Page 14 of Enzo

“No.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I have to admit, son”—the affection in his voice when he saidsonhit me in the chest—“I’m not sure whether to be relieved or concerned at your lack of reaction.”

I shrugged. “Be relieved.”

Judging by his expression, he’d taken the concerned route. But that was who my father—uncle, whatever—was. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t biologically our parent, he was in every other sense. The same went for Isla. She’d done more for us than our own mother. In fact, the two weren’t even comparable. The other woman had gone so far as to tryto murderus. And on more than one occasion.

“Anyhow, since it’s a day for truths, I have an admission to make too,” I continued. “I’ve been digging up some information, and I struck a deal with Diana Bergman.”

Father tensed. “TheDiana Bergman?”

“I know of only one.”

“The very same whoshotthe Nikolaev boy?” I nodded my confirmation. “Why, Enzo? What could she possibly have that you want or need?”

“Access to a club, among other things.” I waved my hand nonchalantly, trying to downplay just how much I’d wanted it while hoping he didn’t ask me to expand on details relating to said club. “However, considering the Nikolaevs got their hands on her, I think it’s prudent we speed up the wedding date. Keep it small.”

Father’s brow knit. “Whatever Bergman shares with them, we can leverage Amadeo’s broken engagement and the sex tape.”

I shook my head.

The sex tape was sent last month by Nikola Nikolaev to put a stop to Father’s plan of tying Amadeo to Skye Leone. Not that my brother had had any plans of going through with the wedding, but the tape definitely ended any possibility of it.

“It won’t be enough,” I said. “Let’s set the wedding for Christmas Day.”

Honestly, tomorrow would be ideal, but I knew there was no way in hell that Luca DiMauro would ever agree.

“I’m all for it,” Father stated carefully. “Although I am a bit surprised by this sudden rush to marry Penelope.”

I shrugged. “I don’t want to risk any family secrets coming out and putting a damper on our plans.”

It was the closest to the truth I dared to get.

“Do you want the ring your father gave?—”

“No.” There was no way in hell I’d touch anything of my mother’s. “I already have Penelope’s ring.”

Surprise flashed in Father’s eyes.

“Very well,” he agreed, not commenting further. “I’ll call Luca. It’s been a long time coming.”

After the meeting with Father, I went looking for my brother and found him on the terrace of the little guesthouse on the edge of the property, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. This place was where we’d always come as children when we sought privacy for whatever ridiculous scheme we were cooking up. Oh, how times had changed.

I took a seat on the bench next to him and mirrored his position.

“Are you okay?”

He let out a sardonic breath. “Sure, I’ll have plenty to talk about with my therapist.”

“You’re still seeing Dr. Freud?”

Amadeo had begun having manic episodes in his late teens, and after a myriad of doctors and hospital visits, it was recommended he try therapy. Our mother had left a mark on us all, but my brother hadn’t been able to compartmentalize as effectively as me. Father really should have ended that bitch before we could ever remember her.

“I guess.” He shrugged, staring pointedly at his leather loafers. “Maybe if I’m a better man and”—he tapped his temples—“things are functioning up here, I’ll be a good husband if I ever marry.”

“Maybe try not to shag every female on the continent,” I suggested wryly. “That’d be a good place to start.”