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16

ENZO

A t precisely 7 PM, I pull up to Kendra's building. The engine purrs quietly as I wait, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel. At 7:03, she emerges through the glass doors.

Something in my chest tightens.

She's dressed simply—dark jeans that hug her curves, a cream silk blouse that drapes across her body like water, and a leather jacket that adds just enough edge. Her hair falls in loose curls around her shoulders, and she's wearing minimal makeup—just enough to enhance what's already perfect.

The simplicity is what grates on me. She isn't trying, and that's the problem. The women in my world spend hours, thousands of dollars, crafting an illusion of effortless beauty. Kendra just... exists, and it's enough to make my mouth go dry.

She slides into the passenger seat without a word, a subtle waft of vanilla and something distinctly her filling the confined space.

"You're late," I say, pulling away from the curb.

"Three minutes." She doesn't look at me, instead focusing on fastening her seatbelt. "I'm sure your schedule will survive."

I don't respond, focusing on the road instead. The silence stretches between us, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable—just charged. I can feel her studying my profile.

"So what's the occasion?" she finally asks.

"Luca needs to meet with me and Skye made him invite me to dinner." A half-truth. Skye really told me that I was taking up too much of Kendra's time and this is my way of giving Skye her fix without losing any of my own claim on her. Not that I'll say it.

"And I'm your plus one?"

"You're whatever I need you to be." I keep my voice cool, detached. "That was the deal."

She turns toward the window, but not before I catch the slight tightening around her eyes. "Right."

Luca's house sits on three acres of prime real estate, a modernist mansion of glass and steel that somehow manages to feel like a fortress. I punch in the gate code and drive up the long, winding driveway.

As we step inside, Skye materializes from somewhere deeper in the house, her face lighting up when she spots us.

"Kendra!" She crosses the marble foyer in quick strides, pulling Kendra into a hug with easy familiarity. "I was hoping Enzo would bring you."

I watch the tension in Kendra's shoulders dissolve as she returns Skye's embrace. "Hey, girl. You didn't tell me you were hosting tonight."

"Last minute thing," Skye links arms with her. "Come on, I need someone sane to talk to. These men have been discussing business all day, and I'm losing my mind."

Luca appears behind his wife, nodding at me before offering Kendra a near smile. It's…unnerving. "Kendra. Good to see you again."

"Hey, Luca." She winks at him and he blinks slowly. I'm not sure he can process emotions not attached to his wife.

Instead, he turns to me and gestures toward his study. "Enzo, a word before dinner?"

I nod, my eyes lingering on Kendra as Skye pulls her toward the kitchen, their heads already bent in conversation. Something about the ease between them unsettles me.

Luca's study is all dark wood and leather, a stark contrast to the minimalist aesthetic of the rest of the house. He closes the door behind us and moves to a decanter of whiskey on his desk.

"Zenon made contact with Armando." He pours two glasses, handing one to me. "He's trying to map our operations."

I take the glass, my mind dividing itself between the threat at hand and the sound of Kendra's laughter drifting through the closed door. "He's getting bold."

"Bold is dangerous." Luca sits on the edge of his desk. "We need to send a message."

I force my attention fully to Luca, but my awareness remains split—part of me calculating the moves and countermoves of this chess game with my brother, part of me attuned to Kendra's presence just rooms away.

"I'll handle it," I say, taking a sip of the whiskey.

Luca nods, but his ice-blue eyes narrow slightly. He glances toward the door, where another burst of laughter—Kendra's—filters through.

"She's interesting," he says casually. Too casually.

"She's useful," I correct, keeping my expression neutral.

A knowing smirk plays at the corner of Luca's mouth. "You can play the long game all you want, Enzo, but she's already yours."

I scoff, the sound sharp in my throat. "I don't keep what I can't control."

"Don't you?" His eyebrow arches. "She took your deal. She's here. She hasn't walked away."

