“I already have enough problems.”
The first stop was a sleek office building downtown. Marco had to meet with some lawyer about “business shit” he refused to explain. I waited in the car for exactly seven minutes before I started poking at the radio.
“Don’t touch anything,” he warned when he got back in.
“Too late. Why do you only listen to depressing music? Do you want to die sad?” I questioned.
Marco didn’t answer. He just sighed like a man who had accepted his fate.
Next stop: a warehouse on the edge of the industrial district. Then a meeting with a supplier. Then a quiet drop-off at some discreet location where Marco told me to “stay in the fucking car and don’t look out the window.”
“What’s in the bag?” I asked when he returned, clutching a carrier.
“None of your business.”
“Is it guns? Drugs? Severed heads?” I wagged my brows.
Marco rubbed his temple. “You’re exhausting.”
“You’re stuck with me all day,” I reminded him cheerfully. “Might as well tell me something interesting.”
He refused.
I kept trying anyway.
At a fancy tailor shop where he was picking up Santino’s suits, I held up a particularly ridiculous patterned tie. “This one. You should get this for Santino. It would look adorable on him.”
Marco stared at me like I’d suggested setting the place on fire. “He wears black only.”
“Boring. I’m going to convince him to wear color one day.”
“You’ll die trying,” he muttered. “Only time I’ve seen him wear color was at your wedding.”
“I’m so special,” I grinned. Marco grunted something, and I laughed. “You really are starting to love me. Now say it.”
“Fuck no.”
I batted my lashes at him. “Please? For your favorite hostage?”
He turned away, jaw tight, clearly fighting a smile. “I don’t love anything.”
“Liar. I’m growing on you. Like mold. Or a very charming fungus.”
Marco exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh but not quite. “Santino is going to kill me for not dropping you off at the bottom of the river.”
“He likes me too much now,” I said smugly. “You saw how he lost his mind over a paper cut. He’s obsessed.”
Marco muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “whipped.”
I grinned. “What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Be honest,” I said next. “On a scale of one to ten, how much do you regret laughing in the gym this morning?”
“Eleven,” he said.
I laughed, and for the first time all day, I saw the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth.