Page 10 of Sworn to the Enemy

Enzo

The mansion is quiet tonight, the kind of quiet that feels like a held breath. The reason isn't far-fetched. Serafina’s here in my domain. A Rossi breathing the same air as me. I never thought I'd see the day. Her presence here is like a spark in a powder keg.

The reception had lasted the whole of last night through this afternoon. It was a celebration meant to make a statement, and it had. The unity has been sealed.

Towards evening, my bride and I were seen off by everyone present.

And here we are, in my manor. If this was a real thing, we'd be on our way to our honeymoon destination. But as it, there's no honeymoon for us, thank fuck for that. I can’t imagine losing myself in some tropical haze with her, letting my guard down. That’s not who I am.

We got back from the reception hours ago, her in that ivory dress that has me imagining the different ways I want to get it off her. Me in my tux, both of us playing the part for the crowd.

She'd been herded off to her room the moment we arrived. We won't be sharing the same room. We're not husband and wife in the real and traditional sense of it. I’d fought the primal urge to scoop her up, carry her over the threshold, and fuck her until she’s screaming my name.

I want to hear my name on her lips.

Even now, I'm fighting it. I'm increasingly losing the battle to latch on to sanity. Common sense tells me she’s a Rossi, my enemy. But the part of me that’s rebelling stubbornly holds on to that kiss at the altar, that night at the hotel, replaying it over and over.

I shove it down, hard. I light a cigar. I need something strong to take the edge off what I'm feeling.

I’m in the study, my jacket off and my shirt unbuttoned.

I stare into the fire as it crackles in the hearth.

I draw long and hard on my cigar. She’s upstairs, settling in and getting ready to meet my crew, I'm sure.

Yet, here I am, trying and failing…woefully to ignore the way my pulse jumps when I think of her.

Now that we're back, I expect her to shrink under my roof, to cower at the weight of my authority, but deep down, I know better. Serafina doesn’t bend, and it pisses me off. I want to get under her skin, to see her falter, but she’s a wall I can’t crack.

This should be easy. It should make me feel better that she isn't easily swayed. That way, I know there's no way she's burrowing under my skin. Instead, I see it as a challenge, and it's thrilling.

A knock pulls me out of my thoughts. Matteo’s voice comes through. “Enzo, she’s ready to meet the crew.”

I grunt, downing the whiskey in one gulp.

I drag long on my cigar before I finally throw it into the fireplace.

I stand, smoothing my shirt. I head to the main hall, where my men wait, their voices mellowed.

I wonder what they think about this union.

I wonder if they think I'm making the right move.

Will they revolt at it? Or will they be accepting of it?

My crew’s here—all of them—hard men whose loyalty is to me. They'll shield me even if it means dying. This must be a betrayal to them, too. I look to them, wondering if they’re sizing up this marriage. Perhaps they think their Don has lost his damn mind. Maybe I have.

How did I convince myself to agree to this? It's a great power move and all, but damn, it's a hard compromise. I have to show my men that this whole thing is a deal, and Serafina just happens to come as a package with the deal.

Suddenly, a hush falls over the room. I whirl to see Serafina walking in, and fuck, she steals the air. All the logic I'd conjured up to keep my attraction to her in check fly out the window.

Fuck, she might be the death of me.

Her dress is gone, replaced by a black top and pants.

It molds her body, emphasizing every curve and edge.

My eyes travel to her midriff, to the flare of her wide hips, down to her long legs encased in the pants.

I lift my eyes slowly to her face. Her dark curls are loose, and those green eyes cut through the room to me, her gaze sharp.

My cock stiffens beneath my slacks. I groan inwardly. Nothing about her being here is going to be easy.

She looks like she belongs, like she’s here to conquer. My chest tightens, that attraction flaring, threatening to spiral out of control. I lock it down and carefully curate my face into a blank mask. Serafina Rossi is trouble.

I lean against the wall and cross my arms over my chest. “Gentlemen,” I say, voice low, nodding to her. “Serafina Rossi, my wife.”

The word tastes like ash on my tongue. I watch for her reaction to it. She doesn't show any.

Matteo steps in beside me, a dimpled grin on his face. “Well, damn, Rossi,” he says, his voice loud and teasing. “You clean up nicer than the don himself. Think I might trade you for him.”

