Chapter 26 " Charges "

**Damon narrating**

After Elena caught me with something I shouldn't have, she freaked out.

I wanted to believe that what my uncle said was a lie. Elena would never betray me, or maybe she would. You can't trust people in this damn world.

But she was so sweet, so gentle and trusting; I couldn't fathom her doing this to me. But it's okay; I'll stay vigilant.

I took off my clothes and stepped into the bathroom, letting the hot water wash over my body, seeking relief for my tormented mind. I was deeply upset about this whole situation. I desperately wanted to believe in Elena's innocence.

After the confrontation about the underwear she found in my hands, we had a heated argument. She came at me, furious, and as we grappled, we ended up falling onto the bed together. Elena ended up on top of me, and for a brief moment, everything seemed to stop. We stared intensely at each other, and I felt an inexplicable connection with her. Her hair cascaded down her waist, and her eyes sparkled with a mix of emotions.

On impulse, I tried to kiss her, but she quickly pulled away and ran out of the room after giving me a kick. Damn it, she never yielded.

But, even though I wished something real could happen between us, I knew the situation was complex.

In that hot shower, my mind continued to revolve around her. I couldn't get Elena out of my thoughts, and this vulnerability troubled me. I was a cold and ruthless mafia man, but she made me feel things I didn't know how to handle.

After that embarrassing almost-kiss episode with Elena, she went to the kitchen, and I followed, determined to at least apologize. She was about to cook something for us, and the idea of sharing a meal made by her excited me.

I leaned against the kitchen wall, watching Elena in action. She had surprising culinary skills, and she was beautiful. I couldn't help but smirk as I complimented her:

"Besides being beautiful, you can cook too?"

She shot me a cold look and replied with a tone of disdain:

"I don't want to talk to you. I caught you with my underwear, and then you tried to kiss me."

I rolled my eyes.

"Sorry for the almost-kiss."

She kept her stern posture, responding seriously:

"You better be."

I felt a mix of frustration and regret, knowing I had messed things up with my impulsiveness. I couldn't blame her for being upset with me. I tried to find the right words to fix the situation:

"Elena, I understand that you're upset, and you have every right to be angry with me. I was insensitive and shouldn't have acted that way. I know my behavior was inappropriate, and I apologize for it. It's not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable or disrespected."

She looked at me for a moment, assessing my sincerity.

Elena sighed, seeming to consider my words. Then, she finally said:

"I hope you're telling the truth, Damon. I don't want trouble or games. I'm not one of your mafia mistresses."

I swallowed hard, understanding how wrong my actions had been. I nodded and replied sincerely:

She was going to cook lasagna. I was excited; I loved lasagna.

"I just ask that you don't touch my things without permission, Damon. Especially my underwear. I don't touch your things or your business, so don't touch mine."

"Okay, I agree. I won't touch your things anymore. I promise."

Elena was cooking, and I helped her, passing her the mozzarella, ham, and the ingredients for the lasagna. She cooked with skill, and she was beautiful even while cooking. I couldn't help but smile as I praised her:

"This food reminds me of my mother."

"It must bring back many memories," she replied.

"Many. I loved my mother so much; she was so loving, caring not only to me but to everyone around her."

Thinking about it, I remembered everything my uncle had told me. I didn't want to believe that Elena had done this to me; I didn't want to believe she could lie to me. I trusted her. Or at least, I wanted to trust her.

"Did you happen to see any documents that night you found me injured?" I asked.

"What documents?" she arched her eyebrows.

"I don't know; I thought you might know something."

"What are you talking about, Damon?" she replied.

"Never mind. I just thought you might have some information."

"I don't understand you. Are you suspecting me? All I did was save you from everything. Clown." She got up from the table in anger.

"It's not like that, Elena. I just wanted to know if you knew something. Relax."

"Relax my ass. You're crazy. I married you by contract, under threat, and all you do is accuse me of who-knows-what. Whatever."

She stormed off in anger. I managed to mess everything up as always; great. I was feeling so frustrated, but I needed to find out if Elena had anything to do with it. She was living in my house, sleeping in my bed, and I needed to know if I could trust her.

Seeing her reaction, I deduced that either she was a fantastic actress or my uncle was lying, trying to get me to annul this marriage contract. My uncle hadn't liked my marriage to Elena and had been causing trouble all along. I didn't know whom to trust, honestly. I would try to see or hack into Elena's computer; I needed reasons to accuse her before I accused her.

We had just finished dinner, and Elena didn't say anything more. She was upset with me for supposedly suspecting her.

People often think my life has always been easy. Not at all. Imagine having a legacy. Being a mafioso was never my choice. My father made it clear that I would be one, and that was that. In other words, I had no say in the matter. It was the same with my father's father and so on.

If you're born into this family, you'll never have peace.

I received a call from Renata, my cousin. She's like a sister to me, and I was glad that she and Elena got along.

"Hey there, jerk," Renata said.

"Respect me, idiot. How are you?" I asked.

"I'm good, cousin. As good as can be. I wanted to know if you could lend me a private jet to escape," she said, laughing.

"Why? Are you crazy?"

"My dad decided to find me a fiancé."

"What nonsense."

"I need to hang up, Damon. I'll talk to you later. Give Elena a kiss."

What nonsense indeed; it was a sick tradition. Women from mafia families had to get married, and their fathers chose their suitors. I never liked these conditions and convictions; most of the time, I followed them because I had no other choice. Unfortunately.

My mother always told me that if I ever got married, it had to be for love, just like my father and she were in love. And that's how it went until the end of their lives. My mother didn't like my uncle. I don't know why; they didn't get along, never did. But my uncle was the only