Chapter 5 Do You Trust Me

Massimo's villa stood in silence, its marble halls dimly lit by amber sconces that threw long, flickering shadows across the walls. The night air was thick with tension, the kind that followed every battle, every promise made in the dark.

As they stepped inside, Talana's shoulders sagged, exhaustion clinging to her like a second skin. The events of the day, her father's betrayal, Maria's slap, the deal with De Marco, all replayed in her mind in jagged flashes.

Massimo turned to her, his voice a low murmur. "You can stay in this room for now, angel. Get some rest."

She nodded silently. The word angel lingered, soft yet commanding. He stood in the doorway for a moment, eyes tracing her face, memorizing every bruise, every flicker of pain she tried to hide. He wanted to reach for her, to pull her close, but he didn't. Not yet.

"Goodnight, Max," she whispered.

He gave a single nod and turned away before the temptation to stay grew unbearable.

Across town, the atmosphere was the opposite, raw, volatile, and reeking of desperation.

"Rossi!" Drake De Marco's voice cracked through the warehouse like a whip. "Did you set the tracker as I instructed?"

Rossi flinched, wringing his hands. "I did, Boss... but the bitch, she was taken to the hospital."

"Then explain why we're not seeing movement!"

"B... Boss, it must've been dislodged, maybe deactivated..."

The sound of metal scraping against concrete was followed by the crash of a chair slamming into the wall. De Marco's fury filled the air like thunder. "Goddammit!" His roar echoed through the cavernous space. "Find her! I don't care how. I want her here before sunrise!"

Rossi nodded so fast it was almost a bow. His throat tightened with the weight of a death sentence he knew he couldn't escape.

De Marco turned toward the grimy window, the city lights barely bleeding through the dust-caked glass. His reflection stared back at him, cold, cruel, hungry. "If Massimo Morelli thinks he can keep her safe," he hissed, "he's a fool." He wanted Talana, not out of love, but power. She was leverage, a token in a deal gone sour, a payment Pablo Fabrizio owed in blood.

Back at the villa, Massimo stood in the kitchen, pouring two glasses of wine. The night hummed softly through the open balcony doors, and the faint salt of the Calabrian coast brushed against the air.

Talana appeared in the doorway, barefoot, her hair falling loose over her shoulders. The bruised mark on her cheek still stung, but her eyes, those eyes, burned with quiet strength.

"Couldn't sleep?" Massimo asked, his tone softer than she'd ever heard.

"Too much on my mind," she admitted.

He gestured toward the counter. "Hungry?"

Her lips curved faintly. "Please."

He smirked, pulling two plates from the fridge. "Pasta Alfredo."

Her eyes lit up. "My favorite."

"Good," he murmured. "It's mine too. The cook always makes extra."

He set the plates down and poured the wine, the golden liquid catching the low light. They sat opposite each other, silent at first, the tension between them shifting, less about danger now, more about something neither wanted to name.

"Massimo," she said finally, setting her fork down, "I need to know who you really are."

He met her gaze, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You will, angel. Just not tonight."

Her breath caught when he stood and leaned in, brushing his thumb along her jawline. "But know this, when you're with me, you're safe." The words were both promise and warning. He kissed her forehead gently, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. "Go rest now, angel."

She nodded, the warmth of his touch still on her skin as she turned and disappeared down the hall. Massimo watched until her door clicked shut. Then, ding, the doorbell sliced through the quiet. He moved swiftly, unlocking it just enough to let Lorenzo in.

"Boss," Lorenzo started, his tone urgent, "De Marco's put out a hunt for Talana. Word is, her father promised her to him in exchange for debts. Pablo's knee-deep in the drug ring too."

Massimo's jaw flexed, every muscle in his body tensing. "I know about the agreement. She told me." His voice dropped to a growl. "I knew that bastard was hiding something."

He poured another glass of whiskey, the sound of liquid hitting crystal sharp and angry. "She's been through hell under that man, and now they think they can sell her? Not on my watch."

The morning came quietly. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, streaking across the marble floors. The aroma of fresh coffee filled the air.

Talana awoke to the sound of clinking cups and the faint hum of jazz. She followed it to the kitchen, where Massimo stood shirtless, tattoos half-hidden beneath the hem of a loose towel slung low around his hips. He turned as she entered, and for a moment, her heart stalled.

