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CHAPTER EIGHT

Enzo

I have a child. A daughter.

With Valentina.

And I find this out in the most messed up way possible.

Swimming laps is the only thing that can help me right now. I strip off the plush robe, shivering in the early morning February frost, and dive in. The second my fingertips touch the water, all thoughts and worries drift away.

I spend two hours practicing different strokes across the heated pool, refusing to get out and face the day. Finally, when my muscles are exhausted and my fingers pruney, I pull myself out and head back down to my penthouse.

The8 has really gotten under my skin, making me jump any time my phone goes off or something gets delivered. And yet, I wish it was only me they were toying with.

Like a paranoid mess, I scan my apartment, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I see nothing out of place.

I make myself a cup of coffee before heading to the shower, knowing I’m going to regret it. My body is already brimming with energy—coffee just makes it worse, but I feel like I need it today.

I call Uncle Rocco to check in on things upstate while my coffee brews. He informs me that all is well and the latest shipment arrived without a hitch. The second I hang up, my phone rings, showing his name again.

“You forget something?” I ask, sliding the phone between my ear and shoulder as I make my coffee. I add way too much sugar, ensuring that I’ll not only be hopped up on caffeine and anxiety, but sugar too.

Silence.

“Rocco, you there?”

Silence.

“Weird,” I mutter to myself and hang up, but something doesn’t sit right. I hit redial as my stomach flip-flops.

“Boss?”

“Rocco? What was that?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, sounding confused.

“You just called me back, didn’t you?”

“Noooo,” he draws out the word like he thinks I might be losing it. “You just called me.”

“No, no, before that,” I try to explain. “You called me as soon as we hung up, and it was silent. I was worried.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, kid,” he laughs. I hear a pallet jack beeping in the distance and wood being stacked on wood. “Just walked into the warehouse and went to find Jack.”

“Weird,” I mutter again, hanging up. The phone instantly rings back with Rocco’s name flashing across the screen. I snatch it up and answer immediately.

Silence.

“Who is this?” I ask, realizing that this isn’t a random tech glitch. The8 is behind this. They want me to know they’re listening to my calls.

“What do you want?” I demand, frustration and anger pouring off me like steam.

The line clicks and goes dead. No heavy breathing, no scrambled voice, no cryptic message—just pure frustrating fucking silence.

I hurl my phone across the kitchen, fed up with this bullshit, but then think better of it and jog over to pick it up. It’s surprisingly still intact, and I resolve to try to reverse-hack their calls again.

But first, a much-needed shower.

I stroll to the bathroom, stripping my robe and suit off as I go, but stop in my tracks when I enter the room. The giant mirror that stretches across one entire wall behind the double sinks is covered in lipstick kisses.

I whirl around, convinced there’s a deranged axe murderer behind me wearing red lipstick, but I’m completely alone.

My first instinct is to get my gun and search the house, but the words on the mirror beckon me. I slowly make my way closer, noting that every pair of lips is the same shade and size. It must be one person, a woman?

The message, written in the same shade of lipstick, sends shivers of fear and shock through me. I’m frozen to the ground, naked and covered in goosebumps, in my bathroom. I read the message again, and my anxiety skyrockets.

Remember when I used to watch you swim laps? I still do.

They were watching me on the rooftop, they were listening to my phone conversations, and they were inside my house. Inside my fucking house!

I spin around and head straight to the bedroom where my gun rests. Throwing on the first items of clothing I pull out, I stick the gun in my holster and jog to the elevator. No phone calls, nothing is safe. Nowhere is safe.

In the lobby, I question the doorman, probably scaring him half to death with my obvious rage.

“No, sir,” he mumbles again, concerned. “No one went upstairs.”

“Are you sure? Change the penthouse codes again,” I tell him, trying to keep some level of civility in my voice. Why the hell am I paying thousands of dollars a month for a doorman and a penthouse if the security is so easy to breach?

“Of course, sir.”

I watch him log into the system to change the codes, wondering how secure the system actually is. I could probably hack it in five minutes if I tried, but I patiently wait until he produces a new set of codes.

