Page 5

5

KENDRA

I didn't go to Skye's boutique yesterday after I saw Enzo. Instead, I went home, debating what I should do.

I still am now as I go to Rosemary's, our favorite brunch spot. I'm running late—mostly because I got lost in my thoughts and what I agreed to for Griffin—and I know they're all going to be there when I get there.

I push through the door of Rosemary's, the bell announcing my arrival with a cheerful jingle that feels completely at odds with the storm brewing inside me. The familiar scent of cinnamon and coffee wraps around me, but even that comfort can't settle the unease that's been my constant companion since yesterday.

My friends are already seated at our usual corner booth by the window. Jazz notices me first, raising her hand in a wave, her stack of gold bracelets catching the light. Her curls are piled high today, framing her face like a crown.

"Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence," she calls out, but there's no bite to her words. Just the familiar teasing that's been our love language since we met.

I slide into the booth beside Mikayla, who scoots over to make room for me. Her gentle smile is as warm as always, her optimism radiating like a physical force.

"Sorry I'm late," I say, shrugging off my jacket. "Work was a nightmare."

It's a lie. Work was fine. But the truth—that I spent forty-five minutes staring at my closet, wondering what one wears when contemplating a deal with the devil—isn't something I'm ready to share.

"We ordered you a mimosa." Maria slides a glass toward me, her brown eyes kind. "You look like you need it."

I take a generous sip, letting the cold, bubbly sweetness wash down my throat. "God bless you."

"So," Skye says, leaning forward, her amber eyes narrowed with that laser-focus intensity that's helped her build her boutique empire. "What's going on with you? You've been quiet and didn’t show yesterday. Didn't even respond to the group chat."

I wave my hand dismissively. "Nothing. Just swamped."

"Bullshit," Skye replies without missing a beat. "I've seen you swamped. This is something else."

Before I can formulate another deflection, Mikayla jumps in, either sensing my discomfort or genuinely excited to share her news.

"I finalized the pieces for my exhibition next month," she says, her eyes bright. "The gallery owner loved the new series."

"That's amazing," I say, grateful for the reprieve. "The ones with all the blues and golds?"

Mikayla nods enthusiastically. "Yes! He said they have a 'haunting quality' which I think is good? I mean, art-speak is so vague sometimes."

Jazz laughs, the sound rich and full. "In art-speak, 'haunting' is definitely a compliment. It means you made that man feel something, which is more than most of these pretentious gallery types can say."

"We're all coming to opening night," Maria adds, her voice warm with pride for our friend. "We’ll even make sure Luca will be there too."

At the mention of Luca, my mind immediately jumps to Enzo. His steel-gray eyes, cold and calculating. The way he stood too close in that alley, his presence overwhelming even in the open air. His offer hanging between us like a loaded gun.

"Kendra?" Skye's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Where'd you go just now?"

I blink, realizing I've been stirring my mimosa mindlessly, the tiny spoon clinking against the glass in a nervous rhythm. But the weight of my secrets are becoming too much and I’ve never hidden things from my friends before.

"Griffin's in trouble," I blurt out, surprising myself with the sudden confession. "Gambling debts. Big ones."

The table goes quiet. Jazz sets down her coffee cup with deliberate care.

"How big?" she asks, all business now.

"Seventy five thousand," I say, the number still making my stomach clench. "Plus interest. To one of the Mantiones."

Maria's eyes widen slightly. Even though she's family to them, she still understands the gravity of owing that kind of money to people like her cousin. Mikayla looks between us, worry etching across her sweet face.

"Jesus, Kendra. What's he going to do?" Jazz asks, ever practical.

"What am I going to do, you mean," I correct her. "I…might have stepped in when I saw him getting a ‘warning.’"

"And?" Skye presses, her gaze too sharp, too knowing. Like she can see right through me to the parts I'm not saying. To Enzo's voice in my head, offering a solution wrapped in silk and thorns.

"And I'll figure it out," I say firmly. "I always do."

What I don't say is that the plan involves putting myself directly into Enzo Rossi's orbit. That it means being at his call, at his mercy. That part of me is terrified by the prospect—and another part, a part I don't want to examine too closely, is thrilled by it.

Maria and Skye exchange a look across the table—one of those silent communications that tells me they're about to tag-team me. Maria tucks a curl behind her ear, her delicate gold earrings catching the light as she leans forward.

"Ken," she says, her voice dropping to ensure our conversation stays private despite the bustling brunch crowd, "Luca could wipe that debt with a single phone call. It wouldn't even be a favor—it would just be business."

I press my lips together. That had been my initial thought too—go to Skye, get her to ask Luca. Problem solved. Except...

"No," I say firmly, setting my mimosa down with more force than necessary. "Absolutely not."

Skye arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Why not? It's the easiest solution."

"Because he's the Don, Skye." I drop my voice even lower. "You think his men wouldn't notice if he started clearing debts because his wife's friend asked? It undermines everything." I can't fuck with his organization like that.

What I don't say is that Enzo wouldn't pose the same problem. He's the newest capo, already viewed with suspicion after his convenient defection from the Cappallettis. If he decided to handle Griffin's debt, nobody would connect it back to me. They'd just assume he was making power moves, building his own reputation separate from Luca's shadow. They'd respect it, even.

"Kendra," Skye leans in, her amber eyes intense in the sunlight streaming through the window, "Luca wouldn't blink. He'd consider it a business transaction, not a favor. Nobody would question it."

"I've made up my mind," I say, cutting a piece of my untouched waffle with unnecessary precision. "I'm not involving Luca."

Jazz studies me from across the table, her dark eyes narrowed. "So what's the alternative plan then? Because I'm not seeing one."

Mikayla reaches over and squeezes my hand. "Whatever you need, we're here for you."

I smile at her, grateful for the simple kindness, even as I know there's nothing any of them can do. This is my mess to clean up—or rather, Griffin's mess that I've somehow inherited.

"I appreciate that," I say, "but I'll figure it out. I always do."

The conversation shifts to safer topics—Mikayla's art show, Jazz's latest club drama, Maria's charity gala planning. But I catch Skye watching me with that penetrating stare of hers, like she's trying to read between the lines of what I'm not saying.

By the time I get home that night, my apartment feels too quiet, too empty. I kick off my heels, pour a glass of cabernet, and sink onto my couch, staring at the Chicago skyline through my windows. The city lights blur as I let my mind wander to all my options.

There aren't many.

Griffin can't pay. I don't have that kind of liquid cash. Asking Luca is off the table. Which leaves...

Enzo. His offer hanging in the air between us. The memory of him standing too close in that alley, his cologne mixing with the night air, his voice low and confident because he knew—he fucking knew—I had no real choice.

I hate him for that. I hate how he cornered me, how he saw through my defenses like they were made of glass. I hate how he weaponized Griffin's stupidity against me.

But most of all, I hate that when I close my eyes, trying to find a way out of this mess, all I hear is his voice, smooth as whiskey and twice as intoxicating: "Think about it."

And I am. God help me, I am.