Page 5 of Sworn to the Enemy

Enzo

The war room’s thick with frenzy, cigar smoke curling around the long oak table, faces brooding.

My associates, twelve hard men with scarred knuckles and cold eyes all sit rigidly voices humming.

We’re plotting an attack on those fucking snakes who torched my docks.

We're going to hit them so hard and fast, they wouldn't know what hit them.

I lean forward, fists planted on the table, my black tailored suit sticking to my sweat-slicked back. My face doesn't mask my rage. I want blood, and I want it now.

“Diplomacy,” Marco says, his voice cautious, like he’s stepping on shards of glass, knowing very well he'll get wounded. He continues. “We send a message, Enzo. Talk terms. Avoid a full war.” I hear some murmur of agreement. I see a few nods.

To my right, Matteo shifts, his face grim. He’d said the same shit before, and I shut it down.

Diplomacy? With Rossis?

I shake my head, my eyes burning as I sear Marco with a dangerous look. He'd better tread carefully. “No talking,” I blurt. “They hit my docks. They're aiming for a fight, and that's what we'll give them. We show them what's done to the people who cross us.”

Adriano, my late father's most trusted aide, and by extension, one of mine, clears his throat. He’s at the table’s end, silver hair worn in a stylish fashion, his jagged face carved with years. “Your father,” he says, slow, a smile on his face, “would’ve handled this with grace.”

My blood boils. I slam my fist on the table, glasses rattling.

“My father’s dead,” I growl, leaning toward him.

“I run this now. You listen, or you’re out.

” The room goes dead quiet, eyes dropping.

They know now that I mean this. I never snap at Adriano, but today, I'm way over the edge. Adriano’s mouth tightens at my reproach, but he shuts up.

I pace, boots thudding on the tiled floor.

“We hit their warehouse,” I say in cold, clear terms. My mind is sharp as I go through the plan I've come up with. “We do it at midnight. Three teams. First cuts their power, second plants explosives, third takes out their guards. Silent, fast. We burn them to the ground.” I point at the map on the table, red lines marking their routes. “No mistakes. We move in, we move out. They’ll know who they fucked with.”

My plan’s tight, every step calculated. I’m the Don after all, and I never miss.

I expect a rebuttal, but no one says a thing, not even a squeak. They know it's better not to fuck with me in the mood I'm in. I sit down, watching in satisfaction as they're all nodding, scribbling notes.

A knock comes on the door just then, and before I can react, Luca bursts in, face pale. “What the hell, Luca? Did you hear me say come in?”

Everyone's eyes are turned to him now. There better be a good reason for this disturbance. It’d seem everyone's hell-bent on disobeying me these days.

“I’m sorry, boss,” he pants, “but a Rossi delegate’s here.”

Consternating murmur ripples through the room.

My heart stops beating for a nanosecond, then picks up pace and then pounds.

A Rossi here? In my fucking manor? “What the fuck? Who the fuck let him in?” I roar, grabbing my gun from the table, holstering it to my pants.

“They’ve got balls, coming here.” I storm out, my crew trailing me.

The yard’s open, gravel stretching under the clear afternoon sky. I see the delegate then, he's a lonesome figure looking around like he's got no clue how he got here. He’s a wiry guy, should be around mid-forties, in a cheap suit, hands raised like he’s scared.

Is this a ploy? Send over a man so scared he can't even get his hands to stay still, and maybe I'll cave? What sort of stupid game is this?

I stalk over, gun heavy at my hip. “You lost, Rossi scum?” I snarl, stopping a foot away. His eyes flicker nervously.

“I’m just a messenger,” he says, voice thin. “I was ordered to give you this letter from Domenico.”

My laugh is cold as I move into the man's, my stance threatening. “You think I care?”

“I…d-d-don’t…” he stutters, then stops to take a deep breath. I don't say a word, I continue to glare down at him. He fumbles, pulling an envelope from his jacket, and holds it out.

I eye it suspiciously.

“What the hell is this?”

The man flinches and takes a step back as if I'd just struck him.

“Let me get that for you,” Matteo says beside me. In my rage, I hadn't noticed him standing there. He snatches it from the man's loose grasp and rips it open.

I flick my eyes to Matteo's bent head as he reads the content of the letter, but my gaze remains steadfast on the man who wouldn't look at my face.

“Enzo.” It's Matteo. He tries to contain it, but his voice is stricken. I've never heard him like that.

My face contorts into a frown. “What is it?”

He hands over the letter to me and without fully taking my eyes off the man in front of me who two of my men are now flanking, I grasp it.

It’s an intelligible scrawl, probably Domenico's, but I make the words out without difficulty. I read the words, but they fail to make sense…until they do.

What the fuck?!

It says in the letter that he wishes to offer Serafina—his fucking daughter—as my bride. A peace deal of some sort.

Dear Enzo,

I’m proposing a truce to end our families’ feud. I offer my daughter, Serafina, as your bride, a bond to seal peace between us. This isn’t a game—it’s a chance for both sides to move forward. Consider it carefully. We can discuss terms soon.

Domenico Rossi.

“What the fuck is this?” I explode, dropping the letter as though it scalded me. It probably did. It's an enemy's object after all.

