Chapter 26: Chapter 26

Mason

Mason’s muscles tensed as Elnora’s eyes roved over him, lingering just below his waist before snapping back to meet his gaze. There was nothing shy or hesitant in the way she looked at him—it was an unfiltered, unapologetic appraisal that sent a rush of heat through him.

“Thought you might need a hand scrubbing,” she said, wiggling her fingers in a teasing gesture, her eyes never leaving his.

He hadn’t expected her to join him in the shower, especially given the chaos swirling around them. Enrico’s unexpected arrival, his reckless disregard for the truce with the Russians, and the danger he was courting by showing up in mafia territory were all pressing on Mason’s mind. But at this moment, with Elnora standing before him, all those concerns faded to the background.

He gestured for her to step in. “I do need a hand, or two.”

Elnora moved into the shower, her hazel eyes gleaming with mischief. Mason’s breath hitched as she did, the defiant tilt of her chin challenging him in ways few ever dared. She was a force, beautiful and relentless, and he knew he was in deep.

Without breaking eye contact, Mason’s hands went to the split in her dress, and with one swift motion, he tore it clean off. The dress fell to the floor, leaving her bare and exposed. His arm snaked around her waist, lifting her effortlessly as he kicked the door shut behind them.

He pressed her against the cool tiles, his eyes raking over her body with an intensity that made her shiver. Her skin was smooth, her form perfect, but it was the small, black birthmark just below her navel that held his attention. He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “You look glorious naked.”

Mason kissed her with a hunger that matched the storm brewing inside him, the heat between them almost unbearable as the water pounded down on them. She met his passion with equal fervour, her hands tracing the scars that marred his skin, her fingers mapping out the stories his body told.

When he gripped her hips and lifted her off her feet, her legs wrapped around his waist with a speed that spoke volumes about her own need. He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, their gazes locking in a shared understanding of what they both wanted.

“~Sei mio ora~, El,” he growled, his voice rough with desire.

But just as the words left his mouth, he felt her stiffen in his arms. Her eyes darted to the tattoo on his chest, the De Lauro family crest that loomed over an old knife scar. Recognition flickered in her gaze, followed by a look of shock.

“~Il dannato inferno~?” she blurted out, the words slipping from her lips like a curse.

Mason froze, the sound of Italian rolling off her tongue catching him off guard. He hadn’t known she spoke the language, and now, standing there with her in his arms, confusion warred with his desire.

“You speak Italian?” he asked, his voice betraying the mix of emotions surging through him.

She hesitated, her brow furrowing. “Not very well,” she admitted, her fingers brushing the tattoo again. “This tattoo, what is it?”

The annoyance that flared in him was instant and sharp. He knew exactly what had triggered her reaction—it was Enrico. Something about the tattoo had reminded her of his brother, and that knowledge sent a bolt of irritation through him. Huffing, Mason set her down and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel from the cabinet as he headed for the bedroom.

This wasn’t happening. Not now, not like this.

Elnora stood before him, glorious and bare, but Mason’s mind was far from the moment. The thought of her history with Enrico gnawed at him, a bitter reminder that their connection might not be as pure as he wanted it to be. After drying off, he wrapped the towel around his waist, waiting for her to step out of the shower. She took her time, each second feeding his impatience. When she finally emerged, wrapped in a bathrobe, she approached him with a tentative look.

“I apologize if this seems dishonest, but my Italian is basic at best. I don’t really understand it—”

“Don’t give me that,” he cut her off, his tone sharper than intended. If she knew even basic Italian, she’d understood more than she was letting on. Maybe she’d been pretending not to understand all along, and that thought twisted something deep inside him.

“~Sei mio ora, El,~” she repeated, stepping closer, her skin still warm from the shower and carrying the scent of his soap. “I’ve heard that exact phrase before, and it caught me off guard.”

So he’d been right—Enrico had said those words to her before. His hands clenched at his sides, fighting the urge to let his frustration show. He turned away, pointing to the door. “Dinner should be downstairs already.”

He moved towards the closet, hoping to distance himself from the conversation, but she wasn’t ready to let it go. She stepped forward, her brows knitting in confusion. “What’s wrong, Mason? So I know a little Italian, what’s the big deal?”

Her eyes flicked back to his tattoo, and he saw the recognition in them. Maybe this was the warning he needed, the sign that getting involved with her had been a mistake. She was clouding his judgment in ways he couldn’t afford. His attraction to her was intense, consuming, and dangerous. He needed to stay sharp, but with her, clarity was slipping away.

“I have important matters to attend to,” he said, his voice clipped, as he tried to push her away emotionally before it was too late.

She hesitated, then nodded, though her eyes stayed on him, searching for something he wasn’t ready to give. He could see she was holding back, biting back questions about his tattoo. He liked that he could read her so easily, but that only made it harder to keep his distance.

