Elena's face floated in my mind. The way she'd bit her lip when she was concentrating. How she'd looked standing in her doorway, inviting me in despite having every reason to be wary of a man like me. Of the way her cheeks flushed when we got close, or when she thought she was talking too much. Or how she'd offered me that wretched sweater and made me soften for her.
I hit harder, shifting my weight to put more force behind each punch. The bag's chain creaked as it swung back from the impact.
Had it all been an act? The vulnerability in her eyes when she spoke of her mother? The way she'd tried to hide her financial struggles? The small apartment with its carefully arranged books and photos?
My fists slammed into the bag in a rapid combination. Jab, cross, hook, uppercut. Again. Harder. Faster.
Or was she being manipulated rather than working for someone? Used by someone to infiltrate and gather intelligence? They could be holding her mother's life over her, threatening her. It wouldn't be the first time someone had targeted a vulnerable person to get to the Donati family.
The thought of someone using her made my next punch wild, off-center. Pain shot through my knuckles as they connected at the wrong angle. I kept going, ignoring it.
Why Anthony Cassaro? The man had been dead for over a decade. What could Elena possibly want with information about him? Or what would someone else want through her?
I stopped mid-punch, hating the confusion running rampant in my mind. I stepped back from the bag, breathing hard, and examined my hand. Blood seeped through the wrappings where I'd split my knuckles.
I unwrapped my hands slowly, wincing as the fabric stuck to the wounds. Blood smeared across my skin as I flexed my fingers, testing the damage. Nothing broken, just torn skin.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. Dark circles under my eyes, stubble darkening my jaw. I looked like what I was—a man caught between duty and something dangerously close to desire.
Part of me wanted to confront Elena immediately, to see the truth in her eyes when I called her out, to get to the bottom ofwhy she was looking into all of this. But Roman's orders were clear, and he was right. We needed to know what she was after, who else might be involved.
I dried my hands and taped a few band-aids over my split knuckles. The physical pain was a welcome distraction from the turmoil in my head.
If Elena Peters was playing some kind of game, she'd picked the wrong family to target. The Donatis protected their own, and I protected the Donatis. It was the one thing in my life I hadn't failed at.
I wouldn't start now, no matter how blue her eyes were or how much I wanted to taste her lips.
I'd play her game, get close enough to learn her secrets. And when the time came, I'd do what needed to be done.
I always did.
10
ELENA
The persistent knocking on the front door dragged me from sleep. I groped blindly across my nightstand, knocking over my thankfully empty water glass before my fingers closed around my phone.
I checked the time. Just after 5AM. It lit up with Ivy's face in my hand, and I answered it as the knocking at the door ceased. Who the hell would be knocking at this hour?
"Hello?" My voice came out as a croak.
"Elena, open the door. I've been knocking for like ten minutes."
Ivy.
"What the hell? Where's your keys?" I mumbled, but I was already rolling out of bed, stumbling through the darkened apartment to the front door.
When I pulled it open, Ivy stood there in her work clothes—a short skirt and sparkly top partially covered by her leather jacket. Her makeup was smudged at the corners of her eyes, and her dark red hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail.
"Sorry to wake you," she said, pushing past me into the apartment. "But I left my damn keys in my other purse, took thecar keys and forget the house ones. Typical. I saw your text about Trent too."
I locked the door behind her and flipped on the kitchen light, wincing at the sudden brightness. "It's fine, I had to get up soon anyway."
She dropped her purse on the counter and kicked off her heels, her attention focused on me. "I may have some ideas. That guy from the first night was back. The one who was talking shit about the Donatis. Alfie is his name. Alfeo actually, but I'm calling him Alfie."
I filled a glass with water, my brain still foggy with sleep. "And?"
"And he was drunk again, running his mouth." Ivy's eyes were wide and alert despite the early hour. Then again, she'd only just finished work recently. Although, normally it'd be even earlier. Had she taken on an extra 'job' after her shift again? "He said he was a Malatesta. That they're one of the Donatis' rival families."
