust over what my body was doing on its own. It will forever stay with me.

I just started researching PCOS and the things that are out there now to help, but there’s truly not a lot besides hormonal birth control that has been shown to help. But I’m convinced doctors don’t fucking care to find anything else to help us. We’re just another prog in the wheel to help fund the shitty health care systems.

Sounding way too exhausted, I mutter, “I don’t know my body without help from outside hormones, and you’ve now taken that from me, Marcello. I just started living my life for me and selfishly don’t want that taken away from me anytime soon.”

“I can call Doc in, and he can place another one,” he rushes out, sadness taking over his features now that he realizes it’s not just the fun and breeding that he had planned.

“I will not put my career and schooling on hold, either, to carry your spawn. The kidnappings put me far enough behind on my school work, I’m sure.”

“Noah hacked into your school site and uploaded your assignments, and he may have bumped those grades up a smidge,” he says, way too proud of himself.

“Why can you not leave anything alone? Not everything needs to be fucked with by you.”

He’s baffled now. “I didn’t need you stressing,Ragazza Dolce.”

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