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I want to believe he’d burn for me, for this, but doubt chews at me. I sit on the bed, my hands on my stomach, searching for a sign, a flutter. There’s nothing, just the weight of what’s growing.
A child. Our child. The thought is an angry storm, ripping through my plans, my pride. I’ve fought to be more than Domenico’s daughter, more than a bride. But this is bigger thanme, than us. I close my eyes, and Enzo’s there—his smirk, his voice, the way he says my name like it’s a curse and a vow. I need to go back, to face him, to tell him. But not yet. I need time to brace myself, to rebuild my walls.
The villa’s walls close in, the air thick with my secret. It's larger than life. Papa's getting stronger, but, here I am, crumbling. I stand, smoothing my dress, my face a mask again.
I’ll play the part—daughter, wife—until I can’t. I move to the window to stare out, to breathe in air that's not contaminated by this new discovery. My throat closes up, but I'm determined not to cry. I won't give in to hysterics. I'm not that woman. I'm Serafina Rossi. I tackle whatever comes my way head-on. My hand moves to cover my abdomen and I stare down at my flat stomach, smooth, untampered with. Already, I'm feeling protective of the little one blooming inside of me.
I look out the window again. The roses outside mock me, their red too bright. I’m carrying Enzo’s child, and nothing will ever be the same. Despite my bravery, I let the fear settle.
This is my fight now, and I'll be damned if I back down from it.
19
Enzo
Fina’s been gone two weeks, and I’m a man unmoored. My chest is raw with a hunger that gnaws my insides. I miss her. Not just her body, not the way it melts into me. I miss the sharp edge of her wit that cuts clean through me, the fire in her green eyes when she dares me to cross her, the way her skin feels under my palms, warm and unyielding, like she’s daring me to break her. I fear I might go absolutely mad by her absence.
The mansion’s a hollow shell without her, every room echoing the absence of her laugh, her scent. I catch whiffs of jasmine in the air, a cruel permanence that haunts my sleepless nights, leaving me hard and restless. One time I'd gone to her room, and my reaction to being there had been visceral, almost bringing me to my knees. I'd caught myself, baffled by such a strong reaction to being in her room.
My texts to her are cold, clipped, pride a noose around my throat. But, if I'm being truthful to myself, it’s a lie. I’m burning for her badly, deeply. My blood is a roar I can’t quiet. Day in, day out, I pace my study, the cigar in my hand tasteless, ash dusting my desk like snow. I’m Enzo Mancini, forged in blood, unshakeable, but she’s undone me… completely, implicitly. I need her back, her fight, her heat, her everything.
Today, I'm battling with my sanity, wondering if I'm not all the better, going for her. Matteo has gone to a meeting on my behalf. He'd looked at me as if I've gone completely bonkers before he left. And, I don't blame him. My wife's absence is doing a great number on me.
I crush the cigar in the ashtray resolutely, the decision settling like a stone. I’m done waiting. I'm going for her and that's final. I grab my keys, my Beretta heavy at my hip, its cool metal a reminder of who I am and head out.
The drive to the Rossi villa is a blur, the road a gray ribbon under a sky bruised with clouds, my pulse a steady drum urging me forward. I’m not just her husband—I’m the man who claimed her, enemy or not, and this marriage, this fragile peace between our families, means she’s mine. The thought of her defiance, her refusal to bend, only fuels me. I want her fire in my hands, even if it burns.
The iron gates of the Rossi villa groan open, and I step out, gravel crunching sharply under my boots. The last time I was here was to forge an alliance with my enemy, an alliance that hadme carting away with a wife, and a momentary promise to hold the peace.
The guards at the gate—two of them—eye me warily as I approach them. They know who I am, no doubt. One of them whips out a phone to put a call across to whoever the fuck is the Lord of the villa now that Domenico is ill. I realize I should've called my wife to notify her of my coming, but in my maddening haste, I hadn't remembered to put a call across. Well, let this be a surprise to her.
“Mr. Rossi will be here shortly,” the other says.
I return their wary stare with steely ones. I understand their hostility and carefulness, but goddammit, I'm no longer a rival, I'm Serafina Rossi's fucking husband.
Just as I'm about to say something to that effect, I see a figure emerge, walking stealthily. I recognize who it is.Riccardo Rossi.A spineless bastard. Where the fuck is my wife? I expect her to be informed of my appearance. She should be the one here to welcome me.
He comes toward and stops just short of where I'm standing. I watch as he leans against a stone pillar, his face twisted with venom. He doesn't faze me. If he's indeed a replacement for Domenico, then the Rossis are truly fucked.
He must have thought better of his pose, because he moves away from the stone pillar and steps right into my path, his stance threatening. “Mancini,” he snarls, his lips curling in distaste.
I watch him, his exact expression mirrored on my face. His hand twitches toward the gun at his belt as if he's going to unholster it any moment from now. “You’ve got some fucking balls showing up here after what you did to one of our associates.”
I step toward him and stand right in front of him, towering over him. He plants his feet firmly on the ground, determined not to falter. My eyes narrow, a cold smile curling my lips. “Your dog-shit faced associate deserved it. He messed with me first. Now, my wife’s inside, Rossi. You either move, or I’ll make you.”
His jaw clenches, hate blazing in his eyes, but I see the flicker of doubt. He's not as smart as he thinks he is. I wonder how two people born of the same parents can be so different.
“She’ll laugh in your face,” he spits, but his voice wavers slightly. He's caving.
I step closer, my voice low and lethal. “Try me.”
He hesitates, then steps aside, muttering curses, his shoulder brushing mine as I shove past. The contact sparks a flare of rage I swallow down. Anyone else does that, I'd be battering their head in.
The villa’s a fortress, cold and grand, but I'm not here to admire the beauty of it. I'm here to claim my wife. The big oak doors at the entrance opens and a man I recognize as Carlo from the last time I was here comes out. He walks toward me, his mouth set in a firm line.
“Mr. Mancini,” he says nodding slightly, then turns to lead me to where Fina is.
I stride through the hall, following him, wondering where the hell in the whole of this fortress my wife is. I'm about to mutter a curse, impatient eating away at me when I see her. Fina.