I blink open my eyes, sunlight peeking in from the window. I groan at the pain in my side, and I reach down, confused for a moment. And then I see Marco's sleeping form next to me, and last night comes rushing back.

The gunfire, the pistol, and Fiona on the ground.

I hurry up from the bed, my mind going too quickly for my groggy body to keep up. 

"Charlotte?" I look over to see Marco sitting up and sleepily rubbing his eyes. I just stare at him, and I don't know what to feel. 

I want to tell him everything, but at the same time, I'll lose him, and I might lose Fiona. 

"I need to go see her, Marco." I whimper, hugging my arms tightly. He cocks his head to the side, and I see the sorrow and apology in his eyes. 

"Don't apologize again, Marco. You couldn't have known." I whisper, moving to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. He reaches out to me, his fingertips lightly brushing against my temple. I close my eyes and allow myself to lean into his hand, the large and warm surface like a stuffed animal, needed for comfort. 

It's odd to me. The trust I feel in him so quickly. I barely know him, he barely knows me, but the way he jumped in front of my body, pushed me away from danger, and helped Fiona all foster this sense of...something. 

"I'll call down soon to see how she's doing, and if we can go visit her." He whispers, removing his hand from my face and placing his hand in mine.

I smile over at him, grateful. For everything. 

"Who is she?" He asks. 

I stop for a moment, almost scared of the question. What can I tell him, what can't I tell him? 

"What is it?" He whispers. 

I inhale deeply. 

"Fiona is the only thing in my life close to family." I look down at my hands, at the way his calloused fingers wrap around mine, and how it looks so small compared to his. 

He doesn't say anything, waiting for me to continue.

"She...she came into my life when I had no one. Nothing. She picked me up and gave me my life back, the life that I never thought I could have." I make sure to keep it vague, but it's hard. I want to spill every detail. 

Marco just nods. I have to remember that he has secrets too, ones he won't tell me. And in a way, that makes us even. 

We're silent for a moment, and that moment is broken by my stomach growling. I flush red with embarrassment but Marco just smiles, his eyes still sleepy, his hair still messy. If life had been different, if we had met in some bar, some party somewhere. If only. 

"Come on, let's get you fed." He whispers, standing up from the bed with me, but not letting go of my hand. 

He moves to pick up the sweatpants I hadn't put on from last night and hands them to me. 

With a chuckle, I push them back to him.

"There is no way that those won't fall off, Marco." 

His eyes flash to my legs, and I watch his jaw clench but release quickly after. 

Leading me down the hallway, I'm able to see the mansion in the daylight. I scan my eyes over the wooden framed paintings, the silver chandeliers, the cold wood tiles under my bare feet. 

I follow him down the stairs, and freeze. A group of man stands in the foyer, all dressed in blue and black suits, all speaking loudly in Italian. 

Marco looks back at me, following my gaze to the men. He nods at me, moving ahead and speaking to them in a hushed whisper. Their eyes flash to me and back to Marco, seeming to understand. They all adjourn to another room, leaving the foyer empty except for a few guards. 

"Sorry about that, they just arrived to speak about last night."

"Don't you have to go speak to them too?" 

He shakes his head. "Not yet, my father and brother are with them now, so I have time to actually enjoy the morning before heading in to the wolves." He smiles slightly, and I squeeze his hand. 

I've only ever wanted to protect one person in my life, someone who is currently sitting in the infirmary. But this man is sneaking his way into that category. 

We enter a large dining room, where several grey-suited butlers stand. One of them pulls a chair out for me at a large black-wooden table. Marco sits at the head of the table next to me. The butlers leave and reappear with trays and trays of food. 

"Jesus, are you trying to kill me?" I whisper as I stare at the mountain of fruit, bacon, eggs, toast, and god knows what else laid out in front of me. 

Marco chuckles. "They always make too much, but to be far, there are always crowds of men here for meetings, and whenever my cousins visit." 

I nod, and begin to fill my plate, sipping at the coffee they left for me. 

"I've never met a woman who drinks black coffee. Most think it's too bitter." Marco mentions as he takes a bite of bacon. 

I shrug. "I've always preferred it this way, no fuss, just pull it out of the pot and go." 

We sit in silence for a moment, and a piece in the back of my mind remembers the job I'm meant to do. 

