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23

KENDRA

I sip my latte, letting the rich espresso coat my tongue while I scroll through work emails on my phone. The café buzzes with mid-afternoon energy—writers hunched over laptops, business people fitting in quick meetings between calls. I've claimed my favorite corner table by the window, sunlight warming my shoulder as I work through my lunch break.

The chair across from me scrapes against the floor. I look up, ready to politely inform whoever it is that the seat's taken—even though it isn't—when I freeze.

A man slides into the chair uninvited, his movements too smooth, too deliberate. Young—maybe mid-twenties—with dark eyes burning with that particular brand of arrogance that comes from having power without the wisdom to wield it. His jaw is sharp, set hard as he stares at me, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. He wears a tailored black shirt that stretches over broad shoulders, a gold chain peeking out at his collar.

I know what he is before he opens his mouth. The way he scans the room without seeming to. The subtle bulge at his waist that isn't a phone. The confidence that borders on something dangerous.

Mafia. One of those young ones with something to prove.

And he looks a touch too much like Enzo for it to be a coincidence.

I straighten in my seat, unimpressed. "Can I help you?"

He leans forward, elbows on the table. His eyes trail down my face to the open collar of my blouse, then back up again. The look makes my skin crawl.

"You're Kendra Washington." Not a question.

I don't give him the satisfaction of asking how he knows that. Instead, I reach for my coffee, keeping my movements casual while my mind races. Mantione? Has to be. A message from Luca perhaps?

"Ercole Rossi." He taps the table with his index finger, the gesture somehow threatening. "Enzo's nephew."

My eyebrow rises of its own accord. Enzo never mentioned family. A nephew? The resemblance is there in the jawline, the broad shoulders—but where Enzo radiates controlled danger, this man practically vibrates with volatile energy.

"Fascinating," I say flatly. "Is there a reason you're interrupting my lunch?"

His lips twitch, like he expected me to be impressed, or perhaps frightened. "I'm giving you a chance," he says, voice dropping low, serious.

I take another sip of coffee, letting the silence stretch. When he doesn't continue, I set the cup down with deliberate precision. "A chance for what?"

He leans closer, the scent of expensive cologne mixed with cigarettes invading my space. "To get out. Before it's too late."

The words hang between us like they're supposed to mean something profound. Like he's the hero in some twisted story, offering rescue to the damsel.

I nearly laugh. Instead, I lean back in my chair, studying him the way I would an underwhelming presentation at work.

"Get out of what, exactly?" I keep my voice cool, professional.

"Whatever arrangement you have with my uncle." His eyes narrow. "You think you know what you're getting into? You have no idea who he really is."

I think of Enzo's face when his dogs tackled him to the ground. The careful way he handled my deal. The control in every movement.

"And you're what? Rescuing me?" I can't keep the edge of mockery from my voice.

I exhale slowly, purposely controlling my expression. I know exactly what this is. This isn't about warning me or saving me. This is about power. About territory.

Ercole leans forward, his voice dropping to something that's probably supposed to sound concerned. "You don't understand what he's capable of. The things he's done."

He thinks he's some tragic hero, riding in on a white horse to rescue me from the monster. How many women has he tried this with before? How many fell for this act? He's painting his uncle as a sinking ship that will drag me to the underworld with him, like I'm some innocent caught in Enzo's web.

What he doesn't realize is that I don't need saving. I made my deal with eyes wide open.

"But you don't have to let him own you." He's still pushing. "My father and I can make this all go away. The debt, the deal... just say the word." I quirk a brow and he leans in even closer. "He betrayed our family once. He'll betray you too."

I exhale, setting down my coffee and leaning forward slightly. I drop my voice to something smooth and sharp—the tone I use in boardrooms when someone has severely underestimated me.

"And what makes you think I want out?"

The question lands like a slap. Ercole falters—because he didn't expect that. His cocky expression flickers, uncertainty replacing arrogance for a split second. He expected fear or gratitude, not this calm challenge. His hand tightens on the edge of the table.

"You think you?—"

Before he can recover, a shadow looms over our table, and the air shifts. The café noise seems to dampen, like someone turned down the volume. I don't even have to turn around. I know exactly who it is.

Ercole's face tells me everything. The color drains from his cheeks, his eyes widening just enough to betray his fear.

The dangerous stillness radiating off Enzo is palpable, like the charged air before a lightning strike. He doesn't speak. Doesn't move. Just stands there, his presence alone transforming our little corner of the café into something electric with tension.

I take a slow sip of my coffee, watching Ercole over the rim of my cup. Watching him realize his miscalculation. He came here thinking he could manipulate me, could steal what he sees as his uncle's possession. Now he's learning what happens when you try to take something that belongs to Enzo Rossi.

"Uncle." The word comes out steady, but I catch the slight tremble in Ercole's hands.

Enzo places one hand on the back of my chair, barely brushing my shoulder. The touch is light, casual even, but the message is clear. Mine.

"Ercole." Enzo's voice is deceptively soft, but I hear the steel beneath. "I don't recall inviting you to join Kendra for lunch."

I lean back in my chair, letting the warmth of Enzo's presence wash over me as I watch his nephew squirm. This isn't a rescue. This is a predator discovering someone hunting in his territory.

And heat pools in my stomach at the thought of watching what he'll do next.