Adrian's POV:
The strong smell of metal seeps into my nostrils, and I scrunch my nose. A cold breeze blows past me, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
I curse and let out a harsh breath. It's been more than two days already, and yet my body hasn't fully recuperated. And my throat still burns from this damn lingering cough.
I wind up the window of my SUV and step out. My shoes crunch over the gravel. The warehouse looms ahead. Three men stand guard, they straighten the second they see me.
"Boss," they all greet in unison, bowing their heads at me.
Walking past them, I enter the building, nodding once to acknowledge them.
The place is buzzing with activity. I haven't really had the time to come around for a while, but there are certain things that need my attention.
The sound of crates stacked on crates, the metallic sounds of guns being checked, grates on my senses. I grind my teeth together and take a deep breath.
Some men are gathered around in a spot, checking out the latest shipments. As I walk over, they all stiffen.
"Let me have a look," I say, ignoring them.
"Yes, boss," they make way for me.
Inside the crates, there are rifles. All types, big and small. I pick one up, running my fingers along the barrels. My fingers itch. I feel the sudden urge to pull the trigger on something. Someone.
"Have they all arrived?" I ask, placing the rifle back into the crate.
"Not yet, boss," the man by my left responds. "Some of the men are still at the site, making sure of that. These were the ones that were able to come in on short notice."
"Mmm," I grumble, running a hand through my already roughed-up hair.
"Let me know when everything is settled."
"Of course, boss."
I take some time brushing over and cross-checking every other one of our shipments. I don't trust anyone. Even my own men.
They aren't even capable of handling simple shit, so why should I entrust them with my guns?
"Boss," someone calls behind me.
Luca. He's back.
I turn and meet his eyes.
He bows his head in greeting.
"So? What do you have?" I ask, cutting off all formalities.
"We found something"
My jaw ticks, anger swirling inside me, but I contain it.
"And?"
"It was a tracker. Someone planted it in some of our sites and cars. They followed all our movements and waited for when we were distracted so they could attack. And in your case, they saw your wedding as a distraction."
I clench my fists so tight, I can feel the blood drain from my fingers. Of all bloody days, they chose my wedding day to mess with me!?
The image of Elena sprawled on the floor emerges in my head, and the urge to slam my fist in somebody's face overtakes me. Anything could have happened to her that night.
"Who placed the tracker?" I ask, my tone dripping with menace.
"It came from the east district." His eyes find mine, and he holds my gaze. "The Romano family, boss."
My blood goes cold. Not with fear, but with clarity. Certainty of what I'm going to do to him. How I'm going to make him suffer.
Of all the gangs of rats in this city, they're somewhat the boldest. But also the dumbest. I do commend the man. He's got guts.
I never expected any better from Romano. I also know that he's had eyes on my territory for a while now. We've had our fair share of deals and exchange, but I've never missed the look in his eyes when I'm around.
That look you give someone when you feel the urge to hold them by the neck, slam them into a wall, and shove your knife in their guts. And I can very well say that the feeling is mutual.
He made a very big mistake, not covering all his tracks, because now, he's just started a war he won't be able to finish.
I let out a deep breath. "Keep watching them. We won't make a move yet until the time is right."
"Yes, boss."
I tap him on the shoulder before heading out. Once I'm outside, I undo my suit button and my tie, and let the cold breeze blaze over me.
Reaching into my left pocket, I grab a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, take out a stick, and light it up.
The first drag burns. But it burns good. The low ache soon turns into a satisfying burn that swims down my throat, giving me a sense of relief.
Faint images of two nights ago filter my mind. I can hear her soothing voice, feel her soft touches on my skin. Her image is not clear, but it's there.
When Lucia told me how Elena nursed me, something warm filled my chest instantly. She looked at me. I looked at her. But I didn't know how to react, or what to say.
So I looked away. But I didn't miss the look that marred her face. Disappointment?
Another puff of smoke leaves my lips, and I lift my head to the sky and close my eyes, letting it ghost over my face.
When the cigarette is almost finished, I throw the bud on the ground, stepping on it as I crunch it under my heels. Then I head for my car.
When I walk into the house, the smell of broth and fresh herbs hits my nose. Is Lucia still around by this time?
