Page 12 of Enzo (Legacy of Heathens #3)

Amara’s leukemia shook us all to the core. The doctors were optimistic, but I was terrified that her precious smile was just a mask, hiding her pain all too well.

“I thought we’d have more time,” Damiano grumbled.

“I know,” I murmured. “But I won’t let him keep me away from my family.”

She gave me an embarrassed smile. “Promise?”

I nodded. “Nothing and nobody could keep me away, least of all a husband .” I made a face like I was going to be sick, and they all laughed.

Mama cleared her throat and we turned to find her in the doorway, her hands on her hips and her eyes on the wine bottle sitting between my brothers.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded sternly. “Both of you are underage.”

My brothers moved so fast it was almost comical, instantly shoving the bottle of Shiraz my way. “It’s Penelope’s.”

“What—”

“Our sister is training to be an alcoholic,” Armani deadpanned, earning himself a glare. He shot me a blinding smile before he continued. “But we still love her.”

I flopped my hands down into my lap, but I couldn’t suppress my smile.

“Red wine is good for blood circulation,” I told Mama, repeating the words I’d heard Nonno utter a million times when I was a kid.

“It might be good for circulation, but it won’t be good for your head when your papà boxes your ears.”

Amara’s eyes widened in horror. “Me too?”

Mama’s face melted. “No, darling, not you.”

“I bet he wouldn’t box Pen’s ears either,” Armani drawled, smirking, his short hair sticking up in a dozen different directions. Nobody pulled off the disheveled look as well as my brothers. “He’d pour himself one too, and they’d toast to one thing or another.”

“She doesn’t get in trouble like you two.” Mama snorted, somehow managing to make it sound eloquent. “Maybe if you’d stop wreaking havoc everywhere, he’d pour you one and toast to something.”

“How long do we have to be good?” Armani tilted his head. “I could do twenty-four hours.”

“More like twelve,” Damiano cut in. “I, on the other hand, can be better than a saint if I put my mind to it.”

“You mean worse than a devil,” Armani grumbled.

“If you two daredevils are quiet for an hour, there’s chaos on the horizon. Troublemakers,” Mama muttered, shaking her head. “Penelope, your papà needs to talk to you in his study. You boys be good.”

An unspoken or else hung in the air as I got to my feet, leaving the room before I got lumped in with their conniving.

“We’re going to see them all next week anyway,” I muttered, cursing myself for complaining about Enzo’s lack of effort in meeting me.

It was as if he’d heard me and requested my presence, which was how I’d found myself with my feet stuffed into uncomfortable heels, about to meet my fiancé for the first time.

“Besides, shouldn’t he have visited us, not the other way around? ”

After I left my siblings, my papà informed me that we were invited to dinner with the Marchettis.

He refused on behalf of the family, but Enzo wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Not willing to divulge that Amara was sick, Papà finally caved and agreed that he and I would meet them for dinner at a public place.

“It might be because I threatened to kill any Marchetti who set foot in Sicily,” Papà admitted sheepishly.

“Ah.” The car door opened in front of a restaurant called Rosa Spinosa, which directly translated to Thorned Rose , that was owned by Enrico Marchetti. I shifted my leg to get out, careful not to flash the driver, and waited for my papà to come around the car.

“How will that work next week when they’re required to set foot on the island for the wedding?” I questioned when he came to stand beside me.

His expression darkened before he muttered under his breath, “It’d be a good time to follow through with my threat and eliminate them all, huh?”

I smoothed my hands down my cream dress as I followed his gaze, then jerked to a halt.

Three men who looked too much alike not to be family stood in front of the restaurant, dressed smartly in dark suits and looking more like respectable businessmen than the criminals I suspected them to be.

But there was one whose gaze burned hotter than the pits of hell.

A cigarette dangled from his full lips, and his dark eyes scanned me from head to toe.

My lip curled in disgust, and he raised one dark eyebrow, his attention never wavering from me, and I knew without a doubt that Enzo Marchetti was standing in front of me.

Stronger. Darker. And possessive .

So I did the only thing a woman in my position could do: I tilted my chin up, pressed my shoulders back, and let my gaze travel over his tall frame.

The outline of a gun was visible under his vest as he shifted forward, but it wasn’t until my attention locked on his face that a small gasp tore from my throat.

I’d seen photos of him over the years, of course, but this close, I could see the beauty in the harsh lines of his face and his dark, glinting eyes. As much as I hated to admit this, he was handsome. Not my type… because, duh, men like him weren’t for me.

All in all, he didn’t hurt to look at.

But then I remembered the whole reason we were here and my mood instantly soured.

“Enzo Marchetti, I presume,” I stated bravely, then narrowed my eyes on the cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Disgusting habit.”

“Penelope.” My name rolled from his lips in a purr, his Italian smooth. “Nice to see you. I’m Enzo.”

My brow furrowed. Why did he make it sound like we’d met before?

“Ah, the famous Penelope DiMauro,” a man next to him stated. It had to be his brother; the two shared the same dark hair and features. “You’re twenty minutes late. Must be the Irish punctuality.”

“Amadeo,” my fiancé said in a low, raspy voice, warning ringing loud and clear in it, although his brother didn’t seem to heed the warning.

Instead, he chuckled. “What? Don’t tell me you’ve never heard about Irish punctuality?”

I flicked my papà a wry look. “ Can we kill that one? ” I asked in Gaelic.

He answered back, the fluency of his words far more practiced than mine.

“ I’m for it, but I’m afraid your mama would be upset.

” I resumed my steps, following him as he glared at the younger brother.

