Page 130 of Enzo

Then Luca stood. “If we’re serious about protecting our family, we do this together. We root out every last name. Every contact. Every enabler. And we end it, once and for all. What Enzo did… it put a target on Pen and him, and it’s on us to ensure they live. They—Pen and Enzo—shouldn’t be the ones you’re coming after, but all those who worked with Atticus.”

Cassio stared out the window for a long moment, then finally faced us.

“If you slip—if I catch even a whiff of a lie—I’ll end you myself.” He made a gesture with his fingers, indicating he would be watching me. “And keep my niece protected. Clear?”

“Crystal,” I said.

Nico’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not family to me, Enzo.”

“I’m not asking to be.”

“But I will help end this organization,” Nico muttered. “Because I want revenge too. For what they did to Hannah. And I don’t half-ass revenge.”

“Then we’re in agreement,” Luca said, clapping his hands once. “We move forward as one.”

I glanced at Penelope. She gave me a small smile, proud and fierce.

This wasn’t how I imagined this would end.

Hell, it was even better.

52

PENELOPE

My parents’ house was quiet.

The kind of quiet that only came after a storm, with the undercurrent of a promise.

The promise of healing. The promise of alliances. The promise of a better future.

Even Sicily, loud and alive as it always was, felt hushed tonight. The broken hearts and souls were on the slow mend. It would take years for Amara’s loss to ease in our hearts, and years to stitch back the trust that had been broken.

As I roamed the house I grew up in, I could hear Amara’s footsteps, her laugh. It was almost as if she were still here, her spirit roaming the halls and watching over us. However, I didn’t dare go into our old rooms. When my parents asked us to stay the night and offered them up, Enzo and I refused. They weren’t ready to hold someone else.

Enzo stood by the window of our guest room, moonlight tracing the sharp line of his jaw. His once-shaved head now showed the soft return of dark hair, a quiet symbol of time passing and wounds beginning to heal.

His crisp white shirt was open, his chest rising and falling slowly.

He tensed when he heard me, but then immediately relaxed.

“Mia anima,” he rasped, not turning around.

My arms slipped around his waist from behind and I pressed my cheek to his back.

“How did you know it was me?”

He exhaled. “I stalked you for three years. I can identify your perfume, sense your presence, and feel your breaths.”

“Darn stalkers,” I whispered, lips brushing the space between his shoulder blades.

We stood like that, breathing together. His hand came to rest over mine.

“I was worried there for a minute,” he said. “Not for me, but for you. I would have lost it if they so much as scratched you, Penelope. Uncles or not.” He shook his head. “Dio mio, I don’t know whether to punish you or kiss you.”

“I wasn’t going to let them hurt either one of us.” I gently turned him to face me. “Now, I wouldn’t be opposed to you kissing me and spanking me at the same time. It’s kind of kinky, and I’m curious.”

“I’m being serious,” he said, voice stern, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of fire he couldn’t quite hide.