At my explosion, the two men flanking the Rossi messenger grabs his arms and he starts to protest, pleading for mercy. My men probably thought what I'd read was incorrigible…

And it is.

Matteo takes the crumpled paper from where I'd dropped it on the gravel and lights a match to it. As the fire lights, so does my rage.

“Over my fucking corpse,” I spit. Rossi blood in my home?

After the act they carried out on my mom?

My hand grips the gun holstered to my hip, finger itching to blow this bastard’s head off.

He’s shaking now, his eyes going from the gun to my face.

He's trying to step back, but my men are holding on steadfastly to him.

Matteo sees what I'm about to do and he grabs my arm, his grip hard. “Easy, Enzo,” he mutters to only my hearing. He turns to the delegate. “He’ll respond. Now, get out.” His voice drips with abhorrence, same as mine, but he’s calm, dismissing the guy like trash.

He nods to the men holding on to him, and they release him.

The delegate scrambles off, gates creaking shut behind him. The rest of crew’s spilling into the yard now, eyes glazed over in anger, already spoiling for a fight.

I whirl on Matteo, my voice low deceptively calm. “You told him I’d think it over?” My eyes burn, chest heaving.

He meets my gaze, his steady. “Had to, Enzo. Shooting him starts the war now. He’s just a messenger.”

My laughter is sharp as I pace the gravel. My blood’s steaming with fire and brimstone. “They think they can toy with me?” I growl, kicking at the ashes, remnants of the letter, scattering it into the wind.

“A bride as peace offering? Are they fucking kidding me?”

Matteo steps closer to put his arms on my shoulders. “You’d have killed him, and we’d be fucked. Rossis ain’t weak. We fight, we win, but we lose men, money, maybe everything. You know this, Enzo.”

I want to smash his face, but he's right.

I just hate to admit it. I'm not one given to acting on a whim. I think things through before I come to a decision. But this situation right here has my ears blind to reason. I just want to fight and kill all the Rossi bastards, the same way they’d killed my mother.

“Come on,” he says, nodding toward the garage. It’s a stone building off the yard, packed with cars and crates, smelling of oil and metal. Swearing under my breath, I follow, my boots crunching loud.

We get inside the garage and Matteo says, pointing to a crate “sit.”

I shoot him a wry look. “You don't do the ordering, I do.”

He shrugs as if to say he doesn't give a damn.

He regards me coolly as I pace. He clears his throat, leaning against a car and begins tentatively, “You have to look at this strategically, Enzo.

Marrying her could turn out to be a power move.

She can't be more than 25. The implication here is she'll be easy to manipulate.

You take her, you control their routes, their cash. You choke ‘em from the inside.”

I stop in my strides to glare at him. “Fuck that,” I snap. “I don’t know her. Don’t want her. I’m not settling down, Matteo. Not with Rossi filth.” My voice cracks, distress leaking through. A wife? Now?

It’s a cage.

He keeps going. “You’d own their empire, Enzo. Their men, their deals. You’d end this war without a bullet.”

I shake my head, chest tight. “I’d rather kill them all.” My hands shake, rage and fear mixing. I don’t want a Rossi in my bed, my life. I'd sworn to avenge my mother's death. Allowing a Rossi into my home would be me betraying her. Hell, even thinking about it is enough betrayal.

Matteo sighs, but he doesn’t push. He’s stated his reasons. He knows I'll need time to mull over it before I come to a decision.

Footsteps crunch outside, and we both train our eyes to the entrance door of the garage. It's Adriano. He walks in, his cane tapping. “Heard about the delegate,” he says, voice rough. I glare, still raw from earlier, but he’s my father’s old advisor, loyal as fuck.

“Matteo says marry her,” I mutter, pacing again. “Says it’s smart.” Adriano nods, stroking his chin.

I stop, searing him with a look. “What do you think?”

His smile is fulfilling as though he's honored that I'd ask him. “Matteo’s right. Your father took deals to save blood. Marrying Serafina gives you their power, Enzo. You’d run both families, cut their throats without a knife.” His eyes soften. “It’s what he’d do.”

I flinch, hating the comparison, but his words sink in. Control, not chaos. I stop pacing, my breath heavy as my mind spins.

I turn away, staring at the garage wall, oil stains like blood splattered across it.

For the first time, I recall my mother's face.

It's frozen in my mind from that day she'd left for her trip those twenty years ago, only to end up dead.

She liked to smile with the whole of her face. I'd forever remember her like that.

Her death had rocked my world, more so my father's. Although, he never admitted it up until his death five years ago. He'd aged quickly after her death, the loss of it weighing him down. He had lost some of the steel in him.

Marrying a Rossi feels like letting those bastards win. But Matteo and Adriano’s words twist in my gut. They're truths I can't ignore. I hate them, but I have to put it aside, albeit temporarily. They're two truths that can coexist.

It would be total control over them. It'd be a way to crush them without losing everything. I’d hit them back right in the jugular when they least expect it. It’ll be the ultimate revenge.

The Rossi girl flashes in my mind for a fleeting moment. This stranger I’m supposed to bind myself to, I wonder of her outlook. But that's not what's important.

Right now, I'm torn between hate and the cold logic of their plan, and I fear that the latter might be the winner.