Page 14

14

ENZO

T he warehouse smells like desperation and disinfectant. Blood has a way of seeping into concrete if you don't clean it up fast enough, and Rome's crew is nothing if not efficient. I watch as they finish loading the last of the shipment, my arms crossed over my chest, eyes tracking every movement.

"Enzo?" Rome approaches, wiping his hands on a rag that was probably white once. He's one of my guys that used to work for me under the Cappallettis and he's been by my side since we switched. "Everything's set."

I nod, scanning the space one more time. "Any problems?"

"Nah." He shrugs, but there's something in his posture—a slight tension in his shoulders—that makes me pause.

"Spit it out, Rome." My voice drops, the command unmistakable.

He shifts his weight. "It's probably nothing, but there were some guys asking questions at Miko's bar last night. Not our people, not Luca's either."

I keep my face neutral, but internally, I'm mapping out possibilities. Zenon moves fast—faster than I expected. I make a mental note to increase security around my territory.

"Keep an eye out," I tell him, reaching for my phone. "Let me know if they come back."

Rome nods and retreats, giving me space as I check my messages. Nothing from Kendra. Again. I haven’t seen her in two days and it’s eating me alive.

I dial her number, unable to resist, listening to it ring until voicemail picks up. I hang up without leaving a message. The first time I called, I figured she was busy even though I waited until the end of her work day. The second time, I thought she might be in a late meeting. Now? Now it's clear she's ignoring me.

Something about that knowledge crawls under my skin—not worry, but irritation. She made a deal. My time, my terms. That's how this works.

I slide my phone back into my pocket, check my watch. Almost seven. The last rays of sunlight filter through the high windows, casting long shadows across the warehouse floor. I could head home, work through the reports Luca sent over this morning. But instead, I find myself heading toward my car, keys in hand.

Twenty minutes later, I'm pushing open the door to Skye's boutique, the bell chiming softly overhead even though she’s about to close. The space is elegant—all clean lines and strategic lighting—with clothing displayed like art rather than merchandise. It's exactly what I'd expect from a woman who married into the family and still managed to build something entirely her own.

Maria spots me first, her face lighting up with genuine warmth. That's her problem—she's too soft for this world, too quick to welcome people in. If she weren't Luca's cousin, someone would have used that against her by now.

"Enzo!" She waves me over to the counter where she's arranging a display of silk scarves. "I was just telling Skye about the restaurant I went to last weekend. You should try it—they have this wine list that would make you cry."

"I don't cry over wine lists," I say dryly, scanning the store out of habit. No other customers. Security cameras positioned at the entrance and over the register. One rear exit. Old habits.

"Where's Kendra?" Maria asks, her tone innocent even as her eyes spark with something knowing.

I keep my face carefully blank. "How would I know?"

Skye emerges from the back room, arms crossed over her chest, lips curving into a smirk that immediately sets my teeth on edge. She's too observant by half—always has been.

"Maybe she finally got tired of your whole 'dark and dangerous' act," she suggests, leaning against the counter with calculated casualness.

I clench my jaw, feeling a muscle tick in my cheek. "She had better things to do," I lie, slipping my phone into my pocket as if her silence means nothing, as if I haven't been checking it all day.

Skye hums, clearly unconvinced. "Mm-hmm. That's why you look pissed, right?"

I scoff at Skye's knowing look. "I'm not pissed. I don't get pissed over women."

"Right," Skye draws out the word. "That's why you're here, asking about her location like some brooding hero from one of those romance novels Kendra pretends she doesn't read."

Maria laughs, and I shoot her a glare that would make most men flinch. She just smiles wider.

"I came to check on the security system Luca had installed," I say smoothly. The lie rolls off my tongue effortlessly. "Making sure everything's functioning properly."

"Of course you did." Skye's voice drips with sarcasm. "The cameras are working fine, by the way. Caught you looking for her the second you walked in."

I bite back a retort, choosing instead to redirect. "How's Luca?"

"Busy. You'd know that if you answered his calls instead of hunting down my friend."

I spend another ten minutes with them, enduring their thinly veiled amusement at my expense. They catch me up on trivial matters—Maria's new apartment, Skye's upcoming fashion show—while I nod and respond with appropriate interest, all while calculating my next move.

As soon as I leave the boutique, I make a call. The phone barely rings once before it's answered.

"I need a location," I say without preamble, sliding into my car. "Kendra Washington. Last known whereabouts, current location if possible."

"Consider it done." The voice on the other end is efficient, professional. "Timeframe?"

"Within the hour." I start the engine. "And make it discreet. I don't want her knowing she's being tracked."

I hang up and pull into traffic, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. This isn't how I operate. I don't chase women. I never have to. They come to me—drawn by power, by danger, by the promise of something they can't get from ordinary men. But Kendra isn't just some woman—she's mine. The contract between us made that clear, even if she's pretending otherwise.

The thought of her deliberately avoiding me sends a current of irritation through my veins. She made a deal. My time, my terms.

And if she thinks she can just disappear on me? She's about to learn otherwise.

My phone buzzes twenty minutes later as I'm reviewing territory reports. The message is brief, precise: she went straight home after work, hasn't left her apartment since 6:15 PM.

Something sharp and possessive settles in my chest. She's testing me. Seeing how far she can push before I push back.

Fine.

I close my laptop and stand, stretching muscles tight from too many hours at a desk. I feed the dogs, scratch behind Penny's ears when she nudges against my leg, anxious as always. Paige nearly knocks me over in her enthusiasm.

"Easy," I murmur, steadying myself. "I'll be back later."

I let the evening stretch a little longer, savoring the anticipation. I shower, change into a fresh shirt—dark gray, expensive—and select a watch from the collection on my dresser. The ritual of preparation calms me, focuses my thoughts.

By the time I get in my car and drive to her apartment, night has fully settled over the city. I park directly in front of her building—a newer complex with decent security but nothing that would keep me out if I didn't want to be kept out.

I step out of the car, adjusting my cuffs, and look up at her window. Light spills from behind her curtains, confirming she's home, alone, deliberately ignoring my calls.

Perfect.