Seamus grins like a cat that’s caught the canary. “There’s a good lad.”
Marco, who decidedly does not look like a good lad, or like he wants to be challenged by anyone in the slightest, glares at my mentor.
I’m still not certain what happened.
The walls of the interrogation room seem smaller than ever. It feels somehow hot and cold in here at the same time, and I can’t seem to get past the fact that I’m being framed.
For something that I most definitely didn’t do.
In fact, I didn’t even come close to doing this.
Not only was I not in Amsterdam around that time, but I was literally under security surveillance. I had to check in with Seamus every other day, and there’s simply no way I would have been able to plant anything.
However.
I’m certain that wouldn’t matter.
The thing about being framed is that whoever is doing the framing usually knows exactly what they’re doing.
In this case, I see the trap. If I were to come out and say that I didn’t set up the bomb because I was an Interpol agent who is in charge of protective custody for a sensitive witness, it would mean several things.
First, Interpol would have to admit that they’re still chasing the De Luca family, tipping off anyone who is connected with the De Lucas. While they may not be a large family, their connection to the Rossi family, and now my own, is something noteworthy.
To a lot of people.
Interpol isn’t loyal to me, or any of the agents that it has. If we pose a risk, we’re going to get cut to maintain the safety and security of the organization.
Point.
Blank.
There’s no way around it, and we’re all trained on the protocols when we sign up. I know it’s not a mystery to me.
I just never thought I would have to deal with…
this .
Whoever is framing me knows. They know that if I sit and do nothing, it will look like I planted the bomb in Amsterdam that nearly killed Sal and Gia De Luca, and did kill two high-ranking Russian officials. Because the Russians were there, they’ll link it to the bombing in Belarus, when Kieran kidnapped Anastasia Novikov and she appeared a week later, unharmed, at the Cannes film festival.
I saw the ghosts of bruises on her perfect-looking skin.
But I also knew where to look.
The idea that Anastasia Novikov could be my sister in law….
“Ro?”
I jump.
Seamus is studying me, and I give him a weak smile. “Sorry. Head in the clouds, I guess.”
He rolls his eyes, and Marco gives me a strange look.
You’ve never once had your head in the clouds, his eyes seem to say.
Oddly, I find that to be a compliment that makes me… kind of proud.
“Well. Let’s get it out of the clouds and back in the room, hmm?”
I nod. “Okay. Thirty days to find out who is trying to frame me.”
“Aye,” Seamus nods. “I can’t buy you more than thirty days, Ro.”
I nod. “Okay. Liam told me that he’s getting married to her soon, so I think that we can make that work.”
“And what, exactly, is your plan?”
I turn.
There’s only one way to play this.
“Looks like you and I are wedding dates, Marco.”
He takes one look at me. His eyes flash, a chilling look that sends a shiver down my spine.
Then Marco turns to Seamus and holds up his handcuffed wrists.
“Lock me the fuck up.”
Seamus does the exact opposite.
Within about an hour, we’re both released. Seamus has passports ready, which seems suspicious considering that Marco has one as well.
Clearly, Seamus wasn’t expecting either one of us to say no.
Passports in hand, a large amount of cash ready to go, Marco and I are dropped off by two junior agents, Flynn and Boyle, who seem to be more than a little pissed at Marco.
He glares right back at them.
I nod at the other agents. ‘Thanks, we’ve got it from here.’
‘I don’t like this, Ro,’ Flynn says. He’s giving Marco a nasty look and his hand is drifting to his taser. ‘I’ve seen the damage this fella can cause.’
‘Aye, nearly cracked the windpipe on that Russian bloke,’ Boyle adds.
I snort.
Because there’s no way they’ve actually seen the type of damage that Marco can cause.
I, however, have.
‘I’ll be fine. Thank you, though,’ I murmur to them.
Boyle and Flynn give Marco one more nasty look before they leave.
And Marco and I are alone, at a bus depot in Dublin.
I take a deep breath. ‘We need to invent a backstory.’
‘Oh, that’s what we need?’ he barks.
I turn. ‘Look. Obviously someone is trying to frame me for all this. Odds are they come from somewhere in my brother’s organization, because you’re the only one who knows about me outside of that.’
‘And you think I wouldn’t tell?’ he sneers.
I blink. ‘No. I don’t.’
I didn’t think Marco was going to go around blabbing my identity to everyone.
His eyebrows pinch.
I sigh again. ‘Look, Marco, I thought maybe you’d be angry enough to use it against me. I was thinking you’d show up at the hearing and tell all of Interpol who I was, just because you were mad that I’d… kept it from you,’ I murmur. ‘But you’re not exactly the kind to spread rumors just because. You’d use them to your advantage, but you’d never just… be careless about it.’
Marco’s face goes through a series of motions, none of them particularly good. ‘Is that meant to be a compliment?’
‘It’s meant to be the truth,’ I snort.
His lips tighten. ‘Something you know little of.‘
‘Oh shut up. Again, you’re the master of using lies to your advantage,’ I snap at him.
