Present
I watch as Luca and Izzy haul the asshole who’s been leaving the notes for Sloane into the elevator before closing the door and spinning around to face her. I would have offered to help, but I have more important things to deal with. That, and my shoulder still stings from being shot.
The panic I felt when Izzy climbed into the car and told me to get to Sloane’s apartment quickly instead of taking them home was unmatched. The scenarios that ran through my mind ranged from a new note being delivered to her bleeding out on the floor.
I certainly didn’t anticipate her purposely lying to me all week while she’s been getting new notes every day and then deciding to ambush the guy.
“What the fuck were you thinking, Sloane?”
“I was thinking that I’m sick of all of the big bad men in my life thinking they have to protect me. I can look out for myself, Marco. I’ve been doing it for the last ten years,” she mutters, and the fact that I have no idea what’s been going on in her life for the past decade is a bitter pill to swallow.
“You could have been hurt,” I grunt.
“But I wasn’t,” she defends. “I took him down within two minutes of him being in my apartment. I’m a grown woman, I can damn well take care of myself.”
“You don’t have to take care of yourself when I’m here to help you!” I yell.
“I’m not yours, Marco. I’m not sure I ever really was! You don’t get to come back into my life and take over. I’ve been doing just fine on my own!” she yells back at me.
I fucking lose it.
I crowd her, walking her backwards until she bumps into the wall.
“You were mine, Sloane. You were my entire goddamn life. You’ve been mine every second of every fucking day since you approached me on that terrace outside of the gala. Our time away from each other hasn’t changed that fact. Nothing will ever change that fact, so get fucking used to it.”
She stares up at me. A mixture of lust and anger painted all over her face.
I can’t take this shit anymore. Without thinking, my mouth slams down on hers.
Home.
Sloane freezes for a second before kissing me back in equal measure. The kiss is completely contradictive. It’s angry yet soft. It’s starved yet slow.
It’s fucking everything.
It’s been ten years since I’ve felt her lips against mine, and I never want to go a day without it again.
Her tongue glides along mine, a moan reverberating from her throat as I push my hips into hers, letting her feel all of me.
“Fuck, baby,” I rasp, and instead of her taking things further, her body freezes. Filled with tension, she gently pushes me away from her and stares up at me with pain filled, wide eyes before a shutter falls on her expression. Indifference is the only thing to be seen now that she’s masked her emotions so effortlessly.
“That was a mistake,” she says, her voice hollow.
“Sloane—” I start, but she cuts me off.
“No. We’re done, Marco.” Her tone leaves no room for argument. All I want to do is drop to my knees and plead with her, but I know it will be no use. I can see the determination written all over her.
“We’ll never be done, little warrior,” I whisper before turning around and leaving the only woman I have ever and will ever love, standing alone in her apartment.
My throat burns as I tip back another glass of whiskey.
I can’t say when this ritual started, but it was probably around four months after Sloane left.
Let me be clear, I’m not an alcoholic.
I don’t drink because I need to, or because I want to. I don’t drink because I like the taste of whiskey.
Unbeknownst to my family and most of those around me, I actually fucking hate it.
See, they think I enjoy it. Actually, they probably think it’s my favorite, since they like to tease me about my expensive collection.
In truth, I started drinking it for one very specific reason.
Sloane’s safe word.
I’m not a damn poet, but for some reason, my fucked up brain decided to link my drinking of whiskey to Sloane whispering the word. Such a fucking random safe word, but for the last ten years, whenever I’ve felt the urge to find her, to reach out, to do something, I’ll drink whiskey and hear her whispering her safe word inside my mind. And that’s my subconscious’ way of telling me to stay the hell away.
What? I never said it was sane.
And that is why I’m slouched on the sofa, pouring my third glass of the night, feeling sorry for myself and forcing myself not to get up and go straight back to her apartment.
Usually, my little trick works.
Not tonight. Tonight, all I can think about is that kiss. That kiss that lasted no longer than a minute three hours ago.
Jesus Christ, that kiss.
There’s been many moments with Sloane that have been imprinted on my mind, playing on a loop for years, but fuck me. It’s like my memory didn’t do her justice. The feel of her body pressed against mine, the feel of her tongue tangled with mine.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
And fuck, those little moans. It’s goddamn torture. I can’t stop hearing them.
The fire in her eyes as she yelled at me is something I’ve never seen from her before, and—though it probably shouldn’t be—it was hot as hell.
Though one thing that’s also been playing on my mind—and not in a good way—was the things she said about taking care of herself.
I’m well aware that Sloane can fight. But the way she was talking, it was as though something had happened to her. That and the way the light has been dimmed from her eyes ever since I saw her again makes my gut clench. Did someone hurt her? Did something happen to her?
I can’t take not knowing.
I grab my cell from the coffee table and groan internally as I pull up the contact I need and dial.
“Hello?” Alec answers on the first ring.
“I need you to do something for me,” I mutter.
There’s a pause, and I know he’s probably wondering what the hell is going on. I usually only call if it has something to do with Luca.
“What’s going on?”
“I need you to look into someone. I think something happened after they left the city ten years ago, but I can’t ask Izzy.”
“Name?”
“Sloane O’Brien,” I mutter and there’s a long, drawn-out sigh.
“Please tell me you’re not going after this girl. I thought you didn’t hurt women and children? Going after the head of the Irish Mob’s sister is not a good idea.”
I chuckle. “Alec, nothing and no one will ever harm that woman again if I have anything to say about it.”
Another pause is followed by a boisterous laugh. “Holy shit. It happened again. I told Enzo it was like a goddamn pandemic. Stay the hell away from me, Marco. I don’t want you passing that shit onto me.”
I roll my eyes. Alec is known as a playboy billionaire bachelor and has told us numerous times that he never plans to settle down.
“This isn’t a new thing, so I think you’re safe,” I grunt, and he hums. I can hear him clicking away at his keyboard in the background.
“So, I’m looking for something that happened to her after she moved in with her aunt?” he asks, though mostly to himself, so I stay silent. “Okay. So, if she moved in with her then, let’s start here… oh here’s something…” He trails off and I’m quiet for a moment as I wait for him to say more, only he doesn’t.
“What?” I bark.
More silence.
“Alec, what. The. Fuck. Happened?” I ask through clenched teeth as my pulse skyrockets, immediately thinking the worst.
“I’m… I’m sorry, man, but I think this is something that’s best coming from her, if she ever decides to tell you.” His voice is uncharacteristically soft, with something that sounds a lot like pity in his tone.
What the hell happened to her that was so bad Alec won’t even tell me?
That feeling that’s haunted me for years comes back with a vengeance. That little voice in my head telling me I should have fought more, that I should have done things differently. If I had gone about things a different way, would whatever happened to her have happened? Or could I have prevented it?
“I’m sorry, Marco,” Alec says, momentarily startling me. I forgot he was still on the phone. I grunt before hanging up. He knows me by now, so he’ll know that I didn’t do it to be a dick and that I just need quiet.
I guess I’ll just have to hope with everything I have that Sloane will come around one day, and if she does, hope that one day she’ll eventually trust me enough to tell me herself.
I just wish I could erase my mistakes of the past so we never had this distance between us in the first place.
