"Loosen your leg—ease up on the rail, and I'll pull you free." She didn't answer, her calf still welded to the metal bar, tan skin creased where it dug into the railing. Finally, she exhaled sharply. "Okay, I'll let go," she muttered with a defeated tone.
I pulled on her leg, gripping onto her calf and tugging carefully to avoid grabbing her thighs. She was already panicking, and I didn't want to overwhelm her further.
As I hauled her backward, she gasped, her other leg twisting between the rails. If I dragged her like this, she'd crumple into my lap and send me kneeling. Swearing under my breath, I pivoted her body toward me, her hoodie riding up to reveal a sliver of sun-warmed skin as I locked both legs against my chest.
"Wh-what are you *doing*?" Her voice cracked, half-panicked, half-indignant.
"Saving a damsel in distress," I grunted, heaving until her torso slid through the gap. She landed across my shoulder, her knees bracketing my ribs, her fingers clawed at my collar, breath hot and uneven against my neck.
"Put me down. *Slowly*," she hissed, pressing a trembling hand to her mouth. "I'm—"
*Don't you dare puke all over me.* I crouched, lowering her until her soles met the deck. She swayed, salt-stung wind whipped her hair into my face as she tilted her chin up to study me.
Her blue eyes outshone the sea in their clarity and depth, glinting with curiosity and intelligence rather than fear. *Why wasn't she afraid? Did my face betray something I hadn't meant to show?*
She smiled, as if reading my confusion. I was accustomed to women stumbling over words or forcing conversation to break the ice. Her silence disarmed me more, leaving me wondering what thoughts flickered behind that gaze.
"What?" I managed as she untied her ponytail, fingers combing through her blonde curls.
"I just… don't know how to thank you. I thought you'd leave me to fall for a moment."
"I considered it," I said. *Bad choice of words.* Her eyes widened, urging me to explain. "Angels can fly, can't they? No need to be tainted by a man like me." I pointed to the winged-ball logo on her hoodie.
She raised her brows, briefly mistaking my remark for flirtation, then glanced down and laughed awkwardly. "Oh… that. My teammates thought it'd look cool. I didn't care what they put on the shirts, but maybe I should've. It's cringier than I realized."
I had no idea what she meant, but she looked so captivating rambling that I let her continue, observing how her luscious lips shaped each word and her eyes danced with fleeting emotions. I was mesmerized.
"Anyway, I've taken enough of your time. Thank you… for not touching me inappropriately."
"No need to worry. I'd never touch you like that."
She fell silent, seeming almost insulted, then glanced up at the yacht's second deck as if recalling a problem. "My father's going to kill me. We were supposed to be training in the gym, but we came to this stupid party instead."
**Party?** Was she invited by the Savoy family to this yacht? Was she one of Silvio's girls? No, that didn't sit well with me. She was too smart for that—but looks can be deceiving. Most of his girls had that same innocent veneer; it's how he liked them. My jaw stiffened as I asked, "Did you come alone? Who invited you?"
She hesitated, as if suddenly aware of the danger in talking to a stranger. The breeze tugged at her hoodie, and a blush crept up her neck."Silvio… the yacht owner… he's my friend's uncle. We're celebrating a win."
Relief washed over me. I closed my eyes momentarily. Not everything good in this world was a lie. Still, I had to warn her before they lured her in. "You're too trusting. Some men here spell bad news. They'll ruin your life if you keep bad company."
"Then what are *you* doing here?" She shot the ball back at me, offense sharpening her tone
I leaned closer, letting her see the cold seriousness in my gaze. "I'm one of those bad people. You don't want to be seen talking to me. Go home."
"I wish I could. I have to wait until they decide to set anchor. My father must be worried sick by now. Why do I always break my word…" Regret weighed her voice as she stared down, a tear glinting in her eye. I couldn't bear those eyes crying. I cut in.
"Did you notice the helipad at the yacht's stern?"
She glanced up, confusion flickering. " The black one with 'C.M.' stenciled in gold?"