I’m much too aware of my surroundings as I make my way to the office.

Every vehicle that gets too close or stays behind me a little too long is suspicious. Every notification on my phone makes my chest twitch.

I need to get to my secure laptop at the office and figure out who’s behind this.

The lipstick, though—and the message.

“Remember when I used to watch you swim laps?” I repeat softly to myself as I pull into the office parking garage. That could be anyone from high school, any girlfriend or friend I’ve ever had.

The fact that it’s someone from my past, someone who knows the ins and outs of my life, is terrifying but also confusing.

Before taking this promotion from Rafael, I had no enemies apart from Lev Rossi. There’s not a single person in my past that would want to hurt me to this level.

I was Enzo Cavalli—goofy, fun, golden-retriever nerd with a penchant for big laughs and computer shit.

I slip into my darkened office and lean back in my leather chair. It’s much too early for anyone to be here, not even my assistant who wakes up at 4 a.m. every day.

An eerie feeling like I’m being watched floats over me, and I hold my breath, clutching my gun protectively. Minutes of silence pass, like waves of peace washing over me, and I relax.

I’m alone. I’m safe.

The laptop whirs to life as I type in my password, and I dive into my research, checking the cameras first—nothing there. No one seems to get in or out of my apartment. They’ve looped the footage to hide whoever would have appeared.

Just as I begin to hyperfocus on rows and lines of code, my phone rings and I jump out of my seat. The screen tells me it’s an unknown number, and my heart stills.

“Who are you?” I demand, my voice low and menacing. A few seconds of silence tick by, and I’m about to hang up when a small cough comes from the other end.

“It’s Lenny.”

“Lenny,” I breathe, instantly shifting from aggressive I’ll-fuck-your-shit-up Enzo to my real self. “Are you alright?”

“No… yes? No.” She laughs, a frustrated little chuckle. “I don’t know Enzo, am I alright?”

“They’ve been in contact again?”

“The8? Oh yeah, they’re real big fans of me,” she huffs, but fear drowns out her sarcasm. My heart swells with worry, surprising even me.

All I want to do is keep her safe. The urge to protect her is so strong that my own fears dissipate. I can’t contain myself. All I want is to destroy everyone in my path to get to Valentina.

“It’s not safe to talk on the phone,” I say, keeping my voice low. “They tapped my phone, probably yours too.”

“Can we meet somewhere?” she breathes. I know how much of a risk she’s taking, meeting me in secret. But my concerns for her safety outweigh my fear of her father, so I agree.

“I’ll pick you up tonight,” I say, trying to devise a plan. “Meet me at the corner of 23rd and Mavis. When can you come?”

“After I deal with Matilda.” She pauses and curses. “Never mind, we’ll talk about that later. Nine p.m.?”

“Where are we going?” Valentina asks, buckling her seatbelt. I briefly wonder if she’s impressed by the car but then remember that she doesn’t give a shit about these things.

“Lita’s. It’s a bar on the east side of town that has very secure, very private back rooms,” I answer, keeping my eyes on the road. I know if I look at her, we’ll probably end up dead in a ditch.

Even now, her energy is pulling me in. Her intoxicating, fruity, jasmine scent wraps around my throat like a noose.

“Enzo?” she breathes, and I can’t resist sneaking a peek at her. She’s dressed head to toe in black—black wool coat, black leather pants, shiny black boots, topped off with her glistening black waves.

Fuck. I’m a dead man.

There’s no way I’ll survive round two of getting my heart broken by Valentina.

“Thanks for this,” she finally says when I don’t respond. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“Yep.” I had so many things I wanted to ask her, but now, the only thing on my mind is her.

“I know, I know. You think I’m a major bitch, don’t you?”

"What? No," I say, though my first reaction to learning about my daughter was a storm of anger, frustration, and pain. But I get it. I disappeared without a word, and she thought I was paid off by her father. Why would she try to find me—or tell me about our baby? Would her father even let her?

