Page 78 of Jordan

“And what the fuck does that mean?”

He leans close, tapping the table with his fat finger. “It means I know you’re hiding something about your father. Something you don’t want other people to find out, but I will find out what it is, and when I do, I’m taking you down and taking her back.”

I hold his gaze and let a smile cross my lips. He stares at me as if he’s got the upper hand. As if I’m afraid of his threats. I grab my drink and toss it back, putting the glass down and hissing out a satisfied sound.

“I’ll enjoy watching you try, Dario.”

I get to my feet, gesturing with two fingers for Rocco to follow me.

If this asshole thinks he can get away with threatening me, he’s got another thing coming.

Once I’m in the car, I call Elio to give him the exciting news.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Jordan

Enzo has this air about him. I’ve noticed it ever since I was a child. When I was small, I remember thinking he was scary. Not in the way he’d hurt me, but more intimidating. Larger than life, I guess. He was very different from my father, who was always kind, affectionate, and less direct. He never paid me much mind as a child. As I got older, and less annoying, Enzo started smiling at me. Talking to me. Being nice. That air stayed, but it was no longer intimidating. I recognized it as power. The same way in which I looked at police officers.

I still feel that way about him now—mostly. He is an intimidating man. He bleeds power, and I’ve thought this even before I knew what he was. Now that I do, it all makes sense. But though that’s true, I can’t remember ever fearing him.

As much as I hate him, I’m not afraid of him. I know he would never hurt me. Not physically, anyway. Keeping me here is a form of hurting me, but deep down, because whatever is going on deep down inside of me, in my vat of logic, I know what he’s doing is business. It makes sense. He wouldn’t take me if he didn’t need to. Even though I have every right to be angry at him for what he’s done and keeps doing to me, some of that anger is misplaced. Most of that anger should be aimed toward my father because he is the one who did this. Had my father not done what he did, Enzo wouldn’t have done what he had to do to fix it.

I know Enzo was fixing my father’s mistake—whatever that mistake is, because Enzo is still tight-lipped about it. I recall Enzo telling me if it weren’t for him, both me and my father would be dead. Maybe I should be grateful for him doing what he did.

I could be dead right now.

Dead. Not breathing. Not existing.

But I’m not dead. I’m alive. I’m here and I can have a life.

I still don’t have the full picture, though.

I wish I did.

It may be easier to accept my fate if I knew the truth. If someone would just tell me the damn truth. I won’t get it from Enzo, and I can’t get it from my father because I have no way of talking to him.

Anyway, back to that overwhelming air of power dripping from Vincenzo Bramante…

I feel it like the way a scent crawls into your nose and doesn’t leave you for hours, then haunts you years later for no reason at all. His presence does the same, lingering and mixing with the air, taking it over and making you feel it.

I feel him.

So when that presence is so strong it catches in my throat, swirls in my chest and makes me pause, I know something is very, very wrong.

I go down for dinner like I normally do. My body is on a schedule now, which isn’t the worst thing to happen. The table is set for two, so I assume Enzo will join me. And he does, just late. So late that I’m almost finished eating. I feel him walk through the door before I know he’s here.

And I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

His expensive shoes slap on the tile as he walks through the kitchen and into the dining room. He takes his suit jacket off, resting it on the back of the chair across from me before sitting down.

His face is in a scowl. Definitely angry then.

“Is everything okay?” I ask softly.

I’ve seen him pissed, but not like this. Something happened.

“Business. Don’t worry about it,” he snaps.