Page 36 of Enzo (Legacy of Heathens #3)

PENELOPE

T he rich aroma of butter sizzling in a pan yanked me out of my sleep.

I rolled out of bed and headed into the bathroom, terrified of what I might find in the mirror.

I waited until I’d brushed my teeth and splashed water on my face to finally catch my reflection.

Yeah, there was no denying that “thoroughly fucked” looked good on me.

In fact, it looked so good that I decided I’d just go to the kitchen and check out what was cooking without brushing my hair.

My feet silent against the floor, I padded to the kitchen and found Enzo at the stove, shirtless and barefoot.

He looked good enough to be on the cover of one of those romance books that Anya was always sending my way.

I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my mouth on his back while my heart thundered with excitement. It was such a simple thing, yet so familiar. It made me feel all warm inside.

Peeking my head around his strong body, I spotted eggs, bacon, and pancakes.

“You can cook, huh? I’m impressed,” I murmured, ignoring the emotions that bubbled in my chest.

He glanced down his shoulder at me, smiling. “Every Italian cooks.”

“Well, I regret to tell you, I’m half Italian and I don’t cook.”

His eyebrow arched, but his expression remained unreadable before he returned his attention to the stove. “Don’t or can’t?”

“Both, I guess. Mama’s not fond of the kitchen, so she hired a cook.” She was better at being a badass. “And whenever we had a gathering with my uncles, they cooked.”

His back shook as he chuckled. “Don’t tell me none of your uncles ever offered to teach you?”

I tilted my head pensively. “You know, they didn’t. Maybe they thought I already knew?”

“Maybe.”

He flipped the bacon, the smell wafting in the air and making my stomach growl in response. “Do you want to learn?”

“Hmm. Honestly, I’m not sure I’m the domestic goddess kind of girl, you know.”

He nodded. “That’s okay. You don’t have to be domestic as long as you’re mine. Besides, I enjoy cooking.”

I grinned. “I wouldn’t object to learning if you’ll teach me while wearing this .”

“This?”

“Well, not wearing would be more accurate. Shirtless,” I clarified. I stepped away and started fanning myself. “I mean… naked would be even better. But I’m not overly picky.”

A heartbeat later, he threw his head back and laughed. The belly kind that I hadn’t heard from him yet.

I stared at him, mesmerized, as the most beautiful sound rippled over me. It was better than any cello note I could ever produce.

“Duly noted, mia anima . Boxers it shall be, at least when I’m cooking bacon.

” He winked and I smiled, tilting my head in thanks.

“I wasn’t sure whether you ate breakfast like your Irish, American, or Italian side.

So I fixed a little bit of everything. There’s some yogurt and fruit ready for you, and I’ll get your coffee in a moment. ”

I took the glass of orange juice he handed me, then looked over at the table.

“Wow, you’ve really gone all out,” I noted, surveying the beautiful red roses. “When did you have time to get flowers?” It was then that I noticed a long, black box. “And… jewelry?”

“It’s almost ten, hardly the crack of dawn.” His eyes flickered with something heavy. “I went to check on your papà’s Ferrari, then headed into town to handle some engine stuff for it.” Was it my imagination, or were the tips of his ears pink? “I decided to make a few extra stops.”

“How… productive.” I cleared the emotion from my throat and wandered over to the flowers, pinching a stem and bringing it up to my nose.

He scooped the food onto a large plate, then pulled out a seat for me before sitting down himself.

“So, which will it be? American, Irish, or Italian breakfast?”

“American, please.”

I eyed the black velvet box, unsure if it would seem too greedy to open it now.

When I made no effort to move, he reached over and opened it.

“It’s a bracelet,” he told me, revealing a rope of beautiful sapphires, rubies, and diamonds set in letters that read Mia anima .

“Sapphires are the exact shade of your eyes, while the rubies reminded me of your wedding dress.” He quirked an amused brow in my direction, and I forked some eggs into my mouth to keep from giggling.

“And diamonds… well, I hear diamonds are a woman’s best friend. ”

“It’s custom-made,” I breathed stupidly, not able to think of anything better to say.

“I had it designed, yes.” He reached for my wrist and clipped it on. “I hope you like it.”

I stared in awe at the stones.

“I love it. I really, really love it.” And I love you , my heart hummed, but I promptly ignored it. It was too soon; too fast; too something .

