She frowned. "What does that mean?" He didn't answer. Instead, he reached for her hand. The one still red from the man's grip and looked at the faint bruise forming there.
His thumb brushed over it gently. Lisa flinched at the contact, not because it hurt, but because it didn't. Marco's jaw tightened. "You live alone?" "Yes."
"Not anymore." Her brows drew together. "Excuse me?" He looked directly into her eyes. "You're staying somewhere else tonight."
She laughed nervously. "No, I'm not." "Yes," he said simply. "You are." Lisa stepped back.
"You can't just decide that." "I can," he said quietly. "And I just did." He moved around the counter, picked up her coat from the hook and held it out. "Put it on."
"Marco." "Sweetheart," he interrupted, his voice low but firm. "I'm not asking." The word sweetheart hit her like a current. She stared at him, breathing fast.
"Why are you doing this?" "Because you don't understand what kind of men you're dealing with." Bennett isn't going to stop. His pride's hurt. He'll send people again.
And next time I might not get here in time. Lisa's throat tightened. "And you will?" Just show up again like some some He stepped closer. "Like some what?"
Her voice broke. "Like some hero who thinks I'm worth saving." For a long moment, neither of them moved. Rain pattered against the window. The neon light flickered, painting his face in red and shadow.
Marco finally spoke. "You are worth saving." She didn't know what to do with that. Nobody had ever said those words to her before. He handed her coat back, softer this time.
"Get your things. I'll take you somewhere safe." Lisa hesitated, searching his face for a trace of cruelty or manipulation. Something to make it easier to refuse him. But all she saw was calm certainty.
Outside, a black SUV idled by the curb. Luca waited at the wheel, cigarette glowing in the dark. Lisa sighed, grabbed her purse, and followed Marco out into the rain. The ride was silent. Streetlights passed like ghosts through the tinted windows.
Marco sat beside her, his jacket still damp. His profile sharp under the dim glow of the dashboard. Lisa wanted to ask where they were going, but the weight of his presence kept her quiet. Finally, she whispered, ""Do you do this often?"" He turned his head. ""Do what?"" ""Rescue waitresses who make the wrong people angry?"" A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. ""No, you're the first."" Her heart stumbled at the way he said it, not joking, not teasing, just honest. She looked away, hands twisting in her lap. ""You scare me a little."" ""Good."" He said softly, "Fear keeps people alive."
Then, gentler, ""But you don't have to be afraid of me."" The SUV slowed as they entered a private underground garage beneath a tall building downtown. Concrete walls, security cameras, polished cars lined in silence. Luca parked and got out. Marco opened Lisa's door himself. "Where are we?" she asked.
"My place." ""I can't stay here."" He interrupted with that same steady tone. ""You can, and you will. Just for tonight."" He guided her to a private elevator that opened directly into a penthouse. Glass walls overlooking the city, sleek furniture, quiet music coming from hidden speakers. Lisa stepped inside, stunned. It didn't smell like money.
It smelled like order. Marco turned on a soft lamp near the couch. "You'll stay in the guest room. Luca will bring you clothes in the morning. If you need anything, use that phone on the table.
It connects only to me." Lisa turned to him. ""Why are you doing this?"" He met her gaze without hesitation. ""Because I saw a woman get spit on for doing her job, and it reminded me of everything I hate about this city."" She swallowed. ""That's not a reason to—" ""It is for me."" He stepped closer, stopping just short of touching her. His voice dropped to a whisper. "From now on, you don't walk home alone. You don't answer strange numbers.
You don't open locked doors after hours. You let me handle it." Lisa's breath trembled. ""You talk like you own me."" His expression didn't change. ""Maybe I just don't like sharing what I protect."" Their eyes met. Her heartbeat loud in her ears, his gaze steady and unblinking. For a long second, she thought he might touch her again.
He didn't. He simply said, ""Get some rest."" and walked toward the elevator. ""Marco."" she called softly. He paused. She searched for the right words. ""I don't even know what to thank you for."" He looked back, expression unreadable. ""Then don't thank me yet."" The elevator doors closed, leaving her alone in a silence so deep she could hear her own heartbeat. Outside the rain finally stopped.
Lisa sat on the edge of the guest room bed staring at the city lights below wondering who exactly had just brought her here, her savior or her captor. And somewhere far below in the same building's garage, Marco Conti spoke quietly into his phone. "Keep a car on her building." he said. ""No one goes near it. Not the Bennetts, not their men, not anyone."" He ended the call eyes on the skyline. He didn't know it yet, but this waitress the girl with fire behind her fear was about to change everything.
Lisa didn't remember falling asleep. One second she was sitting on the edge of the bed in the guest room staring at the city through floor-to-ceiling glass, his voice still in her head, her heart still racing from the way he said, "You're staying here." And the next, she woke up in sheets softer than anything she'd ever touched. For a moment, she didn't know where she was. The ceiling wasn't stained.
The air didn't smell like old frying oil. No thudding footsteps from the neighbor upstairs. No sirens, no yelling through thin walls. Just quiet. Real quiet.
Her throat felt tight. It wasn't just that the bed was comfortable, it was that she felt safe. Then memory hit hard, fast. Olivia's spit, her name online, Bennett's men in the diner, Marco's hand on her wrist, calm, certain. "Sweetheart, "I'm not asking."" She sat up too fast.
She was wearing a t-shirt she didn't remember putting on. Not hers. Hers were old, soft from too many washes. This one was new, black, long enough to brush her thighs. She swallowed.
Did he undress me? Before panic could rise, she noticed something on the nightstand. Her uniform folded neatly, still buttoned to the top. Her bra and jeans folded, too. And a small white note leaning against a glass of water.
You fell asleep. I told Rosa not to wake you. M. Her shoulders loosened an inch. "Okay."
So, he hadn't touched her while she slept. He'd had someone else, Rosa, take care of her. That helped. That helped a lot. But, it also meant something else.
There are people who work for him in here, in his home. Her eyes moved around the room. The guest bedroom was bigger than her entire apartment. Pale walls, clean lines, thick curtains pulled half open to the skyline. There was a chair in the corner beside a low table with a small tray, painkillers, a bottle of water, and she blinked, a protein bar.
He left food for me. That shouldn't have made her feel the way it did. She slid out of bed slowly. The floor was warm under her bare feet, like the whole place had its own quiet heat under the marble. She padded to the mirror in the corner and almost didn't recognize herself.
Puffy eyes, hair half fallen out of her ponytail, the faint mark on her wrist from where Bennett's guy had grabbed her. She rubbed it gently, remembering the way Marco had touched the same spot and gone still. "You're staying somewhere else tonight." Not a question. A knock sounded from outside the bedroom, firm but not harsh.
Lisa startled. Yeah? The door opened a few inches and a tall man leaned in. Not "Marco." Dark hair, broad shoulders, sleeves pushed up, tattoos running over his forearm and disappearing under his shirt.
He looked like trouble but spoke like respect. "Miss Smith," he said. "I'm Luca. Boss asked me to check if you're up." Boss.
Right, of course. Lisa pulled the hem of the shirt down over her bare legs. "I'm up." "Good." Luca set a folded stack of clothes on a chair without stepping inside the room.