Chapter Twenty-Eight - Bad Signals

Marco doesn’t jump.

That’s the thing.

He flinches when he’s shot at. He braces when orders come down hard. He tenses when things go wrong. But he doesn’t jump—not like that.

I’m watching the camera feed when it happens.

Bathroom corridor. Static angle. Clean line of sight.

Aria opens the door, wrapped in a robe, hair twisted up in a towel, calm as a drawn blade.

Marco jerks back like she’s pulled a gun.

Three steps. Maybe four.

Hands half-raised. Eyes wide.

My jaw tightens.

That reaction doesn’t fit the man I know.

Marco’s fear isn’t about her being dangerous—that I expect. It’s sharper than that. Guilty. Startled. Like he wasn’t expecting to be caught standing where he was.

I rewind the feed.

Marco approaches the door.

Stops.

Raises his hand.

He hesitates.

Why hesitate?

Aria opens the door.

Marco recoils.

I pause the frame right there.

His pupils are blown. His breathing shallow. That’s not just nerves. That’s adrenaline that didn’t have time to burn off.

What were you about to do?

Aria steps past him without a word, head high, unbothered. Marco stays frozen for a beat too long, watching her walk away like he’s just narrowly avoided something.

I lean back in my chair, fingers steepled.

Marco has been off all day.

Questioning orders.

Watching Aria too closely.

Reacting instead of thinking.

Fear makes people sloppy.

And sloppy gets people killed.

I switch to another camera angle. Marco finally moves, rubbing his face, looking down the hall before retreating.

Interesting.

I tap my earpiece. “Rocco.”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Keep an eye on Marco,” I say evenly. “Quietly.”

A pause. “Something wrong?”

“Something’s different,” I reply. “And I don’t like surprises.”

“Understood.”

I end the call and bring the feed back to Aria.

She reaches her room, closes the door, and the hallway returns to stillness.

I don’t rewind her part.

I don’t need to.

She didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t look rattled.

Didn’t react at all.

That tells me more than Marco’s panic ever could.

Aria is steady.

Marco is not.

And when fear starts outweighing loyalty, men start making choices they can’t walk back from.

I shut off the monitor.

If Marco is a problem, I’ll know soon.

And if he’s stupid enough to become one—

I won’t hesitate.

I flick the monitor back on, the screen flickering to life with a soft hum that cuts through the quiet of the control room.

My eyes lock onto Aria's feed almost immediately, drawn like a magnet I can't ignore. She's in her room now, the door secured behind her, but the camera catches her just right—standing there in that robe, the fabric clinging to her curves like it was painted on.

It's thin, too damn thin, hugging the swell of her breasts and dipping low enough to tease the shadow between them. Water droplets still glisten on her exposed collarbone, trailing down like invitations I shouldn't accept.

Heat stirs low in my gut, unbidden and insistent. My cock twitches against the confines of my pants, hardening as I remember those sounds from the basement—her moans ripping through the air, raw and unrestrained, echoing off the concrete walls like a siren's call.

Fuck, they haunted me for days after. The way her body arched, the desperation in her voice as she begged for release. I wanted to be the one driving into her then, burying myself deep in that tight pussy, feeling her clench around me until she shattered.

I've kept this locked down, buried under layers of suspicion and control. She's a wildcard, a threat wrapped in temptation, and letting my dick do the thinking could unravel everything. But watching her now,

My pulse quickens, breath shallow as I grip the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening. How much longer can I hold back? She's back under my roof, under my watch, and the possessiveness coils tighter in my chest.

Sooner rather than later, I'll claim what's pulling at me like this. I'll pin her down, spread those legs wide, and fuck her until those moans are for me alone—loud enough to drown out every doubt. The world will know she's mine, marked and owned, no room for Marco's bullshit or anyone else's interference. But not yet. Not until I sort this mess with him.

I force my gaze away from the screen, exhaling sharply to rein it in. Control. That's what keeps me alive. But damn if she isn't making it the hardest fight I've had in years.