Page 26 of Enzo (Legacy of Heathens #3)
PENELOPE
T he day had been soaked in the sun-drenched chaos of Naples—crowded piazzas, scooters weaving like errant thoughts through narrow alleyways, and the smell of the sea clinging to every stone wall. It wasn’t terrible. In fact, it had its charm.
I’d managed to tick off every tourist cliché: bought gifts for my sister and brothers, sampled enough gelato to justify a future confession, and dragged Enzo through half a dozen boutiques without hearing a single complaint. That alone felt like a minor miracle.
By the time our legs were staging a quiet rebellion, we stumbled into a tucked-away restaurant off a side street lined with laundry strung between balconies like faded flags of everyday life.
Inside, the space felt almost suspended in time with dim lighting, brick walls, and tables dressed in worn linen that held stories of their own.
Candles flickered gently, casting golden halos around glasses of deep red wine. Somewhere near the kitchen, a radio played soft Neapolitan ballads, half-drowned beneath the murmur of locals deep in conversation.
Pasta arrived as though summoned by magic, thick ribbons of tagliatelle in a ragu that could’ve made a cynic weep, and the wine poured like truth serum.
“So you and your brother,” I began, watching the way his shoulders tensed just slightly, like a cord tightening beneath skin. “You’re close, huh?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just swirled the wine in his glass, eyes flitting to a far corner of the room as though his memories were seated there.
“Sì,” he said finally, voice low. “I’m close with Amadeo. And I love my half-siblings. Isla’s been good to both of us, and especially to my father.”
“You never call him papà, though,” I noted. “But it’s obvious you care about him.”
His gaze returned to mine, thoughtful. “I do. I guess I outgrew that title somewhere along the way. It stopped fitting.”
There was a quiet honesty in his voice that made the space between us feel suddenly smaller.
“And your uncle and aunt?” I asked, nudging the edge of my plate. “You’re close to them too?”
He nodded, that soft half smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Sì.”
“Is that the reason you have a house here too?”
His smile deepened into something sly. “Are you interrogating me, Penelope?”
“Do you have anything to hide?”
“Absolutely,” he said without missing a beat. “As do all people in our world.”
I let out a breath somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “Well, you’re not wrong. But it’s… I don’t know. Odd, isn’t it? That you’d be in your uncle’s territory.”
He grew quiet at that, fingers drumming lightly on the stem of his wineglass. “He only has a daughter, and he and my aunt Athena agreed their girl wouldn’t be part of any of this. No legacy, no blood oaths. Just a clean break.”
I raised a brow, unconvinced. “That’s what we plan, and then there’s life. Let’s just say our parents’ plans never work out.”
He gave a small nod and lifted his glass toward me, eyes glinting. “As you very well know, mia anima .”
The words curled around my chest and stayed there.
I narrowed my eyes but let it slide. The truth was, Enzo was trying. And in our world, that meant more than flowers or whispered promises. Trying—really trying—was rare. It was dangerous. But he was doing it. And that alone set him apart from the others.
Outside, Naples hummed into twilight, but in here, it was just the two of us. A flicker of something unspoken stretching across the table, waiting to be named.
Somewhere between the fourth glass and the Parmesan, I casually dropped, “We should probably get used to abstinence.”
He grinned and said, “Shame, really. But I’ll survive for a while just watching you pleasure yourself. You’re unfairly sexy when you do that.”
I stiffened. “Excuse me?”
He groaned.
“It’s… nothing.” But it wasn’t nothing, and I wasn’t ready to drop it. Judging by the charming smile he flashed at me, he knew it too. “I’ve been stalking you, so of course, I’ve seen you pleasure yourself. I even helped you once.”
Hot, red rage shot through me, and if we were alone, I would have stabbed him with my silverware. My fingers curled around the fork, contemplating whether I should give it a try.
A blunt knife would have been preferable. It would ensure he’d bleed out painfully and slowly.
“You helped me?” The tone of my voice should have been his warning, but he didn’t heed it.
“Yes. I knew we had chemistry from our night at Revelation, so when I happened to be on the balcony of your bedroom and saw you struggling… Well, I had to help you achieve the pleasure. It’s my job.”
“It wasn’t back then,” I hissed, then put my fork down with a clank, looking him dead in the eyes. “If you ever violate my privacy again, I’m going to dismember you, remove your eyeballs from your skull, and have it delivered to your family. Capisce ?”
Needless to say, dessert was no longer on the menu. Neither was dignity.
I sprang to my feet and walked away without looking back. Behind me, I heard him fumble, a stack of bills hitting the table with a dull slap, then his footsteps were quick and firm, closing the distance between us.