"Christian Marasco. That's me." I studied her reaction—a flinch, a gasp—but she betrayed nothing. *Who* ***was*** *this woman?*
"If you want, I'll mark your wrist with my seal. The pilot will drop you anywhere, no questions asked."
Her eyes brightened, happiness softening her features. Her blonde curls catching light as she bounced on her toes, oblivious to her own eagerness. "You can do that? Can my teammates come?"
"How many?" I hesitated, already picturing a horde of giggling athletes swarming the chopper.
"Just two. Miriam and Jasmine—they dragged me here."
"Three's manageable. Ever ridden in a helicopter? Wouldn't want you getting sick again."
"As long as I'm facing forward, like in bungee jumps, I'll be fine." Her laugh was a wind chime in a summer storm, reckless and bright, dissolving my doubts.
"I'll call them real quick!" She cupped her hands around her mouth and barked, **"BRING IT IN!"**
**"LOCK IT UP!"** Two voices screeched from the upper deck, slurred with champagne.
**"ALL EYES ON ME!"**
**"ALL EYES ON *M*!"**
*Good, they're not blacked out.* She grinned, all teeth. "Come down! We're leaving early!"
"But the party's getting fun! Let us stay!" one complained.
"We can't enjoy this while my dad's having a coronary! We'll play after the finals—*come*!"
The girls vanished, footsteps thudding toward the stairs. She turned to me, arms crossed. "They'd make me send smoke signals before obeying."
"You're the team captain? Struggling to command respect?"
"What? Yes, sometimes. Why? Got tricks I could use?"
I stayed silent, smirking—*threaten, bribe, break a kneecap*. My Machiavellian methods with men wouldn't translate to her world. Then again, humans are humans. Best not to scare her off—*yet*.
"Be nice to them. Lead by example. Show me your arm."
She extended her wrist. I rolled up her sleeve, the fabric soft under my fingers, and signed *C.M.* onto her skin with my Montblanc. My thumb brushed her pulse—racing now—as I scribbled.
I held her gaze, her lips parted, pupils wide. Then her teammates barged in, clutching her duffel bag labeled *Melissa*. She looked away, throat clearing as she tucked hair behind her ear. "Glad to meet you, Melissa." Her eyes snapped up, startled I knew her name.
"Ladies," I nodded at the gawking pair, " if you'll excuse me. I have business to attend to."I walked off, their whispers trailing behind. *Was she watching?* Turning would ruin the moment. Better to keep moving.
Sentiment had no place here. I came to broker peace with the Savoy clan, to end the feud my father's recklessness sparked—a war that slaughtered hundreds, even those barely tied to our families. I wasn't him. He ruled with terror; I'd earn respect through diplomacy… using force only when necessary.
At Sylvio's door, a guard blocked me. "Hand over your gun first."
*Disarm me while surrounded by armed guards?* Diplomacy died when you're in a position of weakness. Respect demanded action.
I slapped him hard, sunglasses clattering. "A lesson in etiquette," I hissed, tightening his tie as I fixed his suit until he choked. "Never touch another man's gun unless you're ready to lose your life. *Capisce?*"
"Christian! Ignore the rookie—he's eager to impress!" Vito, Sylvio's right-hand, grinned thinly.
"Eagerness gets men buried," I said, staring down the trembling guard. "Discipline him. Or I will."
Vito barked, "Miro! Apologize. Kiss his hand."
Miro reached, shaking. I raised my palm, threatening another strike. "Scrub the deck. It's filthy." He scrambled for a mop.
"You've got your father's fire, Marasco," Vito muttered. "Good. Leniency breeds challengers."
"And you've got Sylvio's ear. A rare feat. Promoting you was the smartest decision he'd made in years." My compliment carried a blade. Vito's smile tightened. Smart man. He knew the Savoy clan were encircled by enemies—perfect timing for peace.
Sylvio lounged in his chair, hair slicked. "Get me one of those girls from the deck," he told his secretary. I would've been furious if the girl was still on the yacht, but Melissa was safe. I was always two steps ahead.
"Evening, Savoy," I said. "I come to bring peace."