Page 18 of Enzo (Legacy of Heathens #3)

PENELOPE

I could hardly believe this was the start of my marriage.

My new husband behaved like I was something he owned . Like an accessory. And Papà was so tense I feared he’d spontaneously combust. Honestly, I was worried he’d strangle my brand-new husband, leaving me a widow before we even made it to the reception canapés.

Not that I would mind, but it would threaten the safety of my siblings.

After the minor incident between my family and Enzo, he ushered me into a gilded carriage pulled by white horses.

Knowing when to pick my battles, I stepped inside without a word. He was delusional if he thought I’d be wowed by some fairy-tale extravagance.

He took the reins from the coachman, much to the man’s disapproval.

“But, sir, I’m supposed to?—”

“If you want to live, you’ll step aside,” Enzo barked. The poor man obliged and took off running while my husband expertly got the carriage moving forward.

“I sure as hell hope you’re not kidnapping me,” I hissed.

He didn’t even spare me a glance. “No need for that. You’re mine now.”

His Italian macho mentality was getting on my last nerve.

“Say it one more time, why don’t you?” I sighed, shaking my head. “Just in case I missed the first hundred.”

“Three.” I shot him a confused look, and he explained with a drawl: “I’ve only said it three times.”

I huffed out an exasperated breath. “Three too many.”

His eyes traveled the length of me before they returned to the road. “Nice dress.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll be needing the name of the man you gave your virginity to.”

I threw my head back and laughed.

“No chance in hell.” Not that I even knew it, but I’d keep that tidbit to myself. “Besides, it’s hypocritical of you to demand his name without offering the name of your first.”

“Do you want it?”

“Want what?”

“The name of my first.”

“No, not really.”

He chuckled, and something about it struck a familiar chord, but he was speaking again before I could ponder it. “Good, because I honestly don’t remember it.”

I sneered. “So typical.”

“Do you remember the name of yours?”

I opened my mouth and immediately slammed it shut, pinning him with a hard stare. “Nice try.”

“You know he’s a dead man, right?”

I tensed, taking a deep breath in before exhaling slowly. “You hurt that man, and I’ll kill you.”

He didn’t so much as glance at me, but a faint, unreadable smile tugged at the corner of his lips and lingered for the rest of our tense, silent carriage ride.

The interior was dim, upholstered in deep burgundy velvet worn smooth with age, the scent of leather and old wood curling in the still air.

Outside, the wheels clattered steadily over cobblestones, but inside, the hush was almost oppressive—like the carriage itself was holding its breath along with us.

Two strangers, sitting an arm’s length apart yet separated by a gulf wider than the road beneath us. We couldn’t have been more different.

Different ages. Different lifestyles. Different interests.

The only thing connecting us was an arrangement made between our parents before I even took my first breath.

This was bound to end badly.

When the carriage came to a stop in front of my parents’ home, I didn’t wait for Enzo to help me out; instead, I rushed inside without a backward glance.

“You’re changing out of that scandalous outfit,” Mama said, cornering me the second I stepped through the marble foyer. “I know this marriage isn’t ideal, but we need to show some decorum.”

And that was how I found myself in Nonno’s old room, staring at my reflection wearing a gown that once belonged to my nonna. The very same gown my mama wore on her wedding day, but the necklace was the one my mama gifted me. She said it was to be something new on my wedding day.

Such romantic notions for a bullshit, business arrangement. Somehow it tainted it all. Tears burned in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

Self-pity wasn’t my thing, and I certainly wasn’t about to change that now.

“Forgive me, Nonno,” I murmured as I smoothed my hands over the beautiful vintage dress.

It was flared from the bodice in an empire-waist design with long sleeves, a low-cut back, and a train that flared dramatically behind me.

The silk fabric was soft and the dress fit me perfectly, as if it were designed with me in mind.

Yet I couldn’t shake off the feeling that I was sullying my ancestors’ memory by wearing it today.

“You look stunning.” Mama’s voice startled me and I whirled around to find her standing in the doorway. “It was your nonno’s greatest wish that you would wear it on your wedding day.”

I breathed deeply, watching it mold even tighter to my body. “I bet he wouldn’t want me wearing it at this farce.”

Mama smiled.

“Funny you should say that because I thought the same thing on my wedding day.”

My brows scrunched in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She waved her hand in dismissal. “It’s not important. Today is your day.”

I scoffed, then stated in a flat tone, “Hardly my day when I didn’t have a choice on the wedding date or the groom.”

“I know, sweetheart, and I’m sorry.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’d hoped over the years that this arrangement would dissolve.”

Guilt inched its way through me at seeing her gut-wrenched expression. “It’s okay. He’s significantly older, so maybe he’ll die soon. I’ll be a peaceful widow.”

“If your papà hears you, he might get an idea,” she muttered. “Come on, let’s join the party before our boys wreak havoc.”

We exited the room and joined the guests, each sticking to opposite sides of the expansive lawn.

My gaze darted over to the side where the Marchettis loitered and I couldn’t help but snort in disdain. I shifted, turning toward my own family, when my mama’s voice stopped me.

“Go to your husband first,” she muttered under her breath, gently nudging me toward them as though she sensed my intentions.

“Sure, I’ll be a martyr,” I grumbled. “What the fuck am I supposed to say?”

“How about that you’re so happy to be a Marchetti,” the voice of my newly minted husband interrupted from behind me. My steps halted and I slowly turned around, instantly regretting my decision.

Enzo towered over me even with my heels on, but I refused to show weakness—I’d stand my ground and let him fold first.

My eyes bounced, noting his swollen knuckles and that cursed wedding ring I slid on his finger earlier today, before they refocused on his smug expression.

He offered me his arm. “Mrs. Marchetti, it would be my honor to stand by your side when you greet your in-laws.”

I offered him a strained smile instead. “Not now.”

He let his arm drop. “Yes, now .”

“I’ll come too,” Mama gritted. “And you’d better do right by my daughter or you’ll regret the day your papà arranged this marriage.”

My head whipped in her direction to find her eyes locked on Enzo. The harsh, determined expression was one I’d become accustomed to seeing from Papà but never from her, and somehow it made me see her in an entirely different light.

To my shock, Enzo bowed his head in acknowledgement.

“Of course, Mrs. DiMauro. I vow to you that my new wife will be cherished and cared for while there’s a sane bone left in my body.”

We made our way to my new family while I pondered my husband’s strange words.