Page 28

I head down to the cellar, a place I’ve avoided. Its iron door is tucked in a dim corridor. The air’s damp, smelling of mud and blood, and my gut tells me this is where I’ll find answers.
The door creaks as I push it open, the stairs descending into darkness. My boots echo, the sound swallowed by the stone walls. At the bottom, a single bulb swings, casting jagged light over a concrete cell. And there he is—Luis, chained to a pipe, wrists bound, his face bruised, blood dried on his lip.
He looks up, eyes wide, then smirks, that old cocky grin. “Fina,” he says, voice rough. “Come to save me?” My stomach churns, rage and disgust mixing. He’s here, in Enzo’s cellar, and it’s no mistake. Enzo did this, and he kept it from me.
“Shut up,” I snap, stepping close, my voice cold. “What happened?”
Luis laughs, wincing as it pulls at his split lip. “Your husband’s a bastard, that’s what. Grabbed me at a bar, locked me here. Thinks he can use me against Domenico.”
My fists clench, my nails biting my palms. Enzo’s playing a dangerous game, and I’m the one caught in it. I turn, ready to hunt him down, but heavy footsteps echo above. I know it’s him before I see him, his presence like a storm rolling in. I turn in a whirl.
Enzo fills the doorway, his broad frame blocking the dim light. The air crackles, heavy with his presence, and my skin prickles in remembrance.
His eyes are dark and unreadable. His hair is tousled, like he ran his fingers through it one too many times. He looks like he hasn’t slept. His shirt is rumpled and upon closer look, his eyes are bloodshot. My gaze shoots to his hand on the knob and I notice his knuckles are red, scraping raw. I mentally wince. Whoever had been on the receiving end of his wrath has to be the unluckiest person in the world.
I want to go to him and cradle his head against my chest. I want to lay soft kisses on his knuckles and ease the pain I know he doesn't feel away. My heart aches just to see him.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I should get a grip. I’m not some lovesick puppy. I’m angry at him, for Christ’s sake!
But still, I let my gaze roam over him. The man could be in a sack, and he'd still be gorgeous. Damn him for stirring something in me. This heat between us is something I can’t kill. Even now, it sizzles.
“Fina,” he says in a low voice , like he's tasting my name on his tongue. Like it’s his to own. “What the hell are you doing down here?” His gaze flicks to Luis, then back to me. His eyes narrow, like he’s peeling me apart, seeing how much I know.
“Don’t play dumb,” I hiss, stepping forward. My chest is tight with fury. “You took him. Papa’s man. You think you can pull this shit under my nose?” My voice trembles, not from fear but from rage, from the way his eyes burn into mine, forcing me to remember memories I'd rather forget. “Unless you want a war, Enzo, let him go. Now.”
Luis chuckles behind me. The sound is low and taunting. Petty asshole. I want to smash his face, but Enzo’s my target. I see a tick in his jaw as if he's trying to rein in his temper. What stupid temper? I should be the one angry, not him.
He steps closer, towering over me. His nearness makes my skin tingle, and my brain short-circuits. The man has a stour effect on me.
“You think you can order me around in my own house?” His voice is a growl. But it's not anger I sense in it, it is hunger. His eyes are communicating his wants to me. It sends a shiver through me, my body betraying me with a rush of heat. Am I going mad? He continues. “Luis fucked with my docks, Fina. He’s leverage. You don’t call the shots.” His eyes drop to my lips, and my breath catches.
He's deliberately doing it. He's trying to unnerve me. Fuck him. Why can't I seem to remember that he's my enemy when he's close? He can't know how much he's affecting me.
“Bullshit,” I spit as I close the gap between us, our faces now inches apart. “You want leverage? You’re starting a war you can’t win. You're lighting a fire. Papa’s men are itching for a fight, and this?” I jab a finger toward Luis. “This is the match.”
Luis laughs again, mockingly, and it’s like gasoline on my rage. “Shut up,” I snap at him, not breaking eye contact with Enzo, who’s watching me like a predator, his lips twitching, like he’s daring me to make a move.
“You’ve got some nerve, Fina,” Luis rasps, his voice rough, dripping with sarcasm. “Barging in here, playing hero for your papa. You think Mancini’s gonna listen to you?” His words sting, and I whirl on him, my fists clenching, nails biting my palms.
“I said shut up, Luis. You’re here because you fucked up, so don’t lecture me.”
He grins, wincing as it pulls his split lip, but his eyes gleam, like he’s enjoying this too much.
I turn back to Enzo, my rage flaring hotter. “You’re making a mistake. Papa’s not some street thug you can push. Keep Luis, and you’re begging for blood.”
Enzo’s eyes narrow, his jaw working, but he doesn’t budge, his silence infuriating. “You’re in my world now, Fina,” he says finally, voice low and cutting. “My rules.”
His words hit like a slap, and my blood boils. I’m not his to control, not his to cage, and I’ll be damned if he thinks he can break me. Luis snickers, and it’s the last straw, my control snapping like a brittle thread.
“You’re both fucking idiots,” I snarl, my voice echoing off the stone walls. “You think this is a game? You’re tearing everything apart, and I’m the one stuck in the middle.”
Enzo’s eyes flash, something shifting in them—anger, maybe, or something hotter, and it’s like a match to my own fire.
My heart’s pounding, my skin buzzing, and I’m too close. His scent—sweat, smoke, him—floods me. I should back off, but his eyes remain intent on mine. God, the desire in them, the need. I hate him so much, but fuck, I want him, and the line between the two is blurred, it makes my sight hazy. It makes me delirious.
Before I can stop myself, I grab his shirt and yank him down. I see the way his eyes widen in surprise. I slam my mouth into his hard. It's desperate. It's a collision of lips and fury. It’s not a kiss—it’s a fucking explosion. My lips bruise against his, my teeth grazing his lower lip. I taste the whiskey on his tongue.
He freezes for a heartbeat, then growls. The sound is low and feral as his mouth claims mine hungrily. His tongue pushes in roughly and tangles with mine. I don't fight it. I let him take thelead. I let him wreck my mouth with his tongue, my nails digging into his chest through his shirt. The kiss is raw, a war of need and rage, my body igniting as his heat seeps into me, my core throbbing and so wet, despite the anger still burning.