Page 46 of Entwined Lies (Entwined #1)

Luca

The lights were too bright, the streets too warped, as if I were driving through some twisted version of my own life.

Isabelle was a goddamn statue next to me, fists clenched, body locked up tight. She knew how close I was to exploding. She kept looking at me—quick, searching glances like she wanted to dig under my skin and find a crack.

I kept my face still, mouth shut. Let her think whatever the fuck she wanted. That I was fine. Unbothered.

Truth? My thoughts were a screaming mess—rage, betrayal, that fucking voice reminding me I’d let her in too far.

Every time I glanced at her, it hurt like hell. A punch that didn’t land on skin but somewhere deeper. I’d given her the truth of me, the fucked-up parts no one else got. And now I was the one left hollow.

My chest wouldn’t stop hurting—deep, dull, constant. I wanted to corner her with questions, force the truth out of her. But I wasn’t in a space to listen. Not without breaking something. Maybe her. Maybe myself.

When we finally pulled up to her mother’s house, I cut the engine and didn’t move. My hands stayed clamped to the wheel, knuckles pale. I stared straight ahead. Because turning my head meant looking at her. And I couldn’t do that. Not if I wanted to keep what little control I had left .

The house was all dark and silent except for that one dim porch light struggling to stay on, flickering as if it were just as unsure about all this as I was.

Isabelle’s hand hovered over the door handle, fingers twitching like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to leave or if she was just hoping I’d stop her.

I didn’t.

I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt, the muscles twitching under the weight of everything I didn’t say.

Then her breath hitched. “I love you, Luca.”

I kept my face blank. No flinch, no reaction. Pretending I hadn’t heard her at all. But fuck, those words ripped right through me. I’d taken hits before, but none like that. Still, she wouldn’t see it. I made sure of that.

She finally opened the door and got out, bag in hand. The click of it closing behind her was sharp, final—louder than it had any right to be. She didn’t glance back. Just walked slowly, hunched as if her guilt was dragging her down. And I hated how much I wanted to stop her.

I didn’t look back. Just shifted into gear and drove like the road could wash her off me.

When I got home, I left the engine running, headlights cutting across the dark front windows. I sat there like an idiot, hands on the wheel, too tired to move, too wired to breathe.

Eventually, I pushed the door open and got out, dragging myself inside. I walked the house like I was looking for something I already knew wasn’t there. Every room had fingerprints of the lie I bought into.

The bedroom hit hardest. Her scent still hung there, as if she’d never left. The sheets were still a mess, just like everything else she left behind .

The bed dipped under me as I sank onto it and buried my face in my hands.

I didn’t yell. Didn’t scream. I just sat there, trying to remember how I let this happen.

I was never supposed to fall like this. Never supposed to let anyone in deep enough to break me.

Now I was here—shattered and stupid over a woman who could’ve destroyed everything.

I lay there too long, counting breaths, hoping the ache might settle. It didn’t. She was still there. In my mouth, my lungs, my fucking bloodstream. I needed something to wipe it clean. Anything. Just so I could breathe again.

I got a glass from the kitchen, filled it halfway with Macallan, and downed it in one go. The burn was sharp, clean—something real in all this fucking noise.

I kept moving, couldn’t stop. Ended up back in the living room.

Just stood there, eyes locked on the place I’d had her.

Held her. Said things I never thought I’d say out loud.

Now? It all was like a goddamn mirage—something I’d convinced myself was real but had probably never existed in the first place.

Screw it. Tossing the glass aside, I went straight for the bottle, not in the mood for pretenses. I drank and waited for the numbness. For the burn to do more than just burn. But it didn’t come.

A bitter laugh slipped out before I could stop it. Pathetic didn’t even begin to cover this mess. The universe must be real proud of itself.

By the time dawn showed its face, I was past tired. I was empty. Stripped bare. My body hurt like hell, and my thoughts wouldn’t stop spinning. Just the same chaos, on repeat.

I sank into the armchair, and the bottle slipped from my grip, hit the floor with a muted clatter. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look. My head was too crowded with every choice I’d made, and all the ones I hadn’t. Every consequence tangled up and crashing into the next .

I didn’t even hear Enzo walk in. Not until he was right in front of me.

He froze. Took it all in. Chairs flipped, papers everywhere, the bottle tipped over like even it couldn’t stand me.

“Jesus Christ, I shouldn’t have left.”

He grabbed the bottle and slammed it down like that would fix something. The sound echoed, sharp and ugly.

“What the hell did you do?”

