“Marco,” I say his name, keeping my tone serious, but the anger is slowly seeping through my veins. I want to go to him, slap him for what he did, and then tell him to fuck off, but I can’t. Not yet.
“I had it done a while ago,” he tells me but keeps his back to me. “Your father was becoming more aggressive in his wants and needs. He was starting to annoy me, and I wanted to prove a point to him.”
“So, this is all because you and my father can’t get along?” I ask, crossing my arms in front of my chest, tipping my head to the side in frustrated indignation.
A chuckle rumbles in his chest. He finally turns to me as he slips his hands into his pockets. His dark eyes bore into me. Marco is handsome for an older man. In his late forties, with a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair, and a smile that could melt the panties off a nun, he isn’t the worst choice if I were forced into a marriage.
“You’re still as feisty as the first day I met you,” he tells me with a grin. “I needed him off my back. He relented, and I didn’t ever ask them to remove it from the record.”
“Well, can you ask them to do it now?” I lower my arms and walk toward the living room. Marco regards me for a long moment before he turns away again. I can’t see his expression, but I can’t feel any anger emanating from him either.
“I can do that for you, but you need to tell me something first,” he says.
“What?”
He shakes his head and sighs before he asks, “Is this man someone worthy?” At the mention of Rome, memories assault me about how we ended our fight earlier. He didn’t tell me it’s over, so I’m guessing it’s just a fight. A bad one.
“He is,” I finally answer.
Marco tips his head, looking at the floor before he twists around to look me in the eyes. “Then I’ll do it for you. But I have to warn you, Elisabetta,” he says, using my full name. “If I ever hear this man hurts you in any way . . .” His words taper off, and I know he’s talking about hurting Rome.
“He won’t,” I assure Marco. “I think if anyone was doing the hurting, it would be me to him.”
He chuckles. “I don’t doubt that, Tesoro.” I watch him pull out his cell phone and tap the screen. A moment later, the phone rings, and he answers. “Yes.” He listens for a long moment before he glances at me and nods. “Okay, remove the certificate. I want no trace of it,” he speaks again, then listens. “Good. Ciao.” And that’s the end of it.
“Thank you.” I can’t help but smile. Marco may be dangerous to everyone else, but my fear has eased now that I’ve finally stood up to him.
Marco makes his way toward me and then smiles. “Be careful,” he tells me. “And Elisabetta,” he says as he stops in front of me. “Take care of yourself, and don’t be a stranger.”
I hear the door click, and then I’m alone. Now I need to try to figure out how to get Rome to listen to me.
One man down.
Just one more to go.
Chapter 27
Elisabet
He doesn’t move. Neither do I because all I can focus on is Rome standing in the doorway to my bakery. To the store that I worked so hard on in the past week. He hasn’t spoken to me, and I haven’t ventured anywhere near his office or the apartment. I didn’t want to see the anger in his eyes and allow him to see the hurt in mine.
Silence stretches lazily between us, like a cat on a hot summer’s afternoon. I want to go to him. Everything inside me urges me to take the first step, but I wasn’t the one who pushed him away, so my pride forces me to stay put.
We’re in a standoff. As much as I think he wants to come toward me, I know his stubbornness is holding him back. The song changes on the radio, and soon, we’re staring at each other while “One-Night Stand” plays in the background. I really should change up the playlist, I think to myself.
“Appropriate song choice,” Rome finally speaks, and my heart catapults at the sound of his deep voice. I realize, hearing his words, just how much I missed him calling to me.
I can’t stop the smile that curls on my lips. That’s something Rome could do no matter how angry I am at him—make me smile. He takes the first step over the threshold, and his large, looming figure seems far too big to fit in the small coffee shop.
Thankfully, it’s quiet, and no customers have to see what this man does to me because I can’t think straight with him in my personal space. He stops inches from me. His hand comes up, and he grips my chin in his thumb and forefinger, tilting my head so I can meet his gaze.