Page 30 of Enzo

I found Amadeo on the swinging chair in front of the guesthouse. The moment he spotted me, he jumped up and strode to me with a dark expression.

“What took you so fucking long?” was his greeting.

My eyebrow arched.

“It’s been exactly thirty minutes,” I said, flicking a glance at my vintage Rolex.

“I overheard something,” he gritted, his jaw tense and his expression thunderous. “Why in the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

I slid my hands into my pockets and casually made my way to the chair, buying time.

“What exactly didn’t I tell you?” I questioned, meeting his eyes.

“Is it true?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a bit more specific, Amadeo. I’m not a mind reader.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, then took three steps before retaking his spot opposite me.

“You’ve been acting like the head of the family way before Father relinquished his Omertà seat. I’m fine with it, but you should trust me enough to keep me in the loop.” He paused, waiting for me to say something. When I didn’t, he continued. “What was your business with Diana Bergman?”

Fuck!He wasn’t supposed to learn about my business with Diana. Fucking ever.

“Why don’t you tell me what you heard first?” I stated reluctantly, unwilling to reveal more than necessary.

“That she knew our mother,” he gritted. “That you approached her recently. Why?”

I shrugged. “She had something I needed.”

“Stop fucking around, Enzo. It’s me you’re talking to.”

I sighed. “It’s the truth. She had something I needed, and I made a deal with her.”

“Well, I sure as fuck hope it had nothing to do with her ties to the Spanish mafia.”

“Where are you getting your information from?” I demanded, keeping my expression blank.

“Don’t you fucking worry about that. Did you know the Spanish are working with Atticus Popov?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Amadeo, please tell meyou’renot fucking around with the Spanish.”

He shrugged. “It was a one-time thing.”

His face remained impassive, ghosts lurking behind those eyes in typical Marchetti fashion.

“You’re a grown man, and you can fuck any willing person. Woman, man… that’s your business. But I sure as fuck hope you didn’t get tangled up with the Spanish mafia.”

“I didn’t, and it wasn’t a man. I’m not gay.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I couldn’t care less if you were. I’m more worried about what information you’re sharing while tangled up between the sheets.”

He shrugged. “We weren’t in a bed.”

I sighed. “I really don’t need to know. There’s such a thing as TMI, you know.”

He scoffed. “Look at you, talking like the young ones. Your fiancée’s rubbing off on you.”

I glared at him. “Stop trying to distract me. It’s not working. I want to know who you got the information from.”