Page 25 of Enzo (Legacy of Heathens #3)

PENELOPE

I listened to Enzo’s breathing until it turned steady.

The day was long and I should have been exhausted, but the adrenaline pumping through my veins made it impossible to relax.

After two hours—I wasn’t leaving anything up to chance—I got to my feet and slipped out of the bedroom. The entire floor was reserved just for us, with the staff quarters in a different wing completely, but downstairs there were several rooms I hadn’t yet explored.

I padded down the spiral staircase and started trying the doors lining the corridor. Luckily, most were unlocked. I found a beautiful study with shelves of books covering all four walls, a music studio, and an office where several monitors hung.

I was just about to poke my head in and inspect what was obviously the security room when I heard a giggle and I took a step back.

“You just sit here every night, doing nothing?” a female voice asked. “Doesn’t it get boring?”

“It isn’t boring anymore,” a second voice said.

“Can I come back tomorrow too?” the woman asked. I heard some shuffling and almost burst out laughing as a series of grunts and moans followed. Okay then .

Keeping to the shadows, I continued exploring the house until I found the door that led out onto the docks. Careful not to make a noise, I pushed the handle down and slipped through, leaving it open behind me.

“Holy shit,” I breathed, watching the white monstrosity bobbing merrily thirty yards out into the water.

It was too big to dock in front of Enzo’s home, and I recalled him mentioning something about having it anchored nearby.

I guess he left out the part about it being a private marina , I thought to myself, internally rolling my eyes.

I scanned the five levels of luxury. Although I couldn’t make out all the details in the dark, I was certain it had everything one could want.

My eyes fell to the little dinghy right next to it and suddenly an idea dawned on me.

“Honeymoon no more,” I muttered gleefully as I got to work.

ENZO

I woke up refreshed and rested, having slept better than I had in years.

Penelope was fast asleep, her hands pressed together under her cheek, her long, dark eyelashes brushing against her rosy skin.

Letting her sleep in, I got up, took a shower, then went downstairs to prepare everything for our departure. We would sail the Mediterranean, visit a few hotspots that I’d read about on this year’s Forbes travel guide, and then return to Naples.

I entered the kitchen and found my captain sipping his coffee with Alex, my head surveillance man. The job was by no means exciting, but someone had to do it.

“Good morning,” I greeted. “Everything ready, Captain?”

He hesitated.

“Actually, boss, we ran into some engine issues and I’d like to have a day to check it all out before we launch. If you don’t mind.”

My brow furrowed. “The yacht was just fully serviced. It went into dry dock back in August. There shouldn’t be any engine issues.”

“Exactly, but I couldn’t start it this morning and I’d like to be sure.”

I paused, considering my options.

It was probably best that my captain played it safe, which meant extending our time in Naples. Maybe I’d take Penelope sightseeing? She hadn’t seen much of Italy, her father mostly sticking to his own territory.

“Okay, but no later than tomorrow, understood?”

He nodded, and I left them to it.

I poured myself a cup of coffee, and then headed into my office to get some work done while I waited for Penelope to rise for the day.

Thirty minutes later, midway through a conference call with the Omertà in regards to drug shipments, I gave up and came to the conclusion that my attention was shot.

My mind was stuck on my wife. I knew everything there was about her—facts, accomplishments, milestones—but I didn’t know her well enough to predict her thoughts.

Obviously, I miscalculated how she would react upon learning that I’d stalked her for a few years. Or tricked her into giving me her virginity.

But what had she expected?

I couldn’t let someone else take what was mine.

“What do you think, Enzo?” My father’s voice boomed in, snapping me out of my thoughts. He must have known I wasn’t listening because he repeated his question. “Should we start routing our shipments via Sicily?”

In the past, we’d bypassed Sicily due to the feud, but now that we were technically family, it made sense to do that rather than bring the product to Naples and Rome. It’d increase our profits.

“If Luca’s amenable, we should utilize his warehouse on the island. Offer him ten percent of the additional profit.”

“Look at you, brother,” Amadeo drawled. “Being all responsible and shit.”

I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn’t see me.

“Sound decision,” Uncle Manuel added. “It’ll also let us focus on fighting organ trafficking.”

I tensed. “Have there been more cases?”

“Yes, but we identified a pattern,” Manuel said, his voice grim. “Every victim so far has had O-negative blood with one exception. Tests from a young male who washed up on Ischia shores had Rhnull blood.”

“I’ve never heard of that blood type,” Father muttered while I vigorously typed a message to my brother.

Me: Don’t mention the DiMauros’ blood type.

“It’s often called golden blood,” I added reluctantly.

Amadeo: Why not?

Me: Not relevant.

Father and Uncle kept discussing the threat while my brother and I exchanged messages.

Amadeo: You’re not telling me something.

Me: Some things are private.

Amadeo:

“I have a honeymoon to get to,” I chimed in, cutting my uncle off. “Let me know if any urgent matters come up while I’m away.”

The sun was high up in the sky, not a cloud in sight. I wouldn’t waste this day on work while my bride slept. I had a city to show her.

“Will do, son.”

“Don’t do anything I would,” Manuel advised, humor lacing his tone, as I pushed out my chair.

“Too late for that.” I ended the call, then smiled all the way to my bedroom.

I pushed the door open and was met with silence. My mind instantly went on alert.

“Penelope?” I called out, but there was no reply.

Rushing back downstairs, I was about to roar for my security when I caught movement in the corner of my eye. I sagged in relief as I made my way through the living room and out the large glass doors onto the terrace that looked over the islands.