He switched back to English. “I’m sure you’ve heard about Irish lethality, Amadeo.

If you haven’t, you’re about to unless you shut your mouth. ”

“Please accept my apologies,” Enzo cut in when Amadeo opened his mouth to speak again. “He’s sorry for talking nonsense. Aren’t you, fratello ?”

He rolled his eyes playfully, then winked at me. “Of course, but I know Penelope will come to love that about me.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” I muttered while Enzo stared at me like I was already his, and something about the look in his eyes had my cheeks blazing with heat.

Why did he look at me like he owned me?

Discarding his cigarette, he closed the distance between us and I fought the urge to step closer to my father.

But I didn’t because I knew it wouldn’t bode well for anyone.

In his overprotective mode, he’d take it to the extreme and likely shoot all three men right here on this sidewalk on the outskirts of Rome.

Enzo and Papà shook hands before Enzo’s eyes darted back to me, and he extended his arm. I took it reluctantly.

His scent, musky and manly, enveloped me. It was… unique, but somehow I knew if I closed my eyes, I could call to mind having smelled it before. I lifted my head to his beautiful face, studying it.

“Let’s go inside,” Enzo announced.

“You might want to keep your family in check,” Papà grumbled behind us, speaking to Enzo’s father and watching us like a hawk. His mood was souring with every passing minute. “I really don’t see the reason for tonight’s dinner. It’s not like we have anything more to say to each other.”

We entered the restaurant and I immediately noted that it lacked any sort of atmosphere.

The reason soon registered as I stared at the empty space, completely void of guests, the usual clanking of silverware, and music.

A simple round table sat in the center of the dimly lit room, and no part of me was looking forward to what was sure to be an awkward evening.

There were five place settings, and I looked around, wondering where the food would come from.

“My apologies for the lack of ambiance.” Enzo must have read my mind. “It’s the only place where we could ensure privacy and safety on such short notice.”

My brow furrowed, but I couldn’t see his expression since he’d moved behind me to pull out my chair.

I slid into the seat, and Enzo took the spot on my right while my papà sat on my left.

“Your wife’s not joining us?” Papà asked as Enrico sat beside him.

“When she heard your wife wasn’t coming, she decided to stay home with the kids,” Mr. Marchetti answered. “She claimed it would be too much testosterone for her taste.”

“I agree,” I mumbled, then, realizing I’d said it aloud, flushed crimson.

Amadeo, who’d taken a seat on the other side of Enzo, chuckled, leaning forward so he could see me better.

“You know, Pen,” Amadeo drawled, and I narrowed my eyes. Nobody aside from my parents and siblings called me Pen. “We’ll be best friends soon enough.”

My smile was strained. “I already have those.”

He waved his hand nonchalantly. “One more won’t hurt.”

“We don’t have anything in common,” I retorted dryly, but Amadeo wouldn’t be swayed.

“We have my brother in common. Your husband…?” he added when I continued to stare blankly at him.

I sighed. “He’s not my husband.”

Amadeo’s eyes sparked. “Yet.”

Was he trying to rile me up? Or was he seriously so daft that he didn’t see that I wanted this marriage about as much as I wanted to be sitting in this cold restaurant, counting down the minutes till it ended?

“You’re finishing your studies, right?” Amadeo continued, ignoring my standoffish demeanor. He seemed intent on breaking down any barrier between us.

“Yes.”

“What are you studying?” he pressed.

“Pre-med. I want to study oncology with a minor in psychology.”

“Very impressive, Pen.” Amadeo flashed me the biggest smile. “A smart addition to the Marchetti clan. We’re lucky to have you.”

I balked at him, and my father erupted into a coughing fit. Did this man have a death wish? And anyway, what did it even matter what I graduated in? All I’d be allowed to do was warm my husband’s bed. A fact that made me resent Enzo Marchetti all the more.

Afraid they’d see all the feelings I was trying to hide on my face, I lowered my eyes and stared at the table.

“Where’s your ring?”

I jumped in my seat, startled that Enzo had spoken.

The lie was expelled with a single breath. “I’m sorry, I lost it.”

Enzo’s jaw twitched, but then he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a black box. He opened it and set another ring on the tablecloth—this one a platinum ring with a gigantic diamond centered in between two smaller sapphires.

A suspicion, uncomfortable and creepy, flickered in my mind, but Mr. Marchetti’s next words extinguished it. “Your mother told Isla about the accident.”

“She did?” Papà questioned, the same suspicion evident on his face.

“Yes.”

Enzo held out his hand for mine, and when I didn’t move, he took it and I flinched at the touch. I yanked my hand away, staring at the spot where he’d touched me. My skin buzzed, and I shifted in my seat to dispel the curious sensation.

He ran his tongue across his teeth, flicking his gaze to my hand before bringing it back to meet mine, and suddenly my heart thundered hard and fast against my ribs, like it was trying to break free.

“Penelope, give me your hand.”

I licked my lips nervously and he followed the movement, his pupils blowing so wide they called to mind the deepest, darkest forest on earth. I got the distinct sense he was hiding danger and secrets, much like the woods that his eyes reminded me of.

Aware of everyone’s stares, I extended my hand and he slipped the new engagement ring on my finger.

“Lose this one and the next one will be inked onto your finger,” he whispered so only I could hear him.

My mouth parted and I gaped at him. His stare burned, reminding me of a caged animal, ready for violence that would cover him up to his neck in blood.

The door opened and the servers appeared with trays of food, shattering the moment. He looked away, his expression a blank mask as everyone started eating and the men discussed business.

And all the while, my heart beat heavily, because I suspected Enzo Marchetti wasn’t what he seemed.