The men chuckle, and I freeze, wondering what Matteo is playing at. Serafina is so still, but I can swear I see her lips twitching, like she’s fighting a smile.

She crosses her arms and shoots him a glare. “Funny,” she says dryly. “Very funny.”

Matteo stretches out a hand. “Matteo,” he says, “Enzo's right hand man and friend. I also double as his brother, although he'd rather chew stone than admit I'm like a brother to him.”

She looks sideways at me and seeing my grim face, she returns her gaze back to Matteo. “Nice to know that tidbit of information, Matteo. Don't you think you're trying too hard?” There's a playful lilt to her tone.

Whistles ripple through the room. Damn. She's holding her own. The men are impressed.

Matteo laughs, undeterred. “Come on, give us a smile. You’re family now, right?”

To this, she rolls her eyes, but her guard finally slips, and she laughs. The sound is low and husky. It softens her face. The sound hits me like a punch. It's like watching a flower unfurl in real time. Then it hits me…

She’s never laughed like that with me.

Of course, I can’t blame her, but it doesn't stop the jealousy that courses through me.

“Enough,” I snap, my voice sharper than I'd intended. I step forward, putting myself effectively between them. “Quit flirting, Matteo. She’s not your fucking friend.” The men fall silent. They glance over in apprehension, but Matteo just smirks, apparently enjoying my discomfort.

“Relax, boss,” he says, winking at Serafina. “Just warming her up for you.” She raises a brow, amused, and laughs again. She’s enjoying his nerve. It grates on my nerves. I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to smack him across the face.

I slide my hand to Fina's lower back, and I feel her body tense under my touch, but she doesn't shove my hand away. Good.

“Fina, meet my men.”

Her eyes dart to me quickly before she steps forward, chin high, no trace of fear.

Marco moves forward, his tone sly. “Heard you’re good with a knife. That true, or just talk?”

I stiffen. It's not harmful. It's custom for a Don's crew to test the waters with the Don's new bride. I'm not just sure I like Marco’s tone.

Fina tilts her head, teeth gleaming. “Give me yours, and I’ll show you,” she says, holding out her hand.

Marco hesitates, then laughs, but there’s newfound respect in it. Her confidence is damning, her wit slicing through their doubts.

I should be annoyed, but fuck, it’s impressive. My men are eating it up, nodding, some even grinning. She’s winning them over. It shouldn't be this way. She’s slipping into my world like she was born for it. I guess her father did teach her something.

I step forward, my temper snapping. “Enough,” I say, cutting through the chatter.

“She’s here. Learn to deal with it.” My eyes lock on hers, daring her to push back, but she just raises a brow, unfazed.

That fire in her eyes, the same one I tasted in her kiss, sparks something in me, and I hate it.

I want her to break, to show a crack. But she’s all steel, standing tall in my hall, my men half in love with her already.

It’s infuriating, how she’s untouchable. I can't seem to shake her.

And not just mentally. I want to shake her physically.

I want to capture her mouth in mine and plunder it, until she's hard of breath and gasping.

I want to have her on all fours right here in this hall, and ram into her hard and fast while she's moaning my name in pleasure.

My cock throbs in my pants and I shift to accommodate the bulge.

This is useless. I need to brake on those wayward thoughts. I turn to my men and bark at them, “dismissed.”

They all file out, but not without casting surreptitious glances at her.

After they leave, she stays instead of leaving. Her eyes bear into mine as if she's trying to unravel me. The air is heavy with something unspoken. She says nothing, just continues to stare at me.

I break the silence. “You’re good.” My voice lowers as I step closer. “Too good.”

Her lips curve in a derisive smile. “What? Expected me to cower and hide?” Her voice is mocking. “Not my style, Enzo.”

My name on her lips is a fucking Molotov cocktail, it ignites me, calling to the feral part of me.

I'd wanted her to say my name since I saw her in her father's study.

Fuck. I'd wanted to tell her my name that night just so she could moan it in my ear. Hearing her say my name now cracks the wall of my resolve. It does me in. The tension that’s been simmering since that altar kiss, since that wild night four years ago, explodes.

In an instant I’m on her, pouncing like a beast. Only this time, I'm a man motivated by lust and the desperate craving for release only she can grant me.

My hands seize her hips, slamming her against the wall with a force that rattles the hall. She gasps, but her green eyes blaze with defiance. There's no trace of fear, just pure, unyielding fire and desire.