"You're insufferable."
"Maybe," he says softly, "but you still can't keep your eyes off me."
"Maybe I don't want to."
♥___________♥
𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢
Playboy, arrogant, and egoistic-sounds like a typical jerk, right? But there's more to Marco th...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
James's eyes flicked to the folder in my hands, "Marco, just leave it."
"Sure," I said flatly, flipping to the next page anyway. His hand twitched like he might grab it back, but he didn't. Not in time, at least. The first thing I saw made my stomach lurch. A photograph—blurry, but still clear enough. Small kids, huddled together, too thin, too bruised. Malnourished. Young. Too young.
My hand tightened on the folder as I glanced at the accompanying papers. My chest tightened. "Is this what I think it is?"
James's jaw tightened, but he didn't look away. "Yeah."
I exhaled slowly, "And where in the fucking hell did you get this?" I asked, my voice low and sharp.
He hesitated, and that pause told me everything I needed to know.
"Elias King," he admitted.
I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "You went to him? Behind my back?"
"I had to," he shot back, stepping closer. "We weren't getting anywhere, Marco. He had answers."
"You're the one who told me not to trust him!" I snapped, stepping into his space. "What if this was some kind of setup? What if he hurt you?"
"He didn't," James said firmly, his tone laced with frustration. "He gave me this." He gestured to the folder like it was the Holy Grail.
"And you just believed him? Just like that?"
"It's not about belief," James snapped, his voice rising. "It's about following the evidence. And this—this is evidence."
"You don't even know if this is real," I countered, holding the folder like it was a ticking time bomb. "How do you know this isn't a load of bullshit he's feeding you? Manipulating you?"
"It's real," James said, his tone colder now.
"And you're taking his word for it?" I sneered.
"No," he said sharply. "He gave me a list, Marco. Names, numbers, connections. I've already started looking into it, and it checks out. The story holds up."
I froze, the weight of his words settling in my chest like a stone. A list? My mind raced, the implications spinning out faster than I could control.
I laughed again, colder this time. "A list. Right. How exactly are you planning to use a bunch of numbers and fragments, James? You think that's enough to track these people down?"
"It's a lead," he insisted, his hands balling into fists at his sides.
"It's a liability," I shot back, tossing the folder onto the desk. "You've got nothing solid here, just scraps. And you're ready to risk everything on Elias King's word?"
James stepped closer, his voice rising to match mine. "I'm trying to do something, Marco! To actually fix this mess. What are you doing?"
His words hit harder than they should have, but I wasn't about to let him see that. Instead, I turned away, pretending to examine the folder again.
"What else did Elias give you?" I asked, my tone colder now.
"That's it," James said. "The photo, the documents, the list. That's more than enough."
"Yeah? And what did it cost you?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him. "Because there's no way Elias King just handed this over out of the goodness of his heart."
James hesitated, and I knew I was right.
"What did he want?" I pressed.
"He said I owe him a favor," James admitted grudgingly.
I let out a bitter laugh. "A favor? And you didn't think to mention that earlier?"
"I didn't think it mattered," James snapped.
"It doesn't matter?" I repeated, incredulous. "You just put us in Elias King's debt, James. That's not nothing."
"I know that!" he snapped back. "But this—this is worth it, Marco. We can find these people. We can expose what the Romanos did. We can put her in jail. This is how we make things right."
"I know that!" he snapped back. "But this—this is worth it, Marco. We can find these people. We can expose what the Romanos did. We can put her in jail. This is how we make things right."
"No," I said sharply, "Our goal was to find out who killed the mayor. This—this was not part of it."
James's jaw clenched, "Do you not care about these children? Their lives were ruined, Marco. It may be an old photo, but don't you think they deserve justice?"
My stomach churned,. "Of course I care!" I snapped, louder than I intended. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Fine," I said, "I'll handle it."
"What?" He frowned, clearly not expecting that.
"I'll look into it," I said, crossing my arms. "Alone."
"Why alone?" he asked, his tone laced with suspicion.
"Because you've done enough," I said flatly. "You've already gotten us into bed with Elias King. I think I can manage the rest."
"That's not fair, Marco," he snapped. "You can't just—"
"I can and I will," I cut him off, grabbing the folder and holding it against my chest. "I'm not about to let you take any more risks with your life for this."
"Marco—"
"Go home, James," I said firmly, turning back to the desk
He muttered something under his breath and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Once I was alone, I leaned against the desk, my hands gripping the edge tightly. My gaze fell to the folder in my hands, and my stomach twisted all over again.
My fingers hesitated over the papers before flipping them open again. The list stared back at me. My eyes locked onto one in particular, and my breath hitched. I shoved the folder shut, My chest heaved as I tried to steady my breathing. This was too close. Too dangerous.
James couldn't see this—could never see this.
I paced the room, my mind racing. He didn't understand what he was dealing with.
My fingers itched to destroy the folder, to burn it and make sure no one else ever laid eyes on it. But I couldn't. Not yet. I needed to know how much Elias King really knew.
I stared at the folder again, my jaw tightening. This was a mess. A colossal mess. And now it was my mess to clean up.
Reaching for my phone, I hesitated. If I called James, if I let him in on my plan, it would only make things worse. He'd push for answers, demand to know why I was shutting him out.
And I couldn't tell him. Not the truth. Not yet
Instead, I dialed a different number—one I hadn't called in years.
"Marco," a voice drawled on the other end.
"I need a favor," I said, my voice low.
The silence stretched just long enough to make me regret dialing.
"You always do," the voice finally replied. "What's the job?"
"Information," I said. "Discreetly."
"That's going to cost you."
"Put it on my tab," I said, ending the call before he could respond.
I leaned against the desk, looking at the folder. Whatever it took, I'd make sure James never found out the full story. Not until I was ready.