His words sink beneath my skin like barbs, precisely because they echo thoughts I've been fighting. Kendra fights me at every turn, challenges me in ways no one else dares, and yet—she remains. By choice or circumstance hardly matters.

The next morning, I walk into Romano Security Solutions, a steel-and-glass monolith that serves as the perfect cover for Elliott Romano's less legitimate enterprises. The receptionist—a sharp-eyed woman who I'd bet knows exactly what her boss really does—waves me through without question. I've been expected.

Elliott's office occupies the entire top floor, with windows offering a panoramic view of Chicago that probably helps him feel like the god he thinks he is. I find him sitting behind a glass desk, fingers flying across three separate keyboards while multiple screens flicker with code I couldn't begin to understand.

"Enzo." He doesn't look up, but his fingers pause briefly. "Right on time."

Elliott Romano embodies contradictions. His unruly dark curls and thick-framed glasses give him the appearance of a harmless tech genius, but the intricate tattoos peeking from beneath his rolled-up sleeves tell a different story. His movements are precise, deliberate—a man who approaches both coding and combat with methodical efficiency.

"This place is a bit much, isn't it?" I gesture to the sleek office with its minimalist furniture and excessive technology.

Elliott finally looks up, his dark eyes sharp behind his glasses. "Says the man who drives a custom Audi."

I concede the point with a slight tilt of my head and settle into the chair across from him. "I need information on the Cappallettis. The kind that makes them... agreeable."

"Blackmail material." It's not a question. Elliott leans back, studying me with that analytical gaze that seems to dissect everything it touches. "For your proposed truce?"

I raise an eyebrow, not surprised he already knows about my plans. Information is his currency, after all. "Can you do it?"

A slow grin spreads across his face, revealing the edge beneath the tech-genius facade. "So you want me to make it so the Cappallettis have no choice but to agree to this truce?"

I nod once. "That a problem?"

"Not at all." Elliott's fingers resume their dance across the keyboard, pulling up files I can't see from my angle. "The Cappallettis have always been careless with their digital footprint. Giovanni especially—man can't resist his online poker." He glances up again, the screen's blue light reflecting off his glasses. "I can have preliminary findings by tomorrow, complete dossier by the end of the week. Standard rate?"

"Triple it if you can get me something concrete on Alfonso Figarello." I lean forward slightly. "He's the real obstacle."

Elliott's eyes narrow with interest. "The underboss with the squeaky-clean image? That'll cost you."

"I’m sure we can handle it."

We shake on it, his grip firm and uncompromising. As I stand to leave, Elliott's voice stops me.

"So...Kendra Washington." He leans back in his chair, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Mikayla mentioned you've been spending a lot of time with her."

I feel my expression harden. "Problem?"

"Not at all." His smirk widens. "Just interesting. She's not your usual type. Too smart to fall for your bullshit."

I shift tactics, my own smirk forming. "Speaking of women too smart—how is Mikayla? Has she figured out what you want from her yet?"

The satisfaction is immediate as Elliott's charming smile vanishes, replaced by something cold and dangerous. He rises slowly, his movements suddenly less tech genius and more predator.

"Don't push me when it comes to Mikayla." His voice drops to something just above a whisper. "You really don't want to know what it's like to be on my bad side, Enzo."

The tension crackles between us, two men accustomed to control finding their limits tested.

I incline my head slightly. "Fair enough. We should leave the girls out of it."

Elliott nods once, agreement reached.

As I step into the elevator, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Kendra's name flashes across the screen, and I feel the corner of my mouth curl up. Perfect timing.

I swipe open the message.

Do you need me tonight or can I have ONE evening to myself? Some of us have actual jobs with actual hours.

Warmth spreads through my chest at her fire, her refusal to be cowed by what I am or what I represent. Even in a text, her defiance burns bright, and I find myself inching closer, wanting more.

I'm not sure with her I'll ever stop wanting it all.