Page 27

27

ENZO

I try to tell myself I'm here because I need to discuss the terms of our arrangement. That my being at her office is strictly business. But it's bullshit, and I know it. I want to see Kendra, plain and simple. Haven't been able to get her out of my head since she walked out of my bedroom three days ago.

The receptionist is too busy on her phone to question my presence as I walk past, my steps silent on the carpeted floor. I know where Kendra's office is—end of the hall, corner space with her name on the door. Executive privilege.

I'm almost there when I catch sight of her through the break room doorway. She's leaning against a counter, coffee mug in hand, dressed in a form-fitting burgundy dress that hugs every curve I spent the night memorizing with my hands. But it's not her outfit that makes my jaw tighten—it's who she's talking to.

Some slick corporate type in a tailored suit, standing too close, looking at her like she's something to be devoured. I watch his eyes drop to her lips when she speaks, the way he leans in, invading her space. The familiar weight of my gun against my ribs is suddenly very present in my mind.

Instead of interrupting, I slip into her office. Let her finish her little flirtation. I want to see what she does when she thinks I'm not watching.

I settle behind her desk like I own the room, leaning back in her chair. The space is immaculate—glass desk perfectly organized, awards and credentials displayed on the wall, everything in its place. Just like Kendra. Always in control.

Minutes later, the door swings open. She walks in, head down as she scrolls through something on her phone. When she finally looks up and sees me, she freezes, one hand instinctively rising to her throat.

"Jesus Christ," she hisses, her composure shattering for just a second before that mask of cool indifference slips back into place. "Do you make a habit of lurking in women's offices, or am I special?"

I don't smile. Don't move from my position behind the desk.

"Who was that?" The question comes out lower, rougher than I intended.

Her eyebrows rise slowly, that sharp intelligence in her eyes picking apart my tone, my rigid stance. Then, unexpectedly, she smiles. Not her professional smile, not even her sarcastic one. This is something more dangerous—a slow curve of those full lips that says she's just discovered something she can use against me.

"That's Alex. Marketing director for our biggest client." She moves further into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. "Why? Does it matter?"

"He wants to fuck you." I state it like the fact it is.

She laughs, the sound rich and darkly amused as she sets her phone on the desk. "Most men do," she counters, stepping closer to me, the scent of her perfume—something expensive and subtle—filling my senses. "Including you."

My hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around her wrist. Not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to make my point. "You made a deal with me, Kendra."

"About paying off Griffin's debts," she replies, eyes flashing. "I don't recall sexual exclusivity being part of our arrangement."

She's right, and we both know it. I never specified those terms. Never thought I'd need to. The realization that she could be with someone else while still fulfilling our deal makes something primal and ugly rise in my chest.

"Jealousy looks good on you, Enzo," she murmurs, stepping even closer until she’s between my legs. "Brings out all those alpha mafia tendencies you try so hard to control around me."

Before I can respond, she drops to her knees in front of me, hands sliding up my thighs. The sight of Kendra Washington—proud, fierce Kendra—on her knees should feel like victory. Instead, it feels like she's still the one in control, like I'm the one being conquered.

She maintains eye contact as her fingers work at my belt, deliberately slow. "Is this what you want? Proof that I'm only thinking about you?"

My hand finds her chin, tilting her face up. "I want you to remember who you belong to."

"I don't belong to anyone," she corrects, but her hands are already unzipping my pants, reaching inside my boxer briefs to wrap around my hardening cock. "But I choose you. Right now."

The feel of her warm palm stroking me, the sight of her on her knees with that defiant look still in her eyes—it's almost too much. She works me with precision, like everything else she does, learning what makes my breath catch, what makes my fingers tighten in her hair.

“You look so perfect like this.”

Her eyes darken at my words, and then she's taking me into her mouth, those full lips stretching around me as she holds my gaze. The wet heat of her tongue, the slight pressure of her teeth—she's not being gentle, and I don't want her to be.

I keep my hand tangled in her hair, guiding her movements as she works me with that clever mouth. Every slide of her tongue, every hollow of those cheeks—it's fucking perfect. But it's the defiance in her eyes that's pushing me to the edge, that refusal to fully surrender even as she's on her knees.

The door swings open without a knock.

"Kendra, I was thinking about that campaign pitch?—"

The voice cuts through the room, followed by sudden silence. I don't break eye contact with Kendra, whose movements falter for just a second before she continues, hidden beneath the desk I’m still behind.

Alex stands frozen in the doorway, his polished appearance suddenly comical as confusion washes over his face at finding me seated behind Kendra's desk.