Could I quit? Could I tell Damon to find someone else? 

"Who were those men last night, Marco?" I ask, whispering. 

He stops slightly, his mug held in mid air. He's trying to decide and figure out what he can and can't tell me. 

"You said last night that it wasn't the Rivaldis." I push a little further.

He shakes his head. "The Rivaldis are fairly stealthy. They don't like to get their hands dirty in public. These guys were amateurs. I mean, I watched as they basically ran around in circles while you shot them." 

My fingers itch slightly at the memory of the metal in my hand, the buck it gave as I fired. 

"But why would they go after you? Why not your father?" I know i'm pushing it, I'm toeing the line between curiosity and probing. 

He tilts his head as he always does, studying me. 

"I've also never known a woman to ask so many questions." 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry." I backtrack quickly, putting the mask back on. No matter how I feel about him, I still have my instincts, what I've been taught to do. 

"It's-" 

Marco is cut off by screaming coming from the hallway. 

"No! Where the fuck am I? Where is Charlotte?!" 

"Crap." I stand up quickly, not even waiting for Marco to move. I follow Fiona's voice, and find her in the middle of the foyer, dressed only in a hospital gown, wires and tubes trailing from her arms. 

Armed men and doctors surround her, trying to calm her down. But I know Fiona, and that woman knows no fear. 

"I swear to god, if you idiots don't move, I'll-" She stops as soon as she sees me and runs over to me, hugging me tightly. 

"It's okay, Fi. I'll explain everything, not here." I whisper in her ear quickly, so quiet that only she can hear. 

She pulls back to stare into my eyes, and I take in the sight of stitches covering one side of her neck. A pang of guilt spreads through me. 

"I promise, but just not here." I whisper again. Marco comes up behind me and looks at Fiona, concerned. 

"Marco, I'm going to take her back to the infirmary, I need to speak with her. Privately." I say. 

He nods, and calls over one of the doctors. The man walks over, his glasses cracked, and his white hair tousled.  

"If any of these men touch me one more goddamn time, I will bite off their arm." Fiona growls at the doctor and men, who genuinely seem scared of her. 

I can't help but smile. Only Fiona could stand in front of a group of mafia men and scare them shitless. 

The doctor leads me down several hallways, but my focus is on Fiona.

Before I know it, we've entered a side building, the word Infirmary plastered above a glass door. 

He leads us to a separate room, fit with a hospital bed and several computers. 

He stands at the doorway for a moment, and I give him a glare. 

"I remember requesting privacy, sir." He immediately dashes from the room, closing the door behind him. 

I set Fiona down on the hospital bed, and sit on the edge. 

"This had better be good, Charlotte, and these better not scar." She jabs her finger at the stitches on her neck. 

"Okay, what I'm about to tell you has to remain with us, okay? I'm serious." She notices the tone in my voice and settles back into the pillows, nodding. 

And then I tell her everything. About Damon offering me a job, how I met Marco, what they do. How no one knows who I really am. How we were at the club last night, and the men who entered. 

She silently listens, sometimes nodding, other times widening her eyes in surprise. When I'm done, she sits for a moment, mulling over everything. 

"Well, that was a better explanation than I was hoping for." She whispers, and starts to laugh slightly. 

"And I thought we had it rough, these guys have to deal with bullets all day." 

I laugh along with her. 

"These guys are helping us, Fi. But you can't threaten to murder any more doctors, okay? I don't think they'll be too keen to make sure those don't scar if they think you're a bitch."

"It's a bit too late for that." 

But she agrees, and I leave her in the room, promising to return later. 

It's been a few hours since I've seen Marco, but I returned to his room, reading some of the books on his shelves. 

It might be helpful to learn some Italian, since they predominantly speak business in that language, so I pull out an Italian-to-English dictionary and begin to find certain words. 

"Bugiarda." I whisper to myself. "Liar." 

"Omicidio." "Murder." 

"Verità" I jump suddenly at the voice in the doorway, meeting Marco's eyes. His eyes are dark, and filled with confusion and anger. My eyes trail down to his hands, and the cell phone in them. My cell phone. 

"What does that mean?" I whisper, my entire body shaking. I have the instinct to run, to crash through the window and just bolt. 

"Truth."