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Damn Enzo.I ignore the rapid heartbeat of my heart. I ignore the implications of this news. He's let Luis go. What does it mean for me…and for him?
17
Enzo
I lean back in my study’s leather chair, the cigar smoke curling thickly in the air, as bitter as my mood. It’s been a week and a half since Serafina left for her father’s villa, and here I am, a fucking mess. I'm no better than I was on the day she left. In fact, I'm worse off.
I miss her. Not just her body—though, God, the thought of her curves under my hands keeps me up at night—but her sharp tongue, the way her green eyes cut through my bullshit. She's a fucking knife, edges sharp, slicing me open, and I hate how much I crave it. It almost feels like I'm counting down to the day she'll get back, which I'm not privy to.
Before now, if anyone had told me I'd miss the presence of a woman, much less yearn for it, I'd have labeled them mad. Weeks before, I wouldn't have believed that a day would come so soon where I'd have a permanent fixture, I'd come to call my wife. I knew it'd happen sooner or later. I'd eventually need to tie myself down in marriage with a suitable woman, someone of caliber, who'd give me children—little princesses, heirs.
But never in my wildest dreams would I ever imagine myself being tied down with my enemy, even if it's just a smokescreen marriage. I'd gone into this without carefully thinking of how long the whole thing would last for. I'd gone into this with the aim to control the Rossis from within, but these days, I can no longer dredge up the resentment I started out with.
I'd even let Luis go, for Christ's sake. I don't know why the hell I did that. It'd been on a whim. I wonder what she thinks about me releasing him. God. I want to see her so badly.
It's hard enough to admit to myself that I miss her. I miss my wife. I’ve texted her, sure. A few curt messages about her father’s health. Some brief messages about how she is, never when she's coming back because pride chokes me. I can’t let her know I’m unraveling, that her absence is a fist in my gut, and I'm a ticking time bomb waiting to explode at the slightest nudge.
My cock stirs at the thought of burying myself in her. I want to claim her in more ways than one. I want to own her until she's trembling in my arms, pliant and soft. The images my mind conjures up are torturous. I drag on the cigar, trying to burn away the ache, but it’s no use. She’s in my blood, like a leechsucking away at my essence. Only she's sucking away at my soul, my sanity.
The door creaks open, and I don’t look up. Probably Matteo with some smartass quip. I've not been giving him the time of day lately. Not when I spend my days in a sour mood, occupying my mind with the thoughts of my absent wife. He's been busy, too, running different operations in my stead.
I open my mouth on a dry rebuke at him interrupting my quiet time, but then a scent hits me—cheap, cloying perfume. Alanna. For a while there, I forgot she existed. What the hell is she doing here? I almost groan out my frustration.
I glance over, and she’s barely dressed, a scrap of black lace clinging to her hips, her tits out, blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. She lets the lace slip to the floor, standing naked before me. She's bold as fuck, I give her that. My eyes narrow. Before Serafina, I’d have had her bent over this desk, tweaking her nipples, fucking her hard to sate the fire in me.
Now? Nothing.
My cock doesn’t even twitch.
“Enzo,” she purrs, slinking closer, pressing her chest against my arm. Her breasts rub against me, deliberate, her lips grazing my jaw. “You’ve been lonely without her, haven’t you?” Her voice is all honey, but it grates like sandpaper.
I shove her back roughly, my hand gripping her wrist as the anger I feel boils over. “Get the fuck off me,” I growl, my voice lethal, aiming for damage. “What the fuck do you think you're doing?”
She falters slightly.
I continue coldly. “I’m married now. I’ve got one woman, and it’s not you. Don’t pull this shit again, Alanna. You’re a whore, nothing more.”
Her face twists, pain flashing in her eyes, but I don’t care. She should’ve known better than to try me. I’m not the Enzo that used to fuck her to chase a high. I'm a different man now who only has eyes for one woman, and that woman is none other than my wife.
She steps closer, her eyes brimming with defiance. Before now, I hadn't noticed she had brown eyes. Her voice is shaky as she says, “you’ll come back to me when this blows over. You always do.”
“Alanna…” I begin, ready to tell her off once and for all.
“No. Enzo. Don't patronize me. I know what you have with her is only temporary, and I know you'll come back. It's just a matter of days. I'm a patient woman. I'm willing to wait.”
I almost laugh, but the sound stops cold in my throat. I hadn't meant to patronize her, I'd meant to be ruthless with her, but I pause, eyeing her. It’s the first time I’ve seen her show spine,a flicker of something beyond the bland plaything she’s been. It surprises me.
All my women were short-term—fucked, paid, gone. Alanna lasted because she scratched an itch, her bank account fat enough she’ll never have to work again if she doesn't want to. But now? I feel something sharp, like sympathy, and it fucks with my head. Me, feeling pity? What the fuck is happening to me?
I soften my tone, but it’s still firm and cutting, straight to the point. “You’ll find someone, Alanna. Someone who wants more than a quick fuck. You’re an attractive woman, but I’ve got a wife now. She’s the only one who gets me.” The words slip out, and I freeze. Do I mean them? Is this affection, this clawing need for Serafina? My chest tightens, and I hate it. Alanna’s eyes widen, shocked I’m even trying to pacify her. It shocks me too. I’m not this guy—soft words, fucking feelings.
“Out,” I snap, sharper now, covering the lapse. I'm not that man. I'm Enzo Mancini. I'm cold. I'm calculated. Those are the qualities that make my enemies shake in their boots. The same quality that has built me an infallible track record in the mafia world.
I see her briefly hesitate before she grabs her lace scrap, and heads for the door. I watch her progress to the door. She pauses, and this time, I'm almost losing my shit. One more word from her, and I won't be so kind at dispelling her. I make a mental note to inform the security guards to deny her entry the next time she comes.
“Thank you,” she mutters, her voice slightly trembling, but I see something else in her eyes—a kind of gratefulness that's fleeting. The moment I catch it, she’s gone, and I know she'll never be back. It's something I'd seen in her eyes—gratitude mixed with resolution.
I slump in the chair, the cigar burned to a stub, ash dusting my desk. Serafina’s got me so fucked up I can’t think straight. Alanna’s gone, and I feel nothing—no pull, no heat. Before, I’d have fucked her raw, chased the high, she wouldn't have dared to walk away from me, but now? It’s Fina. Only Fina. Her sharp mouth, her body pressed against mine, that jasmine scent that haunts me.