“It’s a family crest,” he muttered, the admission slipping out before he could stop it.

She walked to the bed, lowering herself onto the edge, her expression thoughtful. “I know that tattoo. This doesn’t make any sense,” she murmured, her lips quirking in thought before she looked down at herself. “I don’t have a change of clothes.”

Mason felt a rush of conflicting emotions—desire, frustration, and pity He didn’t trust where this was going, but for now, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Not yet.

He waved her over, and she sprang to her feet, moving to him without hesitation. He’d always considered himself immune to the usual vices—women, drugs, the entire gamut of distractions—but Elnora was proving to be a dangerous exception. Normally, he’d have discarded her by now, thrown himself into work until she became nothing more than a distant memory.

But there was nothing normal about this.

About her.

And he was slowly realizing just how thoroughly his life was about to be upended. He watched the play of emotions on her face as she stood before him, uncertainty in her eyes. Without a word, he led her into the closet.

“I had Kristine pick up a few things for you,” he said.

She turned to him, her smile softening him. “Thank you.”

He grumbled something unintelligible and moved to the other side of the closet to pick out fresh clothes. There was so much to do; the common grounds were bleeding money while offline, and this Joe character was complicating matters in ways he couldn’t afford. The warmth of her hand on his back jolted him from his thoughts.

“What’s wrong? There’s more to this than me knowing a few Italian words,” she said quietly, her voice probing the darkness in his mind.

Enrico had claimed her first, that much was clear. But Mason had her now, and the thought of losing her terrified him.

“Tell me what Joe wants,” he demanded, stepping away from the soft, blood-curdling touch of her hand. He turned to face her, struggling to banish the memory of her nakedness from his mind. Her skin, smooth as cream, and those eyes—impossible and haunting—made it all the more difficult to think clearly.

She licked her lips, hesitant. “It’s related to a client I scrubbed a long time ago. The hacks Joe tried to pin on me had his name all over them. He’s trying to find my client, and he thinks I can help him.”

He hadn’t expected her to share so much, and the honesty threw him off. “Can you?”

“No.” Her gaze faltered, looking away. “He’s… dead.”

“Hmm.”

Her eyes drifted back to his tattoo, lingering there before sweeping slowly over him. The friction between them was thick, the unspoken words hanging like a loaded gun. When his phone rang, shattering the silence, Mason stepped away to answer it, grateful for the distraction.

“Talk,” he growled into the phone, raking his fingers through his damp hair. Antonio’s voice crackled on the other end. “Keep him there. I’ll be right out.” He ended the call and turned back to the closet.

“Is everything alright?” Elnora asked.

He slipped into a pair of grey slacks and a brown hoodie. Through the corner of his eye, he watched Elnora shuffle her feet, clearly uneasy.

Mason yanked on his shoes, the tension in his shoulders tightening with every second. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he muttered, already halfway out of the closet when Elnora’s voice stopped him cold.

“Is it your brother?” she asked.

He froze, a sick feeling churning in the pit of his stomach. How did she know that? How had she picked up on something he hadn’t even fully acknowledged?

Mason turned to face her, trying to mask the unease clawing at his insides. “You’ve been upset since Hector mentioned your brother. It must be him, right?” she continued, her voice softer now, almost tentative.

“El,” he began, struggling for the right words, but they eluded him. “I’ll be right back.”

“What’s the matter, Mason? Why won’t you talk to me? We were seconds away from, let’s face it, a long-overdue ramming.” Her bluntness cut through the tension, and despite everything, he found himself chuckling.

The audacity of her, the way she could disarm him with a single sentence, was both refreshing and maddening. Folding his arms over his chest, he regarded her.

“It boggles my mind that I’ve been unable to explain anything since we met,” he confessed.

Elnora stepped closer, her hands sliding up his chest as if she could soothe the chaos raging inside him. “To be fair, all of this happened because promises were made, and you haven’t lived up to your word yet.”

He wanted to lose himself in her touch, to forget about the chaos waiting outside that door, but Enrico’s unexpected reappearance had thrown everything into disarray. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down now, not with so much at stake.

“El, you are formidable in a way that’s distracting, and exciting, but…” Mason’s voice trailed off as he gently pried her hands from his chest. “There’s something I need to handle.”

Without waiting for her response, he turned and headed towards the stairs, frustration gnawing at him with every step. From the moment she’d appeared on that auction room camera, he’d forgotten how to think straight, and now it was all spiralling out of control.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, a voice broke through his thoughts, startling him. “How is she?”

Mason whipped around to find Enrico standing in the middle of the parlour, his grey eyes—so different from Mason’s own—piercing through him with a familiarity that both irritated and unsettled him.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Mason barked, anger bubbling to the surface. Enrico’s presence was a complication he didn’t need, especially not now.

Those grey eyes, so similar and yet so foreign, held his gaze with a silent challenge, and Mason felt the walls closing in on him just a little more.