Leaving Home by Samantha Skye

Author:Samantha Skye
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Samantha Skye

20

MARCO

I walk swiftly back to my place with a mix of emotions. I am frustrated, concerned, and angry. I am used to getting the things I want, and the fact that I can’t make that happen with Frankie is eating me up inside. I want that woman so goddamn much. Why can’t I make it happen?

I am a melting pot of nearly every emotion you could think of right now, and I reach my apartment in record time. I slam the front door shut on my way inside and strut straight to my kitchen, yanking open the fridge door to grab a bottle of water. I’m pissed. I’m pissed because Frankie is shutting me out. I’m pissed because I want to be with her and I know she wants to be with me, and for some fucking unknown reason, that can’t happen.

Slamming the fridge door, I open the bottle of water and take a gulp. It is then that I realize that Prince is not jumping on me or running around barking like he usually is. I turn to face the living room to start to look for him, but then I stop dead in my tracks and blood drains from my body.

Sebastian Romano is standing in my fucking living room looking directly at me. He is alone, his hands firmly in his pockets, standing as still as a statue, watching me, assessing me. His eyes are black and piercing and extremely menacing. He looks dangerous, psychotic even. He is wearing a crisp fitted black suit and white shirt, unbuttoned at the top. He has a hint of a tattoo creeping up his neck. I can’t make out the design, but it looks fierce. His hair is jet-black and slicked back, his skin tanned, features dark, and he doesn’t move an inch, apart from the slight flare of his nostrils and clench of his jaw as he looks directly at me.

“What the fuck?” I ask angrily because how the fuck did he get into my secure apartment and what the fuck is he doing here?

He raises an eyebrow, apparently surprised that someone would talk to him like that, and his lips turn up in a smirk. One of his arms moves from his pocket, coming up to scrub his jaw in a gesture that is showing me he is thinking about something, like he is mulling something over. But he still doesn’t say anything. I place my water bottle on the kitchen counter and he takes a few steps closer to me. I tense slightly because I still don’t know what the fuck he is doing in my place, and I don’t know what his connection to Frankie is.

“Marco Marshall. Twenty-nine years old, born and raised in Boston, son of Margaret and Tony, with an older brother named Shaun.” He starts reeling off the information from my Wikipedia page, and I continue to look at him. I know he is one of the most dangerous people in the country, but right now, he better get to the point because I am losing my patience.

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