She sat at the table, her eyes locked on her phone screen.

“Found you.”

Her blue eyes lifted off the screen and she remarked dryly, “I didn’t realize we were playing hide-and-seek. Otherwise, I would have put in some effort.”

She returned to stare at her phone—at what looked to be a book on her reading app. She was still mad.

“Do you like the view?” I asked, ignoring her snarky remark.

She tapped the screen to flip the page. “I might if it weren’t for this gigantic piece of fiberglass obstructing it.”

“You mean our yacht?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

She was really making this difficult.

“We’ll have to wait another day before we set off.”

“Oh my.” She gasped theatrically, never glancing up from her device.

A part of me wished she’d bicker with me, then she’d at least be talking. Anything was better than these clipped answers.

“Have you eaten?”

“Not hungry.”

“Coffee?”

She reached for the mug on the table, raising it up while still reading that goddamned book. For fuck’s sake, it couldn’t be that riveting.

“What are you reading?” My temper was hanging by a thread.

“ Ten Ways to Murder Your Husband .”

I let out a sardonic breath. “Funny.”

This wasn’t going the way I’d envisioned at all.

“For me.” She finally looked up to glare at me. “For you, not so much.”

Jesus Christ. Was marriage supposed to be this tense?

“How about we go sightseeing?”

“No, thank you.”

My jaw clenched and I ground my molars so hard the sound filled the space between us.

“Get your ass up, Penelope,” I gritted. “I’m showing you Naples if it’s the last thing I do.”

She let out an exasperated breath but stood up before locking eyes with me.

“One can only hope.”

Then she strutted into the house, swaying her hips.

“Santa Maria, you and Amadeo will get along well,” I grumbled when she stopped in front of another gelateria. “Neither of you can seem to get enough.”

She ignored me, then licked her tutti frutti gelato slowly. My dick instantly stirred, projecting images in my mind that hovered near R-rated.

“Maybe I should have married him,” she noted wryly.

“I’d kill him first.” My blood pulsed in my ears. “You belong to me, Penelope.”

She sighed, a pinched expression contorting her beautiful face. “You and your macho, alpha-male issues are seriously disturbing.”

“I don’t have issues.”

She shrugged. “If you say so.”

We resumed walking while she licked the creamy treat.

She looked beautiful, wearing soft pastels.

Her skirt was light pink, and she wore a light-yellow crewneck shirt that matched her socks and Mary Janes.

Come to think of it, she looked like ice cream herself, and it would probably be the only kind I’d consider eating.

Fuck, thoughts like that weren’t helping my dick at all.

“What else would you like to see?” I asked, trying to distract myself.

We’d visited Underground Naples, Lungomare Caracciolo, Museo Cappella Sansevero, and a total of six ice cream shops. My wife was determined to taste them all.

“Well, I didn’t want to see any of it,” she reminded me. “However, since we’re out here already, can we visit Via San Gregorio Armeno? I hear the narrow streets are full of artisan workshops. I want to find a gift for Amara.”

“Sure. Is there a specific thing she likes?”

She shrugged. “Something with the nativity scene. Her dream is to get one from Milan, but I’m sure she won’t refuse one from here.”

“That’s an odd thing for an eleven-year-old to want,” I remarked, hoping she’d open up a little more about her sister’s illness.

She glanced back at Giulio, who was following us at a discreet distance, then grumbled, “Yeah, whatever.”

I wanted to help, even if that meant listening while she aired her troubles, but my wife was a tough nut to crack.

“You know, you can trust me.”

She flicked me a glance. “Says the man who pretended to be someone else.”

“Technically, I never lied to you that night.”

Her cheeks colored slightly, but she never stopped walking. “Technically.”

I changed course, deciding it was wise to stick to more neutral subjects. “How many more classes do you have left before you complete your undergrad?”

“Two. Physics and biochemistry.”

“And then?”

“Then nothing. It’s not like you’ll let me do anything, oh almighty husband.”

I rubbed my jaw. “Am I to understand that you’ll do whatever I tell you?”

“No.” These one-word answers were getting old real quick.

“I won’t stop you from doing anything, Penelope, least of all pursuing your passion.”

“But mobsters?—”

“First and foremost, I’m your husband and partner. Your dreams matter too.”

She tilted her head. It might take some time for her to believe me, but I meant those words.

Just as I was going to ask a follow-up question, she said, “I want to be a doctor, work in the field of cancer research, but for that I’d need a PhD. And I also want a minor in psychology.”

“Makes sense.” I had no doubt that she would succeed. “And why psychology?”

She shrugged. “Studies tell us patients in remission report needing mental health support, but for whatever reason, not many can or do access the services. Whether it be a fear of the disease recurring, issues related to the changes in their body image, or even the guilt at giving their loved ones a scare… It’s not as simple as going into remission and being back to a hundred percent.

They need professional help. I just wish there were better plans in place for them. ”

I bit back the urge to tell her how proud I was of her. She had such a big heart. “Did your sister need therapy?” I asked quietly.

“No, she didn’t want it.” Her steps barely faltered before she resumed walking, suddenly very interested in the cobblestone sidewalk. “You know, you’re kind of growing on me.” Hope bloomed in my chest, but her next words extinguished it promptly. “Kind of like a wart.”

Then she gave me a dazzling grin, almost as if she wanted to soothe the sting.

It would be the closest we’d get to bonding today.