Bella

The task ahead was daunting, taking out Jena Dawn and Martin Brooks before making a move on Daniel Samuels was a breeze. Puerto Rico's increased security measures for Samuels meant we were stepping into dangerous territory. A misstep could be fatal.

Working with Marco on this mission, we flew to Texas to observe Samuels' routines. The first night was steeped in silence, a heavy tension hanging between us. Marco's demeanor had changed since our flight; he kept his distance, creating an invisible barrier that was hard to ignore. Our rooms were just feet apart, and at one point, I found myself pressing my ear against the adjoining door, trying to decipher his thoughts from the muffled sounds within.

From our vantage point near Samuels' office, the security was as tight as expected. "What do you see?" Marco's voice pulled me back to the task at hand.

"Three men at the door, two inside, two at the back, and two in the car by the building," I reported, scanning the area.

"Impressive," he commented, taking a sip of his drink.

"I know," I replied, feeling the weight of the mission pressing in.

Marco's question caught me off guard. "What has you so uptight?"

His observation was sharper than I'd given him credit for. "You're obviously high, and I don't want you messing this up for us," I retorted, my concern laced with a tinge of frustration.

"For us? This isn't about us. It's about formalities. If I were in charge, the union would've been enough," he said, a hint of defeat in his voice.

"Is that what you want, to run the business?" I probed, curious despite myself.

"You always seem to be plotting something," he remarked, a deflecting edge to his tone.

"Because I am," I admitted with a smug laugh, masking my true feelings with bravado.

He teased, "Wait until I tell everyone the Italian Princess interrogated me."

His words stung, reminding me of a label I despised. I remained silent, hating that I was known by that moniker, resenting how it reduced me to a mere character in this sprawling family drama. Marco seemed to sense my discomfort and let the conversation drop, the night once again settling into a heavy, thoughtful silence.

Marco's presence was a study in contradictions. There were moments when he seemed distant, almost like he was wrestling with his own demons, creating a tension that was difficult to navigate. Yet, as we spent days together cooped up in the car, staking out, a different side of him started to emerge, one that was surprisingly easier to be around.

"Stop putting your feet up on the dash, you're drawing attention to us," he chided.

"I am not. My feet are small and they can't see," I countered, half-asleep but unwilling to concede the point.

"Your feet look like a deformed baby," he retorted jokingly.

I couldn't help but laugh, surprised by his humor. "So, we're going there, huh? You bite your lip as if you're auditioning for an R&B boy band," I shot back, joining in the banter.

His laughter was genuine, a sound I hadn't expected to hear in our current situation. His tattoo, running from his neck to his fingers, suddenly seemed less intimidating, more a part of who he was.

"You notice me biting my lip, huh?" he asked, amusement in his voice.

"I do, and it's annoying," I said, my attention momentarily caught by some movement near the house we were surveilling.

"Annoying, or are you captivated by it?" His smile was slight, almost a challenge.

There we were, two people from worlds steeped in danger and duty, finding a strange, unexpected camaraderie in the midst of a high-stakes mission. His question lingered in the air, a playful taunt in a situation far from ordinary. We were bound together by this deal, two unlikely companions navigating a precarious path. Despite the underlying tension, there was an undeniable connection, a mutual understanding that went beyond words. This was as close to normal as we could get, given the circumstances.

The night at Paulina's offered a welcome break from the intensity of our mission. The atmosphere of the bar, with its casual ambiance and the background hum of conversations, was a stark contrast to the high-stakes tension we'd been living in.

The waitress, with her playful demeanor, clearly had her sights set on Marco. "What can I get you?" she asked, her smile lingering a bit longer on him.

"Burger, fries, and a beer," he ordered casually.

"And for your girlfriend?" she probed, fishing for information.

"I'm not his girlfriend," we both said simultaneously, a moment of unexpected synchronicity.

"I'll have the same," I added, trying to maintain a neutral tone.

The waitress left with a wink, leaving me to giggle at Marco's feigned ignorance of her flirtation. "What?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"So, all work and no play for you?" I couldn't help but probe, curious to know more about him beyond our shared mission.

"I play, just not during a mission. I need to stay focused. Distractions can be... dangerous," he explained, his gaze serious.

"Wow, you surprise me every day," I said, feeling a new level of connection with him. Our eyes met, and in that moment, something shifted. The pounding in my ears, the sweat on my palms, the freeze in my movements - it was all too real, too sudden.

He then asked, "What about you? Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No. Back home, no one wants to date 'The Italian Princess'," I replied, the bitterness evident in my voice.

"You don't like that name," he observed, more of a statement than a question.

"I don't," I admitted. "Because I'm more than that."

His response took me by surprise. "Well, I think it suits you. You're going to make some king very happy one day," he said with a smile.

His words, meant as a compliment, only accelerated the rapid beating of my heart. The waitress returned with our drinks, her presence a momentary distraction from the intense exchange. But as she left, the weight of Marco's words hung in the air, a mix of apprehension and something else - something like the beginnings of an unexpected bond forming in the most unlikely of circumstances.

Marco

The remnants of the nightmare still clung to me as I woke up, the vivid images of the snake pit and the feeling of venom coursing through my veins lingering in my mind. My father's test of endurance at such a young age was a brutal initiation into the Santos legacy, a memory that haunted my dreams.

Startled awake, my instincts kicked in, and I drew my gun on the shadowy figure in my room. "Marco, it's me," Bella's voice cut through the haze of fear, her hand gently reaching out to steady mine. Her touch brought me back to reality, her concern evident in her voice.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her eyes filled with worry.