We drive in silence for a few minutes, mulling our predicament over, until I pull into Lita’s parking lot. The snow is coming down hard tonight, making the roads slippery. I grab one of her gloved hands and lead her carefully to the secret back entrance.

The hostess instantly recognizes me and guides us to my favorite room.

“Whiskey, please,” I tell her before she scurries away. We settle into the velvet armchairs and face each other awkwardly.

Although Lita’s back rooms are comfortable and homey, with fireplaces, plush chairs, and low lighting, a chill lingers in my bones.

“So …” I start, but she cuts me off right away—frank and direct, as always.

“She’s yours, Enzo,” she says, not taking her eyes off mine. “About a month after you left, I found out I was pregnant. I had no idea where you went. I couldn’t contact you, and… I was pissed as hell.”

“I get that,” I mumble, nervously rubbing the back of my neck. "Does she know about me?”

“No.” She hesitates. “My father thought it would be better if she didn’t.”

“Of course he did,” I growl. The urge to punch Lev Rossi in his stupid, meddling face is so intense that I’m grateful when our bottle of whiskey arrives. I busy myself pouring us both a glass.

“He was just trying to protect me,” she whispers, but I know she doesn’t fully believe it.

“Doubtful,” I scoff, taking a deep gulp of the amber liquid. It burns its way down my throat, giving me the courage to have this conversation.

“What happened that summer? Why did you disappear like that?” she asks. “You said you didn’t leave because he paid you off, like I thought all these years.”

“Lenny, no,” I whisper, sliding my hand over hers. She stills but doesn’t pull away, so I keep it there, savoring the warmth and feel of her. “Listen, I want to tell you, but it’s going to cause a lot of emotions for you.”

“Just fucking tell me, Enzo. I've had plenty of emotions all these years, might as well have the truth too.”

“It’s going to make you hate your father,” I warn, still unsure of the right thing to do. She stares me down, her eyes already shining with anger. But behind the anger, I see determination.

“Fine,” I say. “He tried to offer me three million dollars to disappear, even wrote the check right in front of my eyes. I refused, of course. I never wanted money; I only wanted you. Then he threatened to fire me, and I didn’t give a shit. Then he threatened to kill me…”

“Fuck, I knew it.”

“…but I didn’t give a shit about that either,” I continue, and her eyes turn soft and watery.

“So, what made you finally… give a shit?” she asks, sniffling subtly.

I watch her entire world crashing down—every truth, every protection she had built for herself over the years, crumbles. She really convinced herself that I left for money.

“He threatened to kill you,” I finally say, keeping my eyes trained on my half-empty glass. Silence stretches across the room, but I’m too terrified to look up.

“What do you mean?” Her cold voice cuts into me, making me feel small and shitty for doing this to her.

I finally raise my eyes to meet hers, and my heart breaks. I can see her insides shattering, disbelief battling with understanding in her mind.

“He knew all I cared about was you,” I explain softly. “To the point where nothing mattered to me but you. He used that to make me disappear.”

“You actually believed he was going to kill me?” she cries, anger flooding her face. “His own daughter?”

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me,” I say, trying to keep the accusation out of my voice. “But I knew what your father was capable of and how his pride and stubbornness engulfed everything else. If he didn’t see you as a suitable heir, he made it clear he’d find another one. That’s partly why I left without saying goodbye.”

Valentina shakes her head. “He’d never—” A flicker of realization crosses her face, but she shakes it away. “My father can be very convincing, especially with his threats, but he’d never harm me for such a petty reason.”

“You are his heir, the head of the Rossi family. A weak man by your side would mean you are weak too. And so is the rest of the family. I couldn’t come to you without making a name for myself—proving to him that I wasn’t a weakling he could toss away.”

She looks at me, her eyes glassy with tears, and opens her mouth—perhaps to deny what I said again, or maybe to ask if I took over the Romanos just to prove her father wrong.

But she doesn’t say anything.

I want to hug her.

I want to stroke her hair and whisper soft, kind words into her ear while she cries on my chest, but I don’t. I just sit in my chair and sip my whiskey like a damn coward.

Because I know that if I touch her tonight, I won’t be able to let go again.