Page 41 of Enzo

The song ended and he took a step back, his eyes homing in on mine. “Go pack. Now.”

The moment decidedly broken by his clipped words, I clicked my heels and saluted him, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

15

PENELOPE

“I’m not going anywhere,” I gritted, glaring at my reflection in the mirror. I had changed yet again, opting for simple jeans, a warm sweater, and flats. My cell phone was tucked safely in my back pocket, buzzing like a bee. But I had bigger problems to deal with.

“Sweetheart—”

“He got what he wanted. We’re married. I don’t want a honeymoon. I want him to get lost.”

My sister sat with her legs crisscrossed on the bed, her eyes sullen. The sight alone gutted me. How could my mama even suggest that I go along with Enzo when Amara needed me?

“Penelope,” my mother cut in, “you know we would set this world on fire for you.” She stood at Amara’s back, lightly brushing her hair back. “But Enzo is your husband and honeymoons are… traditional.”

I snorted. “Tradition, my ass.”

“What happens on a honeymoon?” Amara asked innocently. “Do you travel the world?”

“Ah… yes. Something like that,” Mama confirmed, looking uncomfortable while turmoil churned inside me. I’d have tosleep with Enzo—this was it. “Penelope, you’ve done the hardest part. For better or for worse, you’re a married woman now. See how your trip goes. We’ll continue with Amara’s treatments, and then…” She trailed off, but I filled in the blanks easily.

My sister needed all our attention. A war against the Marchettis would hinder her chances at recovery, and she couldn’t afford that. Her life was at stake.

My shoulders slumped and I nodded.

“I have a feeling all will be well,” she added, although I wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince. Herself or me.

“How am I supposed to pack when I have no fucking idea where I’m going?” I muttered.

“Just pack something for every season.” Mama glanced around, then slipped a Swiss-made knife and a handgun into my open, empty suitcase sprawled on the bed. “These are for you,” she murmured, and I turned to stare at the weapons with widened eyes. “Papà and I taught you self-defense for a reason, don’t be afraid to use it.”

“You just said all will be well,” I reminded her, pushing my hand through my hair. “What if I kill him?”

“Oh, Pen, you’re not a killer,” Amara stated softly. “Damiano and Armani, on the other hand…”

“Your sister’s right. This is just a precaution.” Mama stepped toward me and whispered, “The Marchettis are not telling us something, and I don’t want you helpless.” Then she strode to my closet and started throwing random clothes into my suitcase. “Enzo asked me to ship all your stuff to his home in Rome and a travel suitcase to Naples.”

I groaned. “I don’t want to live with the Marchettis.”

“You won’t have to. He lives alone, on a private property about twenty minutes away from his family. It’ll give you two privacy.”

I was almost fully packed when my brothers barged into the room.

“Shouldn’t you be with Papà?” I questioned.

Damiano waved his hand. “Uncle Cassio has his back. If I stayed another minute around those smug assholes, I would have shot them.”

There was no mistaking who he was talking about.

“Yeah, we got tired of all the oldies blabbing,” Armani chimed in, always the one to lighten the mood. “So how does it feel to be a Marchetti?”

I glared at him. “Shut up, Armani.”

He laughed. “Sore subject, huh?”