"Morning," he greeted, a faint smirk curving his lips. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please." She took a mug from his hand, her fingers brushing his.

"I made breakfast," he said, nodding to the counter. "Eat something."

She smiled softly. "You cook too?"

"I do a lot of things, angel," he replied with quiet amusement. "Today, though, I'm off duty."

Her expression sobered. "I need to go see my father."

He turned, eyes narrowing slightly. "Then I'm coming with you. After that..." he paused, gaze holding hers, "we talk."

She nodded, sensing there was no room for argument.

As they cleared the table, Lorenzo appeared in the doorway, face grave. "Boss, we have Rossi."

Massimo froze mid-motion. "Where?"

"In the cellar."

Massimo's voice dropped into something lethal. "Watch Talana. Don't let her move." He strode out, the sound of his boots echoing through the halls. The air in the cellar was thick and cold. Rossi hung in chains, bruised, blood streaking his jaw.

"You bastard," Massimo snarled, grabbing him by the collar. "Who paid you to go after Doctor Fabrizio? What do they want with her?"

Rossi laughed, a cruel, broken sound. "You think I'll tell you?"

The gunshot cracked through the air. Rossi screamed as the bullet tore through his shoulder.

Massimo crouched low, his voice a deadly whisper. "You have one chance before I make it worse."

Rossi spat blood, chuckling weakly. "You've got a rat, Morelli. In your own crew."

Massimo's finger tightened on the trigger. The second shot silenced him forever. Blood spattered across the floor, the metallic scent thick in the air. Massimo's eyes burned cold, unflinching. "You will all die," he muttered, voice trembling with rage, "one at a time."

He straightened, wiping his hands with deliberate calm. "Lorenzo!"

Lorenzo appeared at once. "Dump him near De Marco's place. Make sure they find him."

"Yes, Boss."

"And find the rat. Whoever it is... I want them alive."

Lorenzo nodded grimly, signaling to Matteo to clean up.

Massimo turned away, the rage still simmering beneath his controlled exterior. "No one betrays me. No one touches her and lives."

Back upstairs, Talana waited near the kitchen, restless. "Massimo?" she called softly.

He appeared in the doorway, his shirt now buttoned, his jaw shadowed by stubble. "Not now, angel," he said gently, stepping closer. "You're a doctor. You save people. The less you know about what happened down there, the better."

She hesitated, eyes searching his face.

He softened, brushing a thumb across her chin. "You ready to face home?"

"No," she admitted, "but I need to."

He nodded, offering his arm. "Then I'll be right beside you. You're not alone."

The drive began in silence. Talana stared out the window, the coastline blurring past.

"Max," she said quietly, "thank you... for everything."

"You don't thank me, angel," he murmured, sliding his hand over her thigh. "You're mine to protect."

She shivered at his touch, breath catching as his fingers lingered.

As they neared her street, the car slowed to a stop, Massimo killed the engine, leaving the world outside in near silence. Talana's fingers clenched the edge of her bag, and she turned to him, searching his eyes.

"Talana... do you trust me?" Massimo asked, voice low but sharp, a predator testing his prey.

"I do," she said without hesitation.

A faint smile touched his lips, but his eyes remained stormy, alert. He took her hand, pressing it against his chest, letting her feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. "Good. Then stay close. Whatever happens inside... I'm with you."

She nodded again, though her stomach twisted with dread. Every instinct screamed that danger waited behind that front door, but she drew strength from him. The warmth of his hand, the heat radiating from his body, anchored her in a way nothing else could.

Massimo led her to the door, hand gripping the handle like a weapon. He paused, listening, and Talana could feel his tension radiating through her. Every muscle in his body was coiled, every sense alert. He glanced at her briefly. "Angel... I mean it. One step, one sound, one wrong move, and I'll make them pay."

Her pulse quickened, a thrill mingling with fear. She swallowed, nodding, letting him guide her. Together, they stepped inside. The air was heavy, tense. It carried the faint scent of unease, the residual hint of the chaos that had erupted earlier in the house.

Her stepmother and father weren't in sight, but the house felt wrong, too still, too empty. Massimo's hand slipped to the small of her back, guiding her forward, fingers brushing over her waist in a touch that was protective and subtly possessive. She shivered, the warmth of his body sending a pulse of electricity through her.

