Page 33 of Sworn to the Enemy

Serafina

The car hums beneath us, a low rumble that does nothing to ease the knot in my chest as we pull through the iron gates of Enzo’s manor.

The familiar stone facade looms ahead, its ivy-clad walls catching the late afternoon sun, and a pang hits me, sharp and unexpected.

I’ve missed this place—the way the air carries the scent of cedar and leather, the quiet hum of the staff moving like shadows, the sense of order that feels like a pulse.

I’ve missed him, too, though I hate admitting it.

I keep asking myself what it means that he let Luis go, but perhaps there's no answer to it. He'd herded my ultimatum, that's it. Nothing more. I look at him.

His profile is sharp beside me, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on the road, the silence between us thick with the weight of my confession.

Pregnant. The word sits heavily like a stone in my stomach, and I can’t shake the stilted tension that’s grown since I told him in Papa's villa. We’re bound by this truth now, and it scares the hell out of me.

I step out, and the manor’s grandeur wraps around me like an old friend.

I’ve been gone two weeks, but it feels longer, like I’ve been adrift in a storm and only now found shore.

The front doors swing open, and Matteo’s there, his grin wide, eyes warm.

“Fina, you’re back,” he says, pulling me into a quick hug, his voice light but genuine. “Place wasn’t the same without you.”

I manage a smile, my throat tight, and nod. “Good to see you too,” I say, meaning it, though my eyes flicker to Enzo who's glowering at Matteo who pretends not to notice while he's already moving inside, his silence a wall I can’t breach.

I follow him, my steps slower, taking in the polished wood banisters, the soft glow of lamps painting the walls alive.

I’m home. Home. It has a comely quality to it, yet it doesn’t really feel like it—not really—not with this secret between us, not with the way Enzo’s presence pulls at me, a tide I’m fighting to resist.

I think of Papa, left behind at the villa, and a quiet relief settles.

He’s in good hands. His health is improving, his color better, his voice stronger.

Even Riccardo, foolish as he is, will look after him.

I don’t need to worry, not about that. But here, with Enzo, worry is all I feel. It's a tight coil in my chest.

I head for my room, needing space, needing to breathe.

The familiar door creaks open, and I inhale the scent of lavender and clean linen.

My sanctuary. Giulia’s already there, her small frame bustling as she sets out fresh towels.

“Welcome back, Signora Mancini,” she says, her smile soft. “I’ll run your bath now.”

I nod gratefully, my body aching for the comfort of hot water and a moment to think. “Grazie, Giulia,” I say, my voice quieter than I mean. But before she can move, Enzo’s voice cuts through, low and firm. He's standing, slouched against the doorframe. I hadn't heard him come in.

“That’ll be all, Giulia.” His voice carries a quiet command that has Giulia darting a confused glance at me.

“Leave us be,” he repeats, the impatient quality in his tone evident this time.

Giulia hesitates, glancing at me one more time, like she’s waiting for me to save her. I nod slowly and smile at her to show that she can leave. She hurriedly slips out and the door clicks shut behind her.

The moment she's gone, I whirl on him, my blood hot, irritation flaring. “What the hell, Enzo?” I snap, my hands fisting at my sides. “I need to rest. You can’t just barge in and dismiss my maid.”

His dark eyes meet mine and I hate how my pulse quickens, how his presence fills the room, all sharp edges and quiet strength. “We need to talk, Fina,” he says, his voice steady, but there’s an undercurrent, something raw that makes my stomach twist.

The pregnancy. Of course. It’s a shadow between us, heavy and unspoken since we left the villa, and I can’t outrun it.

I cross my arms, my voice sharp to mask the unease curling inside me. “There’s nothing to talk about,” I say, stepping back, needing distance from the way his gaze burns into me. “I don’t expect you to change your life because of this. You don’t have to play the dedicated father.”

The words spill out, bitter, a defense against the fear that he’ll see this child as a burden, a complication in our already fractured marriage.

I’m Serafina Rossi, I don’t beg for anyone’s loyalty, not even his.

But his eyes darken, his jaw tightening, and he steps closer, closing the gap I tried to keep.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice low, almost a growl, but there’s a fierceness in it that stops me cold.

“You think I’d walk away? I might be a lot of things, Fina, but a deadbeat to my child isn’t one of them.

” His words hit like a fist, solid, unwavering, and I freeze, my breath catching.

“I’ll be a hundred percent involved. Every step of the way.

This baby is mine, and I don’t run from what’s mine.

” His gaze holds mine, steady, unapologetic, and I see it—the truth in his eyes, the promise he’s making, not just to our child, but to me.

He's not denying it. He's not accusing me of trying to use this child as a means to get to him. He's simply just accepting it. I'm stunned. It's more than I'd hoped.

I gape at him as my heart beats a staccato burst of rhythm in my chest. The room suddenly feels too small, too warm. He’s so close, his scent—leather, smoke, him—wrapping around me, pulling me in. I’ve fought him at every turn, built walls to keep him out, but right now, those walls are crumbling.

Being near him does something to me, something I can’t name, something that makes my blood sing and my pride falter. I see him—the man who’s my enemy, my husband, the father of my child—and I can’t stop myself. I step forward, my hands reaching for his face, and I kiss him.

It’s not the wild, angry clash of our past. This kiss is tender, soft, a quiet surrender that scares me more than any fight.

His lips are warm, yielding under mine, and for a moment, the world falls away—the manor, the pregnancy, the war between us.

It’s just him, just me, and this fragile thing we’re building.

My hands slide to his jaw, feeling the stubble, the strength beneath, and I pour everything into this kiss, all the fear, the want, the hope I’m too proud to voice. He doesn’t pull away, his hands finding my waist, gentle, like he’s afraid I’ll break.

But I’m not breaking.

I’m Serafina Rossi, and right now, I’m choosing this, choosing him, if only for this moment.