"Yes. How'd you get in here?" I queried, still trying to gather my bearings.

She gave me a look that suggested the answer should have been obvious. She then went to the bathroom, returning with a wet cloth which she placed on my forehead, sitting beside me on the bed.

Confessions rarely came easy to me, but in that vulnerable moment, I found myself opening up. "Growing up as a Santos was brutal. I can't be weak." The words felt heavy, a rare admission of doubt.

Her response was gentle and sincere. "I don't think you're weak. I think you're the strongest man I know." Searching her eyes for any hint of falsity, I found none. Instead, there was an innocence, a genuine belief in her words.

Compelled by a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, I leaned in and kissed her. She hesitated at first, then surrendered to the moment. But as quickly as it happened, she pulled away and stood up, pacing the room.

"I can't do this," she muttered, her voice laced with fear. It was a stark contrast to the fearless persona she normally projected. A week in her company and she had never shown any sign of vulnerability, yet now, after a simple kiss, she seemed shaken, unsure.

The complexities of our lives, the burdens of our family legacies, were like chains that bound us, even in moments of personal connection. As I watched her, a mix of emotions swirling within me, I realized how deeply our pasts and present circumstances influenced our every action, every feeling. It was a daunting realization, yet in that moment, the desire to understand and comfort her outweighed everything else.

Bella

Waking up with the memory of last night's kiss flooding my thoughts, I was caught in a whirlwind of confusion. What had I been thinking? The tangled emotions left me restless as I rummaged through my bag for something to wear. I settled on jeans and a tank top, aiming for simplicity yet mindful of the mixed signals I was sending to Marco.

As I got downstairs, I found him already waiting in the car. "Good morning," he greeted, his gaze probing as if trying to read my thoughts.

"Good morning," I replied, sliding on my sunglasses in a feeble attempt to shield my emotions.

The mood shifted to a more serious tone as Marco and I delved into the intricacies of our current mission, discussing the details surrounding Samuels' upcoming interview.

"My father is growing impatient," Marco pointed out, a hint of concern in his voice.

"We have to tread carefully," I cautioned. "This isn't just anyone we're dealing with; it's the governor's son. The stakes are incredibly high, and we could be facing federal charges if things go south."

Marco acknowledged the risks. "I understand the danger of sending someone else, but I'm not comfortable with you being so willing to jump into the fray yourself."

"It's all I've ever known," I replied, a sense of resignation in my voice.

Our conversation then took a more personal turn. "You know, we talk a lot about me, but I realize I don't know much about you," I said, offering a small smile.

His response revealed a vulnerability I hadn't seen before. "Believe it or not, you know more about me than anyone else. I'm different when I'm with you, I'm learning patience" he said, his gaze earnest.

"Patience is a luxury we don't have with Samuels, unfortunately. The election is too close," he argued, his focus shifting as we parked near Samuels' office.

"Are you okay?" Marco's concern broke through my thoughts as I absentmindedly rubbed my neck.

"Yeah, just slept on it wrong," I mumbled, still caught up in the turmoil from our kiss.

His hand gently replaced mine, soothing the stiffness in my neck. His touch was unexpectedly comforting, but it also brought back a flood of emotions from the previous night. "That feels good," I found myself admitting.

Suddenly, a woman walked into Samuels' office, capturing our attention. "Who is that?" I wondered aloud.

"A Puerto Rican drug lord's daughter," Marco answered with certainty.

Surprised, I asked, "How do you know?"

His response was abrupt. "We need to go."

His urgency and knowledge hinted at a deeper web of connections and information. As we pulled away from the scene, the complexity of our task was laid bare. Not only were we navigating the challenges of our mission, but also the intricate dance of our growing connection. The line between personal and professional was blurring, and with each passing moment, it became harder to discern where one ended and the other began.

The tension was thick as we picked up food and returned to the hotel. I could sense the burden Marco was carrying, a heaviness that seemed to cloud his every move. As we exited the car, my instincts kicked in, warning me of something amiss. Within moments, we were surrounded, and I instinctively drew my weapon.

A woman emerged from the group, addressing Marco by name. "Keta," he said, his voice tinged with a mix of recognition and underlying tension.

"What are you doing here?" Keta demanded.

"That's none of your business," I interjected, feeling a protective urge.

Her gaze shifted to me, a smirk playing on her lips. "So the Italian Princess is really black. Romano must be thrilled," she mocked.

Refusing to rise to her bait, I responded coolly, "Why don't you tell your men to drop their guns, and I'll show you why you know my name and I don't know yours?"

"Keta, our business here is our own. Just go," Marco intervened, his tone firm.

"Stand down on Samuels or we will have to do it for you." Her threat hung in the air."The Colombians are our allies now," she declared, implying a newfound power.

As she and her men retreated, Marco and I headed to the elevator in silence. The tension between us filled a void, the unspoken questions and emotions swirling like a storm.

"Who is she?" I finally asked, unable to contain my curiosity.

"An old girlfriend," he replied, just as the elevator dinged and the doors opened.

His admission left me with a flurry of emotions. Jealousy was not something I was accustomed to, and the realization that I might be feeling it towards Marco was unsettling. I had no claim over him, no right to feel this way, yet I couldn't shake the sense of unease that his past with Keta brought. As we stepped off the elevator, I was left to grapple with these newfound feelings, wondering how they might affect our mission and our relationship.