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CHAPTER TWELVE

Enzo

“There has to be a connection with the Russian guy, right?” Uncle Joe asks, leaning forward to check his notes again.

“Maybe,” I say, rubbing my bloodshot eyes. “But it could be nothing. He might just be a hired hacker who has nothing to do with The8.”

“I don’t know, Enzo. He seemed pretty familiar with her.”

“Her,” I repeat, puzzling it over in my mind again. “That’s the part that gets me. Let’s go through the families again. Maybe we missed something.”

Joe and I spend the next few minutes running through every mafia family in the country, trying to find the ones headed by women. There aren’t many, honestly—the Rossis are one of the few, but we instantly cross them off the list.

“Looking at this,” Joe squints at our list, his brow etched with frustration, “I can’t imagine any of them doing this. Maybe it’s an international family?”

“That would take ages to cross-reference,” I groan, pushing away from the dining room table.

A glass of whiskey sounds really nice right about now, so I go explore Joe’s fancy bar. We’ve been holed up in his dining room for hours, trying to make sense of things.

Even my office doesn’t feel safe anymore.

“Should I just stand naked and unarmed in the middle of downtown and offer myself up to these mysterious assholes?” I joke once the first sip hits my tongue.

Joe snorts, shaking his head at me, but doesn’t rule it out. I glance at the CSI-style board we set up again. It contains every piece of evidence, every clue, and a complete timeline of events, starting with the warehouse fire.

Nothing makes sense, except what everyone has been suggesting recently—a jealous ex or a crazy stalker.

“Let’s go through your list of exes again,” Joe suggests, pushing the laptop away with annoyance.

“There really haven’t been that many.”

I head back to the desk with my glass and slide a notepad over to Joe. A list of exes, think, think. But all I see is Valentina’s face, angry and disappointed, storming out of my penthouse.

“Enzo?”

“Okay, okay.” I think, rubbing my temples. “Marley Lowenstein, sophomore year of high school. She was a cheerleader, straight-A student, now married with three kids, still living in that tiny-ass town.”

Joe scratches her name down and promptly crosses it out. “Who else?”

“Sabrina Shue,” I continue. “Senior year… she was a big pothead then, no idea what she’s up to now.”

“Let’s look into her.” Joe scrawls her name down on the list and adds a big star. “What about college?”

“I didn’t really date much in college,” I admit. “I was too focused on my classes. I did have a little summer fling with Alexandra Tavinsky, she was…”

My phone rings, cutting me off—the caller ID shows “The Gilded Top . ” Weird. Who the hell would call me from that divey place?

“Yeah?”

“Enzo, it’s me.” Lenny’s exhausted voice pours through the speakers. “I need to see you… now, preferably.”

“Lenny?” I gasp, standing up immediately and feeling around for my keys. “What happened? Are you okay or this your fucked up way of asking me out for drinks?”

“Shut up,” she groans. “I just spent the last hour running through the streets of midtown in stilettos, chasing The8. Get your ass down here.”

The call clicks off, and I stare at my phone, wide-eyed and confused.

“Well?” Joe grumbles. “What is it?”

“She said she was tailing The8,” I say slowly, not entirely sure I understood correctly. “I need to go see her.”

“Need backup?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Keep going through the laptops. Call me if anything pops up.”

The Gilded Top is a tiny bar on the west side of town, known for excellent whiskey and live jazz. When I stroll inside, I immediately spot Valentina tucked away at one of the back tables. She’s fully engrossed in the music, her chin perched on her hand, tapping her foot to the beat.

I take a moment to study her—the finely chiseled features, long flowing hair, a dreamy look in her eyes. For a second, she looks like the carefree girl she was when I met her, and I fall in love all over again.

As if she feels my gaze on her, she turns, and our eyes meet.

Pure relief washes over her face, and I hurry to the table, dropping into the chair beside her. Her hand sneaks into mine, and I savor the moment, accepting this tiny action as an apology for storming out of my apartment.

We watch the band for a few minutes, pretending we’re here for pleasure, not business. When the waitress arrives, producing a nice bottle of Scotch, Valentina sighs and pours us each a glass.

“What happened?” I ask, dying to know the details so I can add them to the timeline in my mind.

“I went to your office,” she croaks, fear and exhaustion making her hoarse. She gulps down some Scotch and clears her throat. “Your assistant said you’d just left, so I decided to check your penthouse. When I got to the parking garage, there was a woman near my car.”

“What did she look like?”

“I didn’t get a good look at her face,” she says. “But she had fiery red hair, that I know for sure.”

Red hair? I try to scan my mind for any mafia families headed by red-haired women and come up short.

“She bolted, and I ran after her.” She laughs, shaking her head. “It was quite a scene, slipping and sliding down the icy streets in these fucking shoes.”

She sticks out her foot, showing me the shoes in question. I’m already pissed at her willingness to put herself in such a dangerous situation. The impractical boots fan the flames of anger even more.

“Lenny—”

“Listen,” she stops me, her tone hard and unyielding. “She slashed my fucking tires and ran away. I’m sick of this shit. You want to know what I found in my driveway this morning?”

When she describes the bloody mess she stumbled onto on her own damn property, my blood runs cold as rage boils in my stomach. This bitch is going down. No matter what, I’ll find her.

“So, what happened?” I ask, glancing around. “I don’t see a bound and gagged redhead anywhere. I’m assuming you lost her?”

“She managed to slip into a waiting car.” She nods. “No plates, no distinguishing features other than it was a generic-looking sedan. That was right after I chased her down the alley next to this place. I was so fucking demoralized, I just stumbled inside, called you, and ordered a double shot of vodka.”

