Yara |18+|

32

VICO

Mario was last seen boarding a private jet heading to Phuket. He was not alone. Accompanying him were two unknown males and his known lawyer. They appeared to be under duress. Further information will—

"Vico," Yara murmured, her voice low and tired. "You're not coming to bed?"

My eyes shot from my phone to Yara, and I quickly tried to pretend that I wasn't bothered by the text I had just received.

Why was Mario constantly travelling? What was he up to?

I set my phone down and approached the bed, leaning down to plant a kiss on her forehead. I didn't want her to know that I'd been keeping tabs on Mario and his whereabouts.

I couldn't find it in me to stop worrying. Or perhaps I was being paranoid for no reason. But how could I not be when the man who wanted her dead was still walking freely?

He had the knowledge that she was no longer alive, but what if he found out she was? My head was filled with questions, and false scenarios and hypothetical situations. My worry was deeply embedded, and no amount of reassurance from my men could lower my concern.

Am I going crazy?

Yara can take care of herself, I reminded myself.

But to what extent?

Stop it.

"What's wrong?" she asked, sitting up. "What's with the frown?"

"I'm not frowning," I said, sitting next to her on the edge of the bed.

She seemed comfortable. In her pyjamas—just the t-shirt—she looked ready for a good night's rest. I, on the other hand, was wide awake. Something didn't seem right. Why would Mario head to Thailand? I fought the urge to contact my source for the millionth time that week.

"You're still frowning," Yara murmured, her eyes filled with humour.

She grinned and I let myself enjoy the relief that came from seeing her smile. I know she saw right through me. There was no hiding how I felt when it came to her.

"You're worried about something," she observed, her hand on my own reminding me that I could tell her anything.

Her touch was soft and gentle. I grasped at her hand and kissed her knuckles—only because I couldn't resist. Why am I hooked on her? I looked at her face and sighed, unable to fathom losing her to the hands of a man who could easily be stopped.

Why did the fucker have a wife and kids who love him?

"Mario," I murmured, although everything screamed at me not to. "He's in Thailand."

"Thailand?" she repeated, her face far from concerned and I wondered if I truly must have been driving myself insane. "And you know this, how?"

I gave her a look. Really? She grinned and my expression dropped, my eyes softening.

"Of course," she said, waving her hand. "I don't know why I asked. But why do you look so worried? He's far away."

"He's far away," I muttered, breathing in deeply. "But he's still alive and it bothers me."

"It bothers you that he's alive?" she said, her fingertips tracing the lines on my palms.

I liked it when she absentmindedly touched me—almost as if it were second nature to her.

"He can't do anything to me if he's thousands of kilometres away."

"I know," I breathed. "But he still tried to get you killed, mama. How am I supposed to relax when anyone who wanted to hurt you is still walking? Or breathing, for that matter."

Her expression didn't change. Am I the only one worried about this?

"What if he finds out you're alive?" I asked, playing with the ends of her curls. I love her hair. "And then? You don't feel comfortable going on a date with me because of him."

"I don't feel comfortable going on a date right now because I'm sore," she said, playfully glaring at me. Right.

I smiled sheepishly, inviting the memories that came with her words. "You okay?"

"I am. We can always go tomorrow," she whispered, holding one of my hands in both of hers. "Yes?"

"Yes," I nodded, struggling to understand how she managed to make me feel better in two minutes. But the truth was that I'd never stop worrying. Mario was out there, and he had every intention of killing Yara because she wanted to retire.

He'd try again when he figured out she's alive. And I couldn't risk it.

I should kill him. I should fly all the way to Thailand and plant a bullet in his brain. What has taken me this fucking long?

"You have murder written all over your face," Yara said, chuckling at me.

The past few days have been particularly hard to hide how I felt. Every day, it became harder to hide that I wanted to protect Yara in more ways than one. Every day, my feelings grew for her. Every single day.

It has reached the point where I'm unable to picture my life without her. And it has reached the point where I couldn't understand how Mario was still alive.

"Sorry, my love," I whispered and stood up, but not before kissing her on the cheek. The last thing I wanted was tension between us.

I walked over to my side of the bed and plopped down, pulling Yara to me immediately. She cuddled into me and I held her tightly, cherishing the moment.

"Don't be sorry," she muttered, her hand tracing my bare chest. "If anyone tried to kill you, I'd have their heads."

I looked down at her, surprised. "Yeah?"

Was this supposed to be as heartwarming as it was? I felt privileged, slightly taken aback but my heart swelled as if she had just declared her love for me.

She'd kill for me. I let her words replay in my head, and I wondered if she knew that I liked hearing how much she cared for me. I wouldn't let her, but it was nice to hear.

"Of course," she said, frowning. Considering her training, I knew she meant it.

I grinned, kissing the top of her head. "I wouldn't want you to get your pretty hands dirty, amor."

"I like you too much," Yara murmured, pecking me once on the chest. "Can we sleep?"

"Yeah," I whispered, smoothing her hair with my palm. 

It didn't take long for Yara to fall asleep and as soon as she did, I was out of bed and on my phone.

• • •

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