Page 1 of Enzo (Legacy of Heathens #3)

Revelation, Connecticut

I was S.T.U.P.I.D.A.

If my parents ever found out about this, they’d track down this poor man and kill him—slowly. The same way his burning, all-consuming gaze was killing me right now.

And when I said “my parents,” I meant both of them—my mama and my papà.

Luca DiMauro, head of the Italian mafia in Sicily, and Margaret Callahan DiMauro, Irish mafia royalty, were an intimidating pair.

They could kill a man who deserved it without so much as blinking…

and still be the best parents a girl could ask for.

And that was just the beginning. Our extended family? No less dangerous.

Yet, as I followed the masked stranger through the velvet shadows of the club called Revelation, leaving my two best friends behind, the only thing I felt was electric anticipation.

The hallway stretched endlessly ahead, cloaked in darkness, my heart pounding as I clung to his hand like it was the only steady thing in the world.

“Where are we going?” I whispered, breathless.

He stopped and turned, his mask glinting under a sliver of light. “I’ve secured a private room. Is that alright?”

I swallowed hard, then nodded. Reckless? Absolutely. But I wasn’t backing out. No, I was all in. And better yet—I’d be all over him. Nothing and no one could stop me now.

“Then shall we?” he asked, his voice dripping with an Italian accent that made my knees weak.

“Yes. Please,” I said. “Lead the way.”

The room he brought me to was soaked in candlelight—soft, golden, intimate. The door clicked shut behind us, sealing the moment. We stood chest to chest, the only sounds our shared breaths and the furious rhythm of my heart.

“Will you strip for me?” he murmured, his voice low, seductive, and dangerous.

God, how did he make that sound like the sexiest command I’d ever heard?

I didn’t hesitate. My fingers found the zipper of my dress, dragging it down with slow, deliberate purpose.

The dress slipped past my shoulders, the fabric whispering against my heated skin as it fell in a soft puddle at my feet.

I stood before him in nothing but heels and nerves, lit only by flickering candlelight that painted my body in gold and shadows.

His eyes—the dark pools behind the ornate mask—devoured me. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to, because the heat radiating off him said it all.

He stepped forward, closing the inches between us, and brought his strong, veiny hand to the curve of my throat. Not tight, but just enough pressure to remind me that I was his for the night. But he was also mine.

“I can’t wait to hear you scream my name,” he murmured, his voice like dark velvet brushing against my skin.

“We said no names,” I reminded him—barely—my breath catching on the words.

But God, I wanted to scream it. I wanted to rip it from my throat loud enough for the whole world to hear…

loud enough to shatter the silence of my carefully arranged future.

If they heard me, maybe they’d finally understand—I never belonged to Enzo Marchetti.

“No names,” he agreed while his other hand found my waist and gripped it with a rough, possessive strength, like he was staking a silent claim. There was no gentleness, only certainty. Control.

Then his mouth crashed onto mine, fierce, unapologetic, stealing the breath from my lungs with the kind of kiss that didn’t ask, only took. His body pressed into me, hot and unyielding, a wall of desire and dominance that left no space between us, no room to think, only feel.

I shuddered, my lips parting on a moan as heat bloomed through me. My body responded instinctively, traitorously, curving into his like it had always belonged to him.

His mouth moved south, leaving a blazing trail everywhere he touched me. Then he lowered onto his knees and gently spread my legs before he buried his head between my thighs.

My head fell back, overwhelmed by the sheer heat of his mouth against my skin. Every kiss ignited a nerve, each one darker and deeper than the last. My fingers tangled in his thick hair, gripping tight. It wasn’t just for balance, but to anchor myself in the storm he was pulling me into.

He kissed me where no one had dared before—bold, claiming, unapologetically intimate—and all I could do was gasp and hold on.

The world spun as his mouth traced every inch of my inner thigh and pussy, each kiss hotter than the last, and I felt myself unraveling—losing control in the most delicious way. My fingers clenched tighter in his hair, but the rush was too much.

With a shuddering breath, I pulled back just enough to draw in a shaky gulp of air, my chest rising and falling in desperate gasps. My lips trembled as they parted, and my eyes fluttered open to lock with his smoldering gaze. He still knelt before me, like a Roman god carved from shadow and desire.