He stopped abruptly in the living room. "Stay here," he commanded softly, almost a growl. "Do not move until I say."

Talana's pulse hammered, but she obeyed, leaning slightly against the wall. She watched him move through the space with calculated precision, scanning, listening, every movement fluid, controlled, dangerous. The raw power in him made her ache, made her pulse race with something more than fear.

From the kitchen, a faint creak of floorboards signaled someone approaching. Massimo's eyes narrowed, every inch of him coiled like a spring ready to snap. He stepped into the corridor first, shielding her behind him, and his hand brushed hers lightly as a reminder that he was there, always, in control.

The door to her father's study opened with a soft click. Massimo's gun appeared in a flash, his movements lethal, controlled. Talana's breath caught, but she couldn't look away. The man who had haunted her nightmares was there, hunched over papers, oblivious to the storm about to fall on him.

"Pablo Fabrizio," Massimo's voice was ice, cutting through the silence like a knife.

Her father looked up, surprise flashing across his features before fear replaced it. "M... Massimo... what... what are you doing here?"

"I'm here for my angel," Massimo said, the word slicing through the room, the possessiveness in his tone unmistakable. "You thought you could sell her? Hand her over to De Marco? Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

Pablo's face paled, sweat beading on his forehead. "I... I didn't mean... it was just..."

Massimo's fist slammed onto the desk, making papers jump. "Don't. Speak." His eyes bore into him, dark, dangerous, predatory. "You're going to fix this. You're going to tell me everything you've done, every lie, every deal, and then... we'll see if mercy even applies to you."

Talana stood frozen, her heart racing. She had always feared her father, but seeing him cower before Massimo, seeing the fire, the power, the lethal precision, it made her feel a surge of relief, and a dangerous thrill.

Massimo's gaze softened slightly as he turned to her, just enough for her to see the storm behind his eyes. "Stay back, angel," he murmured, his hand brushing hers again, grounding her. "I've got this. Watch, learn, and trust me."

Her stepmother appeared suddenly in the doorway, a shriek ready on her lips, but Massimo moved faster. One hand pressed firmly against her shoulder, pinning her, the other maintaining his weapon trained on her father. "Quiet. Now."

Her mother's hand trembled, the fear in her eyes plain as she stared at the man who controlled everything in this room with sheer presence and force. Talana felt a shiver, the raw magnetism of Massimo, his dominance, his protection, his promise, sent a thrill down her spine.

"Tell me everything, Pablo," Massimo commanded. "Every detail about De Marco, Donatello, Rossi, the debts, the threats. I want to know it all. Now."

Talana's father faltered, stammering, but under Massimo's dark, unrelenting gaze, the truth began to spill. The full depth of betrayal, the network of threats, the monstrous manipulation of her life, all of it revealed in a torrent of desperation and fear.

Talana's stomach churned at the reality, but every word fortified her resolve. She glanced at Massimo, who didn't flinch, didn't hesitate, absorbing the truth, planning, calculating. His hand never left hers, subtle, grounding, possessive.

"You hear that, angel?" he murmured, voice low, almost a growl, leaning close so only she could hear. "Every last piece... I'll fix it. Every bastard who touches you pays. I swear it."

Her breath hitched, warmth pooling low in her belly, her pulse hammering not only from fear but from the intimate proximity, the protective dominance he radiated. She nodded, unable to tear her eyes away from him.

Suddenly, a phone buzzed sharply from the hall. Massimo's eyes snapped to it, alert, every muscle tensed. Lorenzo's message: Boss, De Marco is on the move. He knows Talana's location.

The air thickened. Danger had moved faster than they anticipated. The predator within Massimo flared, and Talana felt the pull, the irresistible storm of him ready to erupt.

"Angel... stay close," he whispered, pressing a hand to her lower back, fingers lingering on her waist. "We're not done yet. Not by a long shot. And no one, I mean no one, touches you while I'm here."

Talana felt herself trembling, caught between fear, anticipation, and desire. The world outside could burn, enemies could strike, but Massimo's presence was an anchor, and a warning.

And as they prepared to leave, the threat looming closer, Talana knew one thing for certain, with Massimo by her side, she was no longer just a pawn. She was a fighter, a survivor, and his.