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I glanced at Enzo and noticed that he was on alert.
Then I looked toward my apartment.
The door was ajar.
I stopped.
Blinked.
Then started to reach for the knob.
Enzo pulled me back.
“Wait here.”
He put himself in front of me and walked toward the door.
His body was like a shield, a force that would stand between me and anything that might try to hurt me. He was almost overbearing in his presence, and for the first time, I didn’t resent it.
I appreciated it.
I couldn’t tear my gaze away from him, my mind whirling as I tried to comprehend what had happened.
The door was splintered.
It had been kicked in.
My pulse spiked, and I fumbled in the cute little handbag that was only big enough for my phone and a tube of lipstick I hadn’t even bothered to put on.
I pulled out the phone but realized I didn’t have anyone to call.
“What are you doing?” I said when Enzo took the phone out of my hand.
“Stay back, Molly,” he said.
I watched, still dumbfounded as he unlocked my phone and dialed a number.
“How do you know my unlock code?” I asked.
He chuckled, but a split second later was all business again.
“Meet me at Molly’s in fifteen. Bring muscle and a new door,” he said.
He hung up the phone without waiting for a response and then focused on the door.
I tried not to pay attention to the hand at his waistband, or think about what he might be capable of.
Instead I watched him as he moved—graceful, precise, terrifying.
He took one look at the door and pushed it open fully, scanning the interior with a narrowed gaze. I stayed frozen, heart in my throat, while he stepped inside like he owned the place.
“Stay there,” he said over his shoulder.
His voice was flat.
Controlled.
The exact opposite of how I felt.