“I… I…” I stammered, voice raw, breath ragged, words caught somewhere between need and disbelief.

He didn’t let go—his hands remained firmly on my thighs—but his eyes softened, flickering with something unreadable. The air between us pulsed with electricity, waiting for the moment I’d decide to surrender again.

“Do you want me to stop?” His voice was low, laced with genuine concern beneath the commanding edge.

I bit my lip, heart hammering in my chest. The thought of stopping felt impossible—like pressing pause on a wildfire. But the weight of everything swirling inside of me made me hesitate.

I swallowed hard, my heartbeat pounding loud in my ears, knowing this was only the beginning.

I drowned in this stranger’s gaze and studied those lips that were curved into a smug, arrogant smile promising infinite pleasure.

I couldn’t find the strength to care about anyone or anything but my pleasure. I couldn’t find the strength to stop.

I was doing this for me. I deserved this tiny bit of promiscuity when the man I was promised to was our very own modern-day Don Casanova. A manwhore, if rumors were to be trusted.

“What’s it going to be, mia anima ?” he asked, his deep, accented voice a slow caress that sent tremors rippling through me. On his knees before me, he waited—patient, reverent—for my final permission. “Do you want me to stop or continue worshiping you?”

In the dimly lit room of Revelation, where only soft breaths and pounding hearts filled the silence, everything stilled but us. It was reckless to be doing this with a virtual stranger in an exclusive club. A mysterious invitation led me to this exact moment with him.

I wore nothing but the Manolo heels on my feet; he was dressed in his pristine sharp-cut three-piece suit and a mask.

My friends and I didn’t bother with those when we came into this club, but maybe we should have.

It would have concealed our identities, although I was fairly certain Amara and Skye, my two best friends, couldn’t care less about hiding.

Unlike me, they didn’t have the noose of an arranged marriage hanging around their necks.

I shivered as I took in the cloth mask that hid half of his face, letting my mind wander back to when I’d first spotted him the moment we entered the event. His sex appeal was undeniable. The way he carried himself was enough to make me want to wrap my legs around his shoulders.

Even with half his face concealed, he was ridiculously handsome, but it was his eyes that told me I could trust him to bring me pleasure, even if I never intended to see him again.

There was something bewitching about his sharp jawline, its curves and edges giving off a ruthless energy. Between those cut-glass cheekbones and square chin was a mouth that must have been made for uttering the filthiest of words.

His dark chuckle pulled me from my gawking.

“I like the way you watch me, but I’d like it even more if you gave me an answer. The sooner we get started, the sooner I can hear your beautiful voice scream for more,” he mused, confident in his ability to make any woman’s dreams come true. He probably could.

And he was right; there would be no screaming his name , but if he wanted to make me beg for more, he was on the right track.

“D-don’t stop.” My voice was barely audible as it rattled with need, so I cleared my throat and repeated with unmistakable conviction: “But I have one condition.”

His eyes hooded, as though he got off on the challenge. “Go on.”

“You’re Italian, no?”

It wasn’t really a question. A blind person could spot his Italian heritage and hear the hint of his sexy accent, even though he seemed intent on covering it with a British one.

“Yes.” He pulled away, studying my face as he removed his blazer and dragged the cuffs of his shirt high on his strong forearms. “Is that a problem?”

This man was confident without being overly cocky, and he had an edge to him that was just as intriguing. The sheer size of his arms made my mind hazy with thoughts of being handled by him.

He cleared his throat, reminding me he was still waiting for my answer. I inhaled a deep breath, refocusing on the now, then exhaled.

“No problem,” I croaked, fighting the raging desire flooding my senses. “However, I’ll need your word that if we ever cross paths in Italy, you’ll look the other way.” I was banking on his discretion, and my body prayed he wouldn’t ask questions.

If this went wrong, if he wasn’t able to give me what I needed, my family—not to mention my future husband’s family—would tear him to shreds, and wouldn’t that be a loss for humanity.

The confidence rolling off him in waves was no doubt a result of the pleasure he knew he dispensed.

Pleasure, I hoped I would be lucky enough to experience—sooner rather than later.

“If we ever cross paths and you have another man by your side, I’ll end him and make you mine,” he responded wryly, his cologne, spicy and intoxicating, wrapping around me like a blanket.