Page 12

12

ENZO

I press the buzzer at the front gate of Luca's estate, noting the new security cameras installed since my last visit. Smart move. With threats from every direction, Luca never leaves anything to chance. The gate slides open silently, and I drive up the winding driveway, the winter sunlight glinting off the massive windows of his modernist monstrosity of a house.

Most people would be intimidated by such ostentation, but I know what it really is: a fortress disguised as luxury. Every sightline, every entrance, every piece of "decorative" landscaping serves a purpose. Nothing about Luca's life is accidental.

I park beside his collection of European cars and step out, straightening my jacket. One of Luca's guards nods at me as I approach. He knows better than to try searching me. The implied trust isn't personal—it's business. I've earned my place in Luca's inner circle.

The door opens before I knock. Luca stands there, ice-blue eyes assessing me in that unnervingly blank way of his.

"Enzo." No smile, just acknowledgment. His expression never betrays anything—it's what makes most men fear him.

"We need to talk," I say, stepping inside.

He gestures toward his study. "Business first, then?"

I follow him through the house, past rooms decorated with the kind of precise taste that suggests someone else made all the decisions. The place looks lived-in now—Skye's influence. Before her, it was like walking through an architectural magazine, beautiful but sterile.

"Zenon approached me," I say as soon as the study door closes behind us. "Him and Ercole."

Luca's expression doesn't change, but I catch the slight shift in his posture. Alertness. "When?"

"Two days ago. They know I wasn't kidnapped. They know I flipped on the Cappallettis."

Now he moves to the bar cart, pouring two glasses of whiskey. "Your own family. Interesting."

"Not all blood is loyal." I take the offered glass but don't drink. "They'll come at me first, but this is about territory. Your territory."

Luca sits in his leather chair, leaning back slightly. "You think they're trying to start a war."

It's not a question. Luca doesn't ask questions; he states facts and waits for confirmation.

"I know they are. Zenon's ambitious. He's been waiting for a chance to move against you, and I gave him the perfect excuse. Family honor. Blood betrayal." I gesture dismissively. "All that theatrical bullshit."

Luca swirls his whiskey, staring into it with that empty gaze. "Numbers?"

"Fifteen, maybe twenty men directly under Zenon. Ercole's got his own crew too, maybe another dozen."

Luca nods, but something catches his attention. His eyes drift past me, toward the door, and the change is so subtle most people would miss it—but I've spent years reading the micro-expressions of dangerous men. The ice in his eyes thaws, just slightly.

I turn to see what he's looking at.

Skye stands in the hallway with Maria, both of them laughing about something. Skye's elegant in a way that seems effortless, her amber eyes bright with amusement. Maria says something else that makes Skye throw her head back in laughter.

When I look back at Luca, I barely recognize him. The transformation isn't dramatic—no broad smiles or outward displays—but it's there in the softening around his eyes, the slight release of tension in his shoulders. Peace. Certainty. Completion.

I've known Luca long enough to understand what I'm seeing. A man who has everything he wants. A man who built a kingdom and found someone to share it with.

The realization settles in my chest like a stone. My world is different. Everything I've built is temporary—territory that can be taken, alliances that can shift, power that can be lost in a moment of weakness.

Kendra is temporary.

The thought ambushes me. She's a deal, a transaction. A momentary distraction in a life that doesn't allow for permanence.

I drain my whiskey, the burn matching the uncomfortable realization forming in my gut. Luca has found something I didn't know was possible in our world. Something I never thought to want.

The thought unsettles me, so I don't call Kendra that night.

Instead, I drive home alone, the city lights blurring past my windows as I press the accelerator harder than necessary. My territory stretches before me—streets and businesses that answer to me, that fear me—but tonight it feels hollow.

My house is silent when I arrive, except for the clicking of dog nails against hardwood. Paige comes bounding toward me first, all golden chaos and wagging tail, while Penny hangs back, watching with her mismatched eyes, waiting to see if I'm in a mood worth approaching. Smart girl.

"Hey," I murmur, dropping to one knee to let Paige crash into me. Penny inches forward, and I extend my hand to her. "It's fine. Come here."

I feed them, check my security system, and pour myself another drink. The routine is familiar—comforting in its predictability. This is my life. Controlled. Organized. Exactly as I've built it to be.

So why does it feel incomplete tonight?

I settle at my desk, opening my laptop to review the week's numbers. Business is good. Territory is secure, apart from Zenon's threat. I should be focused on that—on strategy and survival—not on brown eyes that see too much or full lips curved into a knowing smirk.

"This isn't real," I mutter to myself, draining my glass. "It can't be."

Kendra is a transaction. A way to settle a debt and entertain myself. Nothing more. The pull I feel toward her is pure biology—she's beautiful, she's smart, she challenges me. Any man would want her.

But I'm not any man. I don't have the luxury of wanting things I can't control.

I shut the laptop harder than necessary. Penny flinches at the sound, and I reach down to stroke her head in silent apology.

Sleep doesn't come easily. I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, haunted by the image of Luca's face when he looked at Skye. I've never seen that in him before—that sense of something beyond survival. Beyond power.

I tell myself it's weakness. A vulnerability I can't afford.

But by morning, the lie tastes sour.

I'm restless, checking my phone too often, angry at myself for the impulse. I take the dogs for a run, pushing faster than usual until my lungs burn and my thoughts quiet. It helps, but only temporarily.

By afternoon, I'm pacing my office, irritable with my crew over minor issues, snapping at Rome when he brings the weekly reports.

"Everything alright, boss?" he asks, brow furrowed.

I dismiss him with a wave. "Fine. Just handle it."

When he's gone, I stand at the window, looking out over the city—my city, or at least a piece of it. I've fought for every inch of this territory, sacrificed for it, bled for it. It should be enough.

I want her here. The realization hits with uncomfortable clarity. Not because of our arrangement, not as some twisted power play, but because something in the air feels lighter when she's around. Because she looks at me like I'm a puzzle she's determined to solve, not just a threat to fear.

I pull out my phone, staring at her contact information. One call, and she'd come. That was our deal. But using the deal feels wrong suddenly, like cheating at a game I didn't know I was playing.

I want her to want to be here.

The thought is so foreign, so dangerous, I almost laugh at myself. Since when do I care about what anyone wants? I take. I demand. I control. That's how I survived. That's how I built everything I have.

But as I look down at my phone, thumb hovering over her name, I realize something has shifted—something I'm not sure I can control.