Page 71 of Enzo

Knock, knock, knock.

“Who could that be?” I pondered. We’d just left my parents, and I was certain they wouldn’t check up on us so soon.

“That would be our things,” he stated confidently, then made his way to the front door.

“Put me down, Enzo.” I wiggled in his arms, but he held a firm grip on me. Almost as if he were worried I’d bolt. “I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

He considered me for a heartbeat, two, then reluctantly set me on my feet.

I took a step forward before reaching back and slipping my fingers in between Enzo’s. He stilled, his grip tightening. He lightly smacked my ass and we headed for the front door. The door swung wide and a familiar figure stood on the other side, suitcases tumbling from his arms.

“Amadeo, what are you doing here?” was Enzo’s greeting.

He didn’t answer, his gaze falling to our connected hands before returning to look at his older brother.

“I’m your delivery boy. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

I dropped his hand and we moved to help him, all three of us fumbling to get the bags inside.

Once they were all stored in our temporary bedroom, I headed down the hall, Amadeo trailing behind me as he lit up a cigarette.

“No smoking in here,” Enzo yelled after him.

My lips twitched, fighting a smile. I’d noticed he hadn’t smoked at the wedding or the reception, and he hadn’t even reached for his pack while we toured Naples.

“You should quit,” I quipped, heading into the kitchen. “Before it kills you.”

He chuckled, but the sound lacked any amusement.

“Fine, no cigarette. A beer, then.”

“I’d offer you something to drink, but we just got here,” I said, glancing at the end of the hallway where Enzo was attempting to fit all our things into the single closet.

Amadeo rubbed his jaw. “Glass of water, perhaps?”

I turned my back to him and stood on my tiptoes, struggling to reach the glass, when Amadeo’s body brushed against my back.

“You’re really short,” he remarked, putting the glass from the highest shelf on the counter. I sighed and filled it at the sink, handing it to him. “But size doesn’t really matter, does it?”

I blinked. “What?”

“You could have killed him,” he growled, bending his frame so his face was inches from mine. “If that EpiPen hadn’t been handy, he’d be dead right now.”

I inhaled slowly, trying to think of a response, when Enzo’s voice cut in, cold and deadly. “Step away from her, Amadeo.”

He didn’t move, his eyes narrowed on me. “He’s my family, you try that again?—”

“Finish that statement and you won’t like how this ends, Amadeo,” Enzo warned, his words like a whip through the otherwise silent room.

Amadeo straightened and put space between us. His eyes were darker than the midnight sky and his expression was blank, but there was an aura about him that promised retribution if anything happened to Enzo.

I didn’t blame him.

“I didn’t know how severe his allergy was, or I would have never done it,” I said slowly. “I’m more sorry than I can say, and I promise you, I’ll never…” I glanced at Enzo, foreign emotions swirling inside my chest. “I’ll never hurt him again.”

“Very well,” he agreed, then locked gazes with his brother. “I believe her.”

Enzo let out a sardonic breath. “I’m relieved,fratello.”