"You're not Kendra." He states the obvious, his gaze darting around the office. "Where is she?"

I lean back in the chair, my expression neutral despite the exquisite torture happening beneath the desk. "She's busy at the moment."

His eyes narrow slightly, the wheels turning as he tries to make sense of who I am and why I'm in her office. I haven't bothered to button my suit jacket, and the telltale bulge of my shoulder holster is visible if he bothers to look.

"I'll, uh, come back later then," he says, already backing toward the door.

"She'll be busy for a while," I reply, voice rougher than intended as Kendra does something particularly devastating with her tongue. A groan escapes me before I can stop it, and I cup the back of her head, guiding her down further.

Comprehension dawns on Alex's face—slow at first, then all at once. His eyes widen, darting to the desk and back to my face, now twisted in obvious pleasure.

"Jesus," he whispers, his hand frozen on the doorknob.

The pressure builds, heat coiling at the base of my spine as Kendra increases her pace. Her mouth is relentless, knowing exactly what I need. I lock eyes with Alex as I come, making sure he sees exactly who's claiming her, letting him witness my pleasure as she swallows everything.

Kendra emerges from under the desk, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. When she spots Alex, she freezes, the confident mask slipping for just a moment to reveal genuine shock. Clearly, she thought he left.

I don't give her time to be embarrassed. I simply pull her onto my lap, one hand possessively splayed across her stomach, the other brushing her hair away from her flushed face.

"Get out," I tell Alex, my voice leaving no room for argument. "She deserves her reward."

He stands there for another moment, stunned, before backing out of the office and closing the door with a soft click. I half-expect Kendra to explode, to rage at me for the deliberate show of dominance, but when I look down at her, there's something dark and hungry in her eyes.

"What the fuck was that?" she demands, but there's no real heat behind it. If anything, she sounds breathless, turned on.

"That was me making sure everyone knows you're taken." I stand, lifting her with me before bending her over her pristine desk. Papers scatter, her phone clatters to the floor, but I don't care. All I see is the curve of her ass as I push that tight dress up around her waist.

"You can't just—" she starts to protest, but the words die in her throat as I tear her lace underwear aside and thrust into her in one swift motion.

She's soaking wet, her body contradicting any objection she might voice. I hold her down with one hand between her shoulder blades, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. Each thrust is deliberate, claiming, marking her from the inside out.

"I can . I will . And you want me to," I challenge, knowing she won't deny it. Knowing she wants this as much as I do.

Instead of answering, she pushes back against me, taking me deeper, a low moan escaping those lips that were just wrapped around my cock. The sound ignites something primal in me, erasing any remaining restraint.

I pound into her until her walls tighten around me, squeezing the fucking life out of me. She moans so loud I hope that everyone on the floor hears it, and it's enough to have my orgasm build, hitting me unexpectedly as she convulses under me. I pump her full, pulling out to watch my cum leak down her legs and I grin.

"I should make you go talk to him like this." I smear my release across her pussy and she jolts, sensitive. "Covered in my cum, with my taste on your tongue."

"Enzo," she groans when I smear it more.

"God, you look so good right now." I pull her upright, taking in how messy she looks. "Let's go."

To my surprise, she doesn't argue.

I drive faster than usual, the sleek lines of my car cutting through traffic with a controlled aggression that matches my mood. Kendra sits beside me, silent. I don't need to look at her to feel her eyes on me—analytical, assessing, trying to make sense of what just happened and where we're heading.

I take a turn that clearly isn't toward her apartment, and I catch the slight shift in her posture from the corner of my eye.

"We're going to your place?" she asks, voice carefully neutral.

I nod once, not trusting myself to speak. Not now, when everything inside me feels too raw, too exposed. The truth is, I don't know why I'm taking her to my home instead of dropping her off at hers. All I know is that I'm not ready to let her go yet.

She watches me, those clever eyes picking apart my silence, my grip on the steering wheel, the muscle working in my jaw. I can practically hear the gears turning in her head as she tries to decode what this means. What I mean.

I keep my eyes fixed on the road because looking at her means acknowledging the question hanging between us. And the problem isn't that I don't have an answer—it's that I do, and it scares the shit out of me.

When we pull up to my building, she follows me up without a word. At my door, I punch in the security code, feeling her presence behind me, warm and real and increasingly difficult to keep at arm's length.

The moment the door swings open, chaos erupts. A flash of golden fur barrels toward us at full speed, followed by the distinctive click of nails on hardwood. Paige—seventy pounds of pure enthusiasm with zero awareness of her own size—launches herself at Kendra, front paws up and tail whipping with excitement.

