Page 77 of Enzo

Dio, aiutami.

30

PENELOPE

It was only eight in the morning, far too early for all the commotion.

My brothers bickered about some motors and racing, but we all ignored them. Boys would be boys, and all that. Amara pouted, stomping her feet with surprising force. She wanted to skip today’s treatment. Mama said no, of course, to which she responded with screaming into the couch pillows.

“Why can’t I go with you?” I pleaded.

It made no sense that my parents insisted on taking her alone. It was the reason I’d told Enzo we should stay in Sicily—hell, it was the reason I wasn’t finishing my degree in person back in Connecticut.

“Not today,” Mama said, keeping her voice soft but firm. “Papà and Enzo have come to an agreement, and I need you to stay to keep an eye on your brothers. Every time I look away, they manage to get into trouble, and frankly, I don’t trust them not to burn down the house.”

The two men stood in the hallway, discussing something while the rest of us were in the living room.

“What kind of agreement?”

“Enzo will run the DiMauro business for a bit.”

My eyebrows furrowed. “He’s trusting him, just like that,” I deadpanned.

“Yes.”

“Don’t you find it strange?”

“No.”

I let out an exasperated breath. “Can youexplainrather than giving me these cryptic one-word answers?”

Mama’s eyes met mine. “Damiano and Armani aren’t at a point where they can be trusted with the responsibility, so Enzo has graciously stepped in.”

I stared at her in disbelief. I was thrilled they were getting along, but I couldn’t help thinking it seemed sudden. And suspicious.

“I have some business in Milan the day after tomorrow.” My head whipped up to look at Enzo, who was talking to Amara. She straightened, her screaming completely forgotten. “Want to come along with your sister and me? With your parents’ approval, of course.”

Amara didn’t wait for our parents to speak, she just shot to her feet and threw herself at Enzo. “Yes, yes, one thousand times yes.”

Enzo’s eyes met mine and I smiled gratefully. He hadn’t mentioned going to Milan, but I suspected he was trying to distract her. The day after our wedding, I’d told him Amara was desperate to go, and he seemed to remember everything I said or did.

“Let’s get through today’s treatment,” Papà said, his words surprisingly calm. “If all goes well, you may go.”

Amara was throwing herself into his arms next, and suddenly our day was looking up.

That evening, I found Enzo on the couch, his head back on the headrest and his eyes closed. I was fresh out of the shower, wearing one of his shirts that fluttered mid-thigh and teased at my lace panties.

He was still in his suit pants, his jacket thrown over the couch armrest. His tie hung loose while he sat with his legs spread wide, a term Anya had recently told me was “manspreading.” She’d explained it like it was a bad thing, but there was nothing wrong with what I saw in front of me.

It’d been a whirlwind since my parents left for the hospital. Things were going smoothly until my phone lit up like a caffeinated lightning bug and I got distracted by the girls’ group chat. In the span of what couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes, Damiano and Armani managed to sneak out, hit up an underground car race, obliterate a vineyard, and total Papà’s vintage Ferrari.

Enzo called in a favor with a local garage owner who swore on his mama’s grave that he’d get the frame fixed and delivered by tomorrow morning.

I didn’t know much about cars, but as long as the damage wasn’t noticeable, I didn’t really care.

Then a shipment was docked in Palermo, and Enzo had to leave us to take care of it while I negotiated a price for the damaged grapes with the farmer. I was pretty sure he ended up with more than he’d ever earned before, but at least my parents would be ignorant to what happened.

Thankfully, they’d called and said Amara’s appointment had gone very well. It was the silver lining to an otherwise shitty day.