I make my way into the kitchen, and I find her by the stove. She's stirring something in a pot, and her hair is tied up into a ponytail.
The kitchen light pours on the side of her face, softening all her edges.
Something about seeing her in my kitchen looking innocent like a good obedient wife stirs something inside me.
It's like she senses me, because she turns around all of a sudden, locking eyes with me.
"You're back," she says quietly.
I head for the counter and take a seat, keeping my expression unreadable. "What are you making?"
"Oh…this?" She spins around quickly, then turns off the gas.
"It's soup."
"Soup?"
"Yes. It's for your throat. And I heard this one's pretty helpful."
A warmth I refuse to acknowledge flickers in my chest.
She grabs a bowl from the cabinet and starts filling it.
"I know that no matter how many times we tell you to rest, you won't listen. So we won't force you to. But at least we can help you get better."
She places the bowl in front of me.
Somehow, words fail me. Even after shutting her off countless times, she's still concerned about me. I ignore the fact that Lucia might have put her up to it. It still doesn't matter. She made me soup.
"Adrian?"
I blink, pulling myself out of my thoughts.
I grab the spoon, fill it up with soup, and bring it to my lips.
What the fuck?
I take another, savoring all the flavors on my tongue.
It's good. Too good. Better than anything Lucia's ever made.
"Is it good?" She gazes at me.
I shrug, feigning indifference, even though the flavor hits deep. "It's…fine."
She frowns. "Just fine?"
My lips tilt upward a bit. She looks cute when she frowns.
What the fuck, Adrian!
"It's just so-so," I say, letting out a deep breath.
"Mmm," she nods slowly, then looks away, pretending not to care about my reaction, before going ahead to clean up.
My attention shifts back to the bowl in front of me. She can fucking cook.
It takes me less than seven minutes to finish the whole thing. When I'm done, she comes to take the bowl.
I notice there's something on her face. Just under her lips. Soup.
She reaches for the plate and takes it, but before she can pull away, I grip her wrist.
I shouldn't do this. I shouldn't touch her. But I can't stop myself.
She tenses under my touch, her eyes wide.
"Adrian? What is…"
I stand, and her eyes follow me. I let go of her hand, and round the counter, taking slow strides towards her, my eyes never leaving hers.
She shifts back into the counter, but there's no space. Her back presses into the counter, and I meet her there, hovering against her.
Her breathing is hitched, and her chest heaves up and down unevenly.
My own breathing is not steady. Being this close to her, I can smell her. That strawberry vanilla scent. It invades my senses, taking control of me and all my actions out of my own will.
I lean down until my face is level with hers. Those brown eyes search mine, frantic. My eyes drop to her lips, and I regret it instantly because blood rushes straight to my dick at the action.
I hiss, and try to gather myself.
My eyes find hers again. She's looking up at me with those doe eyes that carry a kind of innocence that I want to explore.
My hand comes up to wipe the liquid.
"Adrian, what…" her voice ceases as soon as the pad of my thumb touches her face.
Her mouth is now slightly ajar, and I resist the strong urge to take them in mine, poke my tongue through them, and explore every inch of her pretty mouth.
I swipe my hand over the liquid, once, twice, until it's all gone. But my hand lingers. And slowly, my thumb inches up to her bottom lip. Just low enough to feel the softness.
Her warm breath fans my cheeks as she exhales deeply. I want to push my thumb in. Just a bit, to know how it feels. To feel the warmth of her tongue.
Fuck, I'm hard!
I'm fucking hard at the thought of her mouth on my dick.
I pull back immediately before I do something I won't be able to take back.
My breathing is heavy and ragged, and when I speak, my voice comes out throaty.
"Go to bed. It's late."
Her face morphs into that of confusion, but she doesn't say anything. She just stands there and stares at me, breathing hard.
I grab my bag from the counter and head for the stairs without another word. But then I stop.
"Elena?"
"Yes?" Her soft voice vibrates through me.
"The soup was good."
And then I'm gone. But before I leave, through the corner of my eye, I catch the small smile that forms on her face, and I can't control the way my own lips tilt upward into a smirk.
I leave before I can think too much about it. But the damn smile follows me to my room.
And I hate how much I fucking like it.