Page 33 of The Bonventi Secret

I swallow hard, suddenly very aware of how alone we are in this grand dining room. The air feels thick with tension, and I'm not sure if I want to run away or lean in closer.

"Perhaps," I manage to say, "we're all 'lying in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.'"

Enzo's eyes hold mine for a long moment before he leans back in his chair. "Ready for the main course?" he asks, his tone lighter but still charged with something I can't quite name.

I nod, not trusting my voice. As the servants bring in the final course, I can't shake the feeling that something has shifted between us.

I push my plate away, feeling uncomfortably full. The rich food sits heavy in my stomach, so different from the meager meals I've been surviving on as a grad student. Enzo watches me, his blue eyes unreadable in the soft candlelight.

An awkward silence falls between us. I find my thoughts drifting back to the library, to that beautiful antique writing desk. I decide to break the silence, "That Victorian writing desk in the library, it's stunning."

Enzo's expression shifts, a flicker of pain? Nostalgia? — something crossing his face. "Yes, it is," he agrees, his tone careful.

"I was wondering," I continue, "if I could maybe use it sometimes? For my research? It seems like the perfect place to write about Victorian literature, being as it's from that time period."

The moment the words leave my mouth, I see Enzo's jaw tighten, his eyes hardening.

"No," he says, his voice low and firm. "That desk is off-limits."

I blink, taken aback by the intensity of his reaction. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to?—"

"It's fine," he cuts me off, but his tone suggests it's anything but. "You couldn't have known."

Curiosity burns within me, warring with my better judgment. I should let it go, but I can't. "Known what?" I ask softly.

Enzo sighs. "That desk belonged to my grandfather," he says finally. "No one has used it since he died."

"Oh," I breathe, feeling a pang of sympathy. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize?—"

"It's fine," he repeats, but this time his voice is gentler.

I nod, not knowing what else to say. The silence stretches between us again, heavy with unspoken words and emotions I can't quite decipher.

"Tell me about him," I find myself saying, surprising both of us. "Your grandfather, I mean."

Enzo's eyes meet mine, and after a long moment, he speaks. "Maybe another time. I have a meeting to attend to."

"Really? So late?" I ask, surprised.

"Work never sleeps," he says and stands. "I will see you a little later."

Enzo's abrupt departure leaves me unsettled, my curiosity piqued. What is the significance of that desk to him? Is he hiding something? What memories does it hold?

There has to be more.

I need to find out.

ENZO - 11

Imake my way to my office, Livia's question about the desk still running through my mind. But instead of the usual anger, I find myself smirking.

The girl's got guts, I'll give her that.

As I approach my office, the guard at the door gives me a nod and swipes his keycard, unlocking the door.

"Evening, Tony," I reply, surprising myself with the casual greeting.

Must be the lingering effects of dinner with Livia.