Marco doesn’t respond.
I shut my eyes, massaging the place between my eyebrows. ‘If we go to Liam, we have to tell him something…’
‘We’re together.’
I blink. ‘What?’
‘It’s the only thing he’ll believe,’ Marco says. ‘He knows that I’ve been gone, that I’ve been… engaging in the other affairs with my family. Elio and Liam have a new trade alliance, one they’re cementing with his marriage to Stassi–‘
‘Stasi?’
He nods. ‘She prefers that. Anastasia is a mouthful.’
The fact that Marco knows the nickname of a world-renowned model, and the way my stomach tightens around knowing it, is unsettling.
Mostly unsettling that I definitely, definitely seem to care.
‘Okay. So how are we going to explain the fact that we’re… together?’ I say.
Marco gives me a look. ‘We’re going to tell the truth.’
‘And what, exactly, is that?’
My voice is little more than a whisper.
I’m desperate to know his answer, both because I need to know it to convince Liam we’re dating, and because…
I think I just need to know.
The urge to hear from him what we are, what we’re doing, is almost burning at me.
Does he remember everything the same way I do?
Did it matter to him, like it mattered to me?
Marco looks at me. ‘You took me into custody, in the witness protection program. During that time we… connected,” he says.
No. He doesn’t say it.
He spits it out like he’s ripping out a tooth.
‘I needed to do some things to handle my family. I came back, and you told me you want to be with me and can’t be an Interpol agent anymore.’
I nod. ‘The agency is suppressing the framing. They quickly took the news article down and worked with the press,’ I add. Seamus let me know that right before we left.
Marco makes a hum, and my body prickles at the low, throaty noise.
‘Now we’re together and you want to introduce Liam and celebrate his wedding. You’re coming back to the family,’ he says.
There’s another note there, something bitter, as he says the word ‘family’.
I want to ask so many things.
‘Is it true?’ I ask.
That’s the question that I want to know the most.
Marco raises an eyebrow. ‘Surely you know we’re not-‘
‘No,’ I interrupt. ‘That when we… when you and I were in the cottage. Did you develop feelings for me?’
Marco studies me for a minute longer.
‘The best lies begin as truth, Roisin. Surely you know that, given your skill with the subject,’ he snaps.
I flinch.
‘Marco…’
He holds up a hand. ‘Save it. I was a fool to think that you would have something real with me then. I’m a fucking criminal, and you’re…’ he studies me. ‘I don’t know. You’re either caught in something you can’t get out of, or you’re lying to everyone you’ve ever met. Either way, Roisin, I don’t want anything to do with it. I’ll help you with this, but after, we’re done.’
Ignoring the ache that his words bring, I take a deep breath. ‘Why help at all?’
Marco studies me.
‘Your boss, Agent O’Hara, is right. I don’t know how to set myself up for my own success. I only know how to do it for others. Might as well tie up this last loose end before I walk away entirely, leaving everyone else to the ends of their stories while I figure out what the fuck to do with mine.’
Marco turns, marching toward the bus station, and I watch his back.
I’m not imagining it.
Seamus’ words shook him to the core.
It sounds like both of us have had to deal with hard truths today.
And neither one of us is happy about it.
We end up taking a bus to a car dealership, where Marco walks in and out ten minutes later with the keys to a brand new Jaguar SUV.
I climb inside, looking at him. ‘Really?’
‘What?’ he says as the engine purrs to life.
‘Isn’t this car a little conspicuous?’
He rolls his eyes. ‘Would Liam expect me to show up in anything else, if I was truly in a relationship with his sister?’
Okay.
That’s fair.
I make a little noise in my throat and look around at the car. It’s gorgeous, of course. And Marco’s right… no self-respecting mafia man would ever be caught dead in anything other than the most luxurious car in the world.
Especially if they were trying to impress one of their own.
The Jaguar growls as he revs the engine, and we turn onto one of Dublin’s tiny streets. I’m expecting him to ask for directions or take the road out of town, but instead we pull up outside of a very expensive looking department store.
The valet comes for the door, and I look at Marco. ‘What are we doing here?’
He pulls out his wallet. ‘We’re buying new clothes.’
‘But…’
‘Again, do you want to make this work or not, Roisin?‘
I blink.
Marco leans over. ‘You’re going to buy yourself some clothes. They’re going to be the most expensive, most luxurious versions of the clothes you would want. We’re going to meet back here in three hours and you’re going to tell me how to get to your brother’s fucking house. Got it?’
I nod.
I can’t help it. I’m not usually one who likes being told what to do, but the low, throaty command in Marco’s voice is…
Electrifying.
The valet is practically knocking on the window now, and I let him open the door. Marco and I get out, and like a shadow, I follow him into the department store.
Inside, I’m immediately reminded that this isn’t a regular store. When I was little, my mom shopped at all the bargain shops. When my dad found out about me, he tried to truss me up like his fucking mafia princess.
It didn’t go well for him.