I pulled my gaze from the glittering diamonds, afraid that if I stared any longer, the weight of it all might splinter me. Instead, I let my fingers drift across the red petals—velvet-soft and blood-bright—grounding myself in something that was tangible.

“Amara would love these.”

Worry for her and her health instantly dimmed my mood, making my shoulders slump. My parents had sent another message last night saying everything went fine. No details. No follow-up. That usually wasn’t a good sign.

“A bouquet was delivered to her this morning, as well.”

My eyes met his, mine burning with emotions. “Thank you.”

His brow dipped. “For what?”

“For being considerate. For being so good with her. For all of”—I waved a hand around as a sob escaped my throat—“this.”

The pressure in my chest grew so tight it became challenging to breathe. I swallowed, then picked up my glass of juice and took a long sip.

“I’m so scared,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.

“I know.” He reached his hand out to mine, squeezing it gently. “But Amara is a fighter.”

“I don’t think she wants to fight anymore,” I rasped, uttering those words aloud for the first time. I couldn’t pinpoint when I started feeling her surrender, but I couldn’t shake it off.

“She’s tired, and it’s understandable.” I nodded in understanding, although a part of me struggled to accept it. “We’ll let her rest while we continue fighting just as hard, okay?”

My soul shuddered with the force of a hurricane, conflicting feelings thickening the air around us: fear, love, anger.

“It’s not fair, you know.” I’d imagine that every family that got hit with cancer probably uttered those words. And if they hadn’t, they thought them. “It shouldn’t be her, Enzo.”

“No, it shouldn’t. No kid should have to be touched by that illness.” I shook my head to agree with him. “But I promise you, Penelope. I’ll do everything in my power to help. Lie, cheat, or kill, trust me on that.”

The terrifying part was that I believed him.

ENZO

Amadeo: Found Atticus. Dropping the pin now.

The words lit up the screen and part of the bedroom, and I quickly dimmed the light, worried it would wake Penelope.

She hadn’t so much as stirred, which wasn’t totally surprising.

We’d spent half the day on the beach, and then Penelope demanded I teach her to cook. Homemade lasagna—from scratch .

“I want to start big,” she’d said, then reminded me about my clothes. I suspected she just wanted to watch me strut around the kitchen in my boxers. Of course, I didn’t mind. Especially when we became distracted and I ended up fucking her on top of the counter, all thoughts of lasagna on pause.

Dinner was inedible, but the way she’d lain there, spread out and writhing on the flour-covered countertop, was unforgettable.

We raided her parents’ fridge before spending the rest of the night tangled in each other’s arms. My young wife was insatiable and far more adventurous than I could’ve ever predicted.

My phone buzzed again, reminding me my brother was waiting for a reply.

I opened the location he sent over and sighed.

Atticus was in West Africa, the heart of black-market operations.

That part of the world was even on Interpol’s radar, if my sources were to be believed—and I had no reason to doubt them.

It just meant the international community wasn’t rushing to throw more resources at the issue, to no one’s shock.

The organ trade business was too lucrative.

Amadeo: Are you sure you don’t want me to end him?

I didn’t want Amadeo involved in this at all.

However, the pestering, loving brother that he was, he knew me too well and had been bugging me to finish whatever business I had with Atticus.

Especially since I was now the head of the Marchetti family.

Amadeo used that card to insist I needed to let him in on whatever I was doing.

So to some degree, I did let him help. Amadeo was excellent at tracking—and killing—people.

Me: No, I need him alive.

I needed to get a handle on the organization, and something told me that began and ended with Atticus. I would find an organ for Amara and eliminate players of the organization at the same time.

Amadeo: What ever for?

Me: Just keep tailing him.

Amadeo: When are you coming?

Me: I’ll let you know. Don’t lose him.

I glanced at the time. It was four in the morning. I felt rested. My wife had worked her magic again; somehow, I could always sleep when Penelope was close. It was a welcome reprieve after years of nightmares plagued me.

Knowing I wouldn’t get any more shut-eye tonight, I got out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweats and a shirt.

We’d be in Milan in six hours. After I made good on my promise to Pen and Amara, I’d fly out to Africa and deal with Atticus.

Throwing another look into the bedroom where my wife slept, I headed for the door. I had a few hours to kill and Luca’s Ferrari was still missing an engine, although my father-in-law remained unaware of that minor detail.

So, I left the cottage, the moon still high in the sky, and made my way to the garage to work on restoring the vintage car.