“You can’t place her, can you?” I ask hopefully. “She’s not someone tied to you in some way? Maybe from out West or one of the cities you’ve been expanding in recently?”

“No, Enzo.” She shakes her head sadly. “I wish it was that easy, but I’m almost certain this is about you.”

When I protest, she shushes me.

“Look at all the facts. The lipstick notes on your door, the threatening notes to me only… why hasn’t she ever threatened to kill you?”

“I’m not sure.” I shrug, considering her question. I never thought about it, but it’s true—Valentina’s threats are always directly violent, whereas mine are more… flirtatious.

“Because she wants you!” Valentina practically yells.

People around us throw dirty looks over their shoulders, and we slink lower in our seats. A couple next to us perks up, interested in what looks like a lovers’ quarrel.

“She wants you,” she whispers again, “and she wants me out of the picture.”

“All of this started when you showed up in town,” I say slowly, putting the pieces together.

The woman next to us leans over, almost as if magnetically pulled toward our gossip. Her husband sneaks a few glances, equally as invested.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say, motioning subtly to the couple next to us. Valentina nods, and we head out the door.

Snow flurries swirl around, blinding us as we pick our way through the drifts to my car. We drive in silence, and Valentina doesn’t even ask where we’re going, as if The8 can hear our conversations.

Fuck, maybe they can. I have no idea what we’re up against.

We pull up to a stately townhouse on the west side, and I slip my car into the reserved parking spot. The house is dark except for a single light in the kitchen. I breathe a sigh of relief that Rafael keeps this place staffed all year round.

“What is this place?” she questions, marveling at the ornate architecture and modern, designer updates.

“My friend’s house,” I say, pulling her up the stairs. The feeling of being watched is making me paranoid, and all I want to do is get inside as quickly as possible. “I’ve been avoiding the penthouse lately, but I didn’t think you’d want to sleep on the sofa in my office.”

I punch in the security code and we troop inside, shaking snow off our hair and jackets. Rafael’s butler breezes into the entryway, completely unsurprised at our arrival.

“Mr. Cavalli,” he announces. “Pleasure to see you, sir. Will you be staying the night?”

“Yeah, Roger, we will.” I gesture to Valentina. “This is Valentina Rossi.”

“Ms. Rossi, welcome,” he drones, stooping slightly to show respect. “Any dinner tonight?”

“No, thank you,” Valentina chimes in. “We’re pretty exhausted.”

After we assure Roger we’re set for the night, I guide Lenny up the stairs to Rafael’s guest room. As much as he claims this house is now equally mine, I feel weird sleeping in the main bedroom.

The guest room is equally luxurious and comfortable, with a private bathroom and a large king-size bed. As soon as we’re in the room, Valentina flops onto the bed and wiggles her feet at me.

“Please?” she begs, putting on a puppy-dog face. I chuckle and strip off her stupid, inappropriate boots as she moans with pleasure and wiggles her toes. “Much better, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I joke, bowing down somberly. “Your wish is my command. I live to serve you.”

“Stop flirting with me, Enzo,” she mutters, but a smile plays at the corner of her mouth.

“So straight to the sex, then?”

“Shut up,” she groans, drawing out the words. “Can you be serious for a second, like ever? There’s a crazed redhead on the loose trying to kill me and marry you.”

“Well, that rules out the ex-girlfriend theory,” I say, flopping down beside her.

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve definitely never dated a redhead.” I laugh. “Pretty sure I would remember that.”

We lay side-by-side, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. Her hand sneaks into mine, and I give it a couple of good squeezes. We may have been brought back together under the shittiest circumstances, but I regret nothing.

The8 can destroy my entire life if it means having Valentina in it again.

“You know that men are pretty oblivious when it comes to things like that,” she finally says. “What if she wasn’t a redhead when you were dating her?”

“I guess that’s possible,” I agree. “But honestly? I can’t imagine a woman being so obsessed with me that she’d pull all these stunts to get me back years later.”

“I would have,” she says softly, laughing to cover her awkwardness. She leans up on her elbow and gives me the softest brush of a kiss. Her hair hangs over us like a canopy, shielding us from the big, bad world.

“But you didn’t,” I whisper, brushing her lower lip with my thumb.

“And I live with that every day.”

Tears slide down her face, and she brushes them away angrily, frustrated at having shown emotion.

I know what her father is like. I know what that entire family is like. She’s had to keep it locked up for years, festering inside her, making her bitter.

“It’s okay, Lenny,” I whisper gently, pulling her down to my chest. “You can cry.”

She fights it for a few seconds, assuring me she’s fine, but eventually gives in. Her sobs echo through the silent room, and my heart breaks for her.

Our “breakup” was difficult for me too, but at least I knew why I left—she’s been living in the dark for almost six years.

“I’m sorry,” she finally groans, wiping her glistening face. “It’s just so much happening at once… you, and then The8, and I’m so worried about Matilda… and just overwhelmed.”

“I get it, Lenny,” I soothe, stroking her hair. “Besides, tears turn me on.”

I wiggle my eyebrows at her, and she snorts out a laugh, punching me in the shoulder.

“Stop,” she wails, flopping back down on the bed.

“Something about a father who never let me cry,” I start philosophizing. “Daddy issues, Freud would say. Or is it mommy issues?”

“Enzo, I swear to?—”

I don’t let her finish that sentence. With one smooth move, I lean over and capture her lips, soft at first. When she moans and grinds her hips into me, I let go of all control.

I’ve waited six years to see her again. No redhead, bastard mafia father, or whatever else the universe throws at us will take her from me now.