I’m an Interpol agent. I don’t know anything about walking into a fancy department store.
Marco, however, does.
Within seconds he’s greeted by someone who looks like she could have walked straight out of a magazine. Vogue Ireland then proceeds to hug Marco, which makes my blood absolutely boil until he turns around to look at me.
He winks.
Winks!
The bloody nerve of him!
He winks at me and then waves, and before I know it a flurry of people have descended on me.
What feels like an eternity later, I’m sitting in a dressing room. I’ve been prodded and poked and fluffed and stuffed into a million different outfits, and I am about to practice my fucking hand-to-hand skills.
This must be obvious, because eventually the attendants disappear.
I look at myself in the mirror.
‘You look ridiculous,’ I mutter.
I’m wearing some kind of jumpsuit. It fits well… It’s flattering enough. I’m by no means a tall, elegant, or even well-endowed woman. I’ve got wide hips and very athletic legs, and my breasts… exist.
But in this jumpsuit, they look downright plump.
Lovely.
I, however, am overstimulated and…
ugh.
Sad.
I’ve been fighting off memories of my father, dragging me to see a personal shopper when I was a teenager. He had a thousand critiques of my body then, when I needed them the absolute least.
When I needed my mom to fight them off.
But I didn’t have it then.
Suddenly the jumpsuit is too tight. Too scratchy. It’s not even helpful, really, because the fucking undergarments they pasted onto my body are also…
The door squeaks open.
Oh, I swear to god if this is that one with the undergarments….’Fuck off,’ I snap.
‘I see that they haven’t managed to dress the attitude yet.’
I freeze.
A familiar shape steps into the dressing room, the door quietly closing behind him.
I refuse to turn.
So instead, I stare at him in the dressing room mirror.
On the contrary, his eyes are not on mine.
They’re staring at the very, very expensive lingerie that’s shaping my body.
I’m halfway out of the jumpsuit, so he hasn’t seen the sorry excuse of lace that’s covering me there, but he can certainly see what’s on the top.
I’m kind of afraid to look away.
Also that would mean that I’m the one who looks away first.
‘I don’t like this shit, Marco,’ I say, deciding to break the tension.
I’m doing it on my terms.
And definitely not because his eyes are making me heat up like a furnace.
‘You don’t like what, Roisin?’
‘Looking like… this,’ I say.
His eyes darken. They literally seem to turn an impossibly deeper shade of brown, until his irises are practically black.
He steps forward, and I resist the urge to shiver at the heat rolling off of him.
‘You look good enough,’ he murmurs.
My nostrils flare in the mirror, and I can practically feel my heart beating in my chest.
‘I look like a doll.’
‘If that’s what you think,’ he murmurs.
The low rumble of his voice is enough to make my skin break out in goosebumps.
I don’t want it to.
But unfortunately I have absolutely no control over that.
Marco leans down. He smells good. Expensive. He managed to change into a fully black outfit, which is somewhere between formal and murderous, and I can’t really tell which direction it goes in.
Because I can’t see it at all.
Because I’m trying so hard not to stare, but also to watch him, because his nose is dipping toward my neck…
‘I think they look pretty fucking good,’ he growls.
He growls it.
Holy mother of god, I can’t do this.
I go to take a step, but Marco’s hands drift over my shoulders. He’s not gripping me tightly or anything, I could easily walk away if I want, but…
The illusion is…
I shudder.
‘Your skin is so soft, Roisin,’ Marco murmurs. His eyes catch mine in the mirror, and I lock our gazes. Slowly, his fingers drift up and over my shoulder, trailing down the strap of my lacy bra.
I bite my lip to stop myself from moaning.
Slowly, his fingertips glide down toward the place where the lace hugs my breast.
I can’t look.
But I also can’t look away.
‘I wonder how much you’ll pretend with me,’ he whispers. One of his fingertips skates right along the cup, getting perilously close to my nipple, which is poking through the lace at his touch.
‘Pretend?’ I repeat. Like a total idiot.
Marco’s lips curl into a smile. ‘You want to pretend we’re together. Pretend that you and I chose each other. That there was never a lie between us. What else will you have me pretend?’ he purrs.
But the edge of his voice has turned hard.
I pull out of his grasp, panting as I spin and stare at him. ‘You said you’d help,’ I say.
He nods, tilting his head. ‘I did.‘
‘So you need to help.’
‘I am. ‘
I shut my eyes. ‘You’re not.’
Marco’s voice is like silk. ‘I’m not?’
‘No,’ I whisper. ‘Because Liam knows…’
I freeze.
Marco stands, his fabric-covered body rustling. ‘What about Liam?’
No point in telling him a lie. ‘Liam knows I’d never… date someone like you.’
‘And you know this how?’
My nostrils flare. I look Marco directly in the eye. ‘Because I hate mafia men, Marco. With every fiber of my being. So if you want to help, you’re going to have to be someone else, or convince Liam that somehow I’ve changed my entire personality… for you.’
