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Alfio turns toward me too, his eyes unreadable.

I lower the gun slowly.

“It’s been a long night,” I mutter. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Enzo’s shoes scrape the marble as he walks away—without another glance at any of us.

The doors echo shut behind the last of my brothers. Their footsteps scatter up the stairs, one by one, leaving the house wrapped in a heavier quiet than before.

I walk over to the bar and reach for the decanter with fingers too tight around the glass neck. The whiskey pours into my tumbler.

I plop on the couch and I sigh. Enzo walks in, shirtless and damp from sweat. His skin gleams under the low chandelier light. He reaches for a bottle of wine and tucks it in the crook of his arm like he intends to disappear with it.

I speak before I know I’m going to. “Let’s drink.”

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “I kind of hate all of you right now.”

“It’s not a request.”

Enzo exhales, irritated, but he pulls out a stool. Pops the cork with his teeth. He drinks straight from the bottle like it’s water.

“When did you become so protective of her?” I ask, voice casual even though my fingers are tightening again around the tumbler.

He shrugs, smirking. “Ironic, isn’t it? I’m the one protecting your girlfriend.”

“It’s complicated,” I say. The phrase tastes bitter now.

“You don’t love her?”

I swirl the whiskey. “It’s complicated.”

Enzo leans back in his seat, wine resting against his thigh. “Then let me have her.”

The words hit like a slap.

It isn’t a thought. It’s a reaction. A full-bodied refusal that spikes through my chest before I even draw breath. I feel it before I know why I feel it. I remember the way she looked at me in the dark of my room, terrified and trembling—and how I still wanted to kiss her. How her lips stayed still beneath mine but her body shivered against me like she was made to fit into that moment. I remember the strange twist in my gut when she smiled at me before the dinner.

She was afraid of me. Still is. But—I set the tumbler down before I crush it in my hand.

Enzo watches me with narrowed eyes. “That’s the thing. I can’t tell with you. You don’t seem to want her, but the second I say I do, you look like you’d rather put a bullet between my eyes.” He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “You don’t know what to do with her, do you?”

“I don’t understand myself either,” I admit, and it’s the first honest thing I’ve said all night.

Enzo sits forward, elbows on knees. “If you don’t want her… then take her back to where she will be loved. Men like us do not deserve angels like her.” He stands, his eyes burning into mine. “I really can’t stand you tonight. I have to dip before I attack you.”

He’s halfway to the hall when the door swings open, hard enough to rattle the hinges. One of the guards rushes in, breathless, his face pale.

“Sir. The lady… she passed out.”

Everything stops.

Enzo and I are shoulder to shoulder, tearing through the corridor before the sound of the wine bottle finishes clattering to the floor.

The guards at the room scatter when they see us coming.

She’s on the floor, curled in on herself like a discarded doll, blood blooming through the back of her shirt, staining the marble beneath her. Her face is pale—too pale. Lips cracked. Her lashes tremble once… then still. Enzo lurches to a stop in the doorway, frozen like someone just punched through his chest.

I shove past him. Drop to my knees.