"Jesus!" Kendra laughs, stumbling back as the dog nearly knocks her off her feet. The sound catches me off guard—genuine, unguarded, nothing like the calculated responses she usually gives.

She drops into a crouch, letting Paige shower her face with affection while those nimble fingers scratch behind golden ears. Penny approaches with more caution, keeping a respectful distance until Kendra extends her hand. After a careful sniff, Penny presses her head against Kendra's palm, seeking affection but still keeping those watchful eyes on me.

"Hi there, pretty girl," Kendra murmurs, her voice softening in a way I've never heard before. "Missed me?"

Something shifts in my chest at the sight—Kendra Washington, who has never backed down from anyone, melting over my dogs. Her professional mask is gone, replaced by something genuine and unguarded. It's unsettling how much I want to see more of this side of her.

"Come on." I head toward the kitchen, needing a moment to collect myself. "You want a drink?"

She follows, Paige trotting happily at her heels while Penny shadows them both. I pull down two glasses, reaching for the bourbon I save for occasions that matter. When I turn, she's watching me with that same intensity from the car, only now there's something else mixed in—curiosity, maybe. Or something deeper.

I pour us each two fingers, sliding her glass across the counter. She takes it, our fingers brushing briefly.

"So, what now?" she asks, the lightness in her voice not quite masking the weight of the question. We both know what she's really asking.

I lean against the counter, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. For once, I don't have a strategy, a calculated response designed to maintain control.

"You tell me," I say finally, watching her over the rim of my glass as I take a slow sip. The bourbon burns pleasantly down my throat, a welcome distraction from the intensity of her gaze.

She considers me for a long moment, those dark eyes unreadable. Then, unexpectedly, she smiles—not the sharp, predatory smile I'm used to, but something softer.

"Were you always with the Cappallettis?" she asks, and it's not at all what I expected. But she’s been asking more questions, ones that she shouldn’t.

I find myself answering before I can think better of it. "Born into it. My father worked for Giovanni. It was expected."

"And you left."

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "The Cappallettis talk about loyalty like it's sacred, but it only goes one way. Alfonso made sure of that."

"What happened?" She leans against the counter, mirroring my stance.

I hesitate, weighing how much to reveal. "I was on track to be a capo. Alfonso saw me as a threat to his son's position. Started working against me."

Her eyes never leave mine. "So you flipped."

"I made a business decision." I take another sip, the memory still bitter despite the years between then and now. "Luca offered me something better."

She nods, processing. "Your family stayed with the Cappallettis."

"Family isn't always blood." My voice hardens slightly. "My brother made his choice. I made mine. You can see from my nephew how they feel about it."

We migrate to the living room, glasses in hand. Penny, to my surprise, settles beside Kendra on the couch, her head resting cautiously on Kendra's thigh. Paige collapses at my feet with a dramatic sigh, exhausted from her burst of excitement.

"What about you?" I ask, letting myself relax into the cushions. "Always planned on corporate domination?"

She laughs, fingers absently stroking Penny's fur. "Would you believe I wanted to be a teacher? Until I realized I had better things to do than manage other people's bratty kids."

"I can see it," I muse, studying the elegant lines of her face. "You'd be terrifying with a red pen."

This pulls another laugh from her, freer than before. "I still am, just with marketing proposals instead of essays."

We talk—really talk—for what feels like hours. She tells me about growing up with Jazz, about her parents who worked themselves to exhaustion to give her opportunities, about the first campaign she landed that put her on the map. I find myself sharing pieces of myself I rarely acknowledge—memories of my mother, growing up in a made family, what it was like to compete with Zenon my whole life.

With each exchange, I can feel something shifting between us. The careful distance we maintain, the walls we've built—they're not gone, but they're lower now. Permeable.

Penny has fully relaxed, curled up against Kendra's side, while Paige snores softly at my feet. The sight of them, comfortable and trusting, stirs something I'm not ready to name.

Kendra glances over, studying me with those perceptive eyes. A small smirk plays at her lips, though it lacks the usual edge.

"You know," she murmurs, "for a man who likes to act like he's untouchable, you collect a lot of strays."

I exhale, shaking my head slightly. "That's Luca's line."

Her smirk blooms into a genuine smile. "That's because it's true."

And for the first time in a long time, I don't feel the need to argue. I don't feel the need to defend or deflect or maintain careful distance. Instead, I just let myself be seen—by her, by the dogs, by myself.