I looked at him through bleary eyes. Could barely swallow. My tongue was soaked in whiskey and the kind of regret that doesn’t leave.

“Nothin’. Just… dropped her off. Her mom’s place.” The words tangled in my mouth, heavy and bitter. “But it’s hard. So fuckin’ hard.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Then crouched down in front of me, his eyes narrowing as he searched my face.

“This was the only way. You know it. You did what you had to do.”

“No. The old man gave me 48 hours. I should’ve killed her. But I couldn’t fuckin’ do it. Couldn’t pull the damn trigger—just like the first time.”

Enzo’s eyes widened slightly, and he was silent for a beat. He wasn’t used to this version of me—unguarded, wrecked.

“Killing her wasn’t an option. Not for you.”

“But it should have been. Should’ve done what had to be done, but I let her go. I let her walk away.” The arm of the chair cracked under my fist as I slammed down, the pain sharp, almost comforting. “She betrayed me, and I still couldn’t fucking do it. I should’ve just… ended it.”

“You didn’t kill her because you’re not him.”

“Maybe I should be. If I don’t get this under control, he will. And no one survives that.”

He straightened, eyes narrowing, the fire in them unmistakable .

“That’s what you want? To turn into him?” He pointed toward the hallway, toward our father’s portrait on the wall. “Because that’s where this thinking gets you.”

“I don’t know. I don’t fucking know anymore.”

“If you didn’t feel it, I’d worry. You still have something he doesn’t—a line you can’t cross.”

“But what if I just made the one mistake we won’t come back from?”

His expression softened—just a flicker.

“You remember the day after my mom’s funeral.

I locked myself in the closet. You found me sitting under her coats, clutching her scarf like—like it could bring her back.

You told me you’d do anything to undo what happened—to give me one more day with her.

You meant it, Luca. And whether you realize it or not, you just did that for your son.

And if that means we’ve got to claw our way out of hell to survive the fallout, then fine. I’ll be right there beside you.”

He rose and offered me his hand.

I looked at it for a long second—those rough, familiar knuckles, that steady grip I’d leaned on more times than I could count. And I took it, let him haul me up, even as my legs threatened to buckle.

Enzo clapped me on the back. “Good. Now, get your head on straight. We need to be at the warehouse in an hour, and you’re not walking in like this.”

He disappeared into the kitchen like it was his own damn place, like he’d been fixing my disasters since day one. Which, to be fair, he kind of had.

I followed, each step heavier than the last, every damn choice dragging me down.

Pulling out a baggie, he shook some cocaine onto a plate with the precision of a damn chemist. Looked up at me with that usual smug grin as he reached for a straw .

I lifted a brow. “We’re really doing this now?”

“Hey, you’re not the only one who’s had a shit night. And let’s not act like you’re innocent—you taught me how to cut lines, remember? Don’t go all saint on me now.”

“We barely touch this stuff anymore.”

“Barely doesn’t mean never.” He smirked. “Now, take a line and get your shit together. You look like you’ve been hit by a bus.”

I snatched the straw from his hand. “You’re an asshole.”

“True. Functioning one, though.”

I bent and took the line in one hit. The burn shot up my nose, that sour aftertaste kicking in quick.

Enzo leaned against the counter, arms crossed, giving me that look he always did—equal parts worried and annoyed. “Feel better?”

“Yeah. I feel something, at least.”

“Good. Because I’m not dragging your ass through this day, you hear me?”

He started moving around, picking things up as if it were routine, and I just stood there, letting the coke do what it was meant to—burn through the exhaustion, the panic, everything except one cold, brutal truth: I couldn’t lose it now.

I showered quickly. Enzo tossed me clean clothes, and I got dressed without saying anything, still trying to scrub off the last twenty-four hours. No point replaying it. I’d fucked up. That part wasn’t changing. What mattered now was the next move.

I yanked the shirt over my head just as he pushed off the doorframe, walking toward me like everything was fine. Like nothing had cracked beneath our feet.

“We’re in the shit, yeah. But it’s not the first time. Won’t be the last. We’ve walked through worse fires and made it out breathing. This? This is just another storm to ride out. ”

I held his gaze, let the truth of it settle. He was right—we’d lived through hell more than once.

“We’ll deal with it. Whatever it takes, we’ll handle it.”

Enzo gave me that half-smile of his, the one that always stopped short of his eyes.

“That’s more like it,” he said, hand landing heavy on my shoulder. “Now, come on. We’ve got shit to handle, and I’m not about to let you sit around like some lovesick idiot. Get your ass moving.”