TEN

The ride back from the gala was quiet.

Wesley didn’t say a word, and I didn’t ask him to. I sat with my hands folded in my lap, trying not to think about the kiss, or the stares, or the way his fingers brushed my back like he’d done it a hundred times before. My heels were already pinching, and the dress felt tighter now that the spotlight was gone.

When we pulled up to the house, everything looked the same. Calm. Clean. Like the night hadn’t happened at all.

He walked ahead of me once we were inside, not even glancing back. One of the staff was already waiting. She gave a small nod to him, then looked over at me.

I caught up to him just before the stairs. “So... am I staying in your room now?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “Since it’s all official or whatever.”

Wesley didn’t even break stride. “No.”

That was it. Just “no.” No explanation. No pause.

He headed up the stairs like we were strangers again. I stood there for a second, wondering what exactly I was supposed to do with that answer.

The woman at the door—Ella, I think—motioned for me to follow her down the hall in the other direction. “Your room’s ready, Miss Morano.”

I didn’t correct her. I just nodded and walked behind her, the quiet between us louder than anything.

The room was nice. Bigger than I expected. Clean. Soft lighting. But it felt... separate. Not private, not secret—just separate.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door. I wasn’t sure what bothered me more—being shut out of his room, or the fact that I noticed.

I couldn’t sleep.

Not because of the bed—it was probably the most comfortable thing I’d ever laid on—but because my head wouldn’t shut up. The kiss. The looks. The way people watched us like we were something tragic and beautiful all at once.

And now the photos were online.

I’d barely gotten out of the dress before my phone buzzed with notifications. News sites. Gossip accounts. Mafia forums dressed up as business blogs. All of them with the same image—Wesley’s hand on my waist, his mouth on mine, like he meant it.

I knew it was what he wanted. Part of the plan. But I also knew tomorrow would be worse. Everyone would have something to say. Marco would definitely see it. And I hated how much that still mattered to me.

I needed a drink. Something cold.

I slipped into the hallway barefoot, the floor cool against my skin. The house was too quiet, like it was waiting for something. I padded toward the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, and turned a corner—

And almost ran straight into him.

Wesley.

His shirt was half undone, sleeves rolled, chest barely hidden. His hair was messy, like he’d been running his hands through it for hours. His eyes locked on mine, and for a second, neither of us moved.

I felt the air shift when our fingers brushed—accidental, but sharp enough to sting. I sucked in a breath. He didn’t say anything. Just looked at me like I was some puzzle he hadn’t figured out yet.

Then he walked past.

No words. No nod. Just gone.

I stood there for a second, staring at the space he left behind. Then I grabbed the water from the fridge and headed back to my room.

Still thirsty. Still tired. Still very much… curious.

I must’ve fallen asleep at some point. Kind of.

I woke up hours later, blinking at the ceiling like it had answers. The room was dark except for the faint light from the hallway creeping under the door. I sat up slowly, still tangled in sheets, throat dry, heart weirdly restless.

Then I heard it—muffled at first, low and sharp. Wesley’s voice.

Through the wall.

I leaned in, holding my breath, trying to catch the words. It was late. He shouldn’t be on the phone. But he was. And his tone was all business. Low. Dangerous.

Then I heard it. Or I think I did.

My name.

“I told you—keep her name off everything. If this comes back to her—”

I froze.

Curiosity got the better of me, like it always did. I slid out of bed and cracked the door open as quietly as I could. His door was just down the hall. Slightly ajar. Light spilled into the dark, like it didn’t want to be seen either.

I padded forward, the floor cold under my feet. Every step felt louder than the last. I got near the door and looked in. He was shirtless, talking into his phone, pacing slowly. His briefs were dark grey and low-slung, hugging him in a way that made it hard to look away. The kind of fit that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Then it happened.

I stepped on something—some stray book or whatever—and nearly tripped.

My hand slapped the wall. I caught myself, barely.

But he heard it.

Wesley’s head turned.

I ducked back, heart pounding in my chest like it was trying to warn me. But I saw him. Just for a second.

I swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of how thin my tank top was.

Then I heard him again.

“Do whatever you can and make sure it doesn’t come back to her. Do you understand me?”

That was all he said before the call cut off.

And I stood there, hidden in the shadows, wondering who exactly was protecting who. And the nagging question that plagued my mind continued to reverberate.

What else was Wesley doing with me?