Page 16 of The Prices We Pay (Vittori Enterprises #1)

Josephine

F or someone who doesn’t drink, I feel like I have one hell of a hangover. My gut hurts from all of the club soda I drank, I have bags under my eyes from only getting a mere three hours of sleep, and my head is pounding from the club music I spent all night listening to.

Not to mention the dull ache in my chest. Which may or may not be due to my attempt to forget about my lingering attraction to the men I work with, which now has only intensified after they saved me from my wretched date and spent the entire night ensuring I had a good time.

Well… Sebastian and Enzo did, while Dante and Luca st ared at me as if I were their prey and they were the hunters.

I get the feeling they know how to hunt all too well.

But, regardless of how little I wanted to drag my ass out of bed this morning, here I am on my way to Jean & Joan’s to meet Enzo for coffee.

I thought about canceling. I really did.

But as I was leaving Kings last night, he looked at me with such a sparkle in his eyes before leaning in and whispering, “See you in the morning, Sweetheart.”

I knew there was no way in hell I was bailing.

So, here I am, with my hair in a messy bun, obnoxiously large aviators perched on my nose, a cropped T, a pair of light-washed ripped denim shorts, and Doc Martens. Not my best outfit, but definitely not my worst.

As I’m approaching Jean & Joan’s, a patron opens the door, and the delectable smell of coffee and pastries fills my nose. I practically float on a cloud of coffee beans and morning buns on my way up to the counter .

Perching my shades on top of my head, I order my usual hot, dirty chai with oat milk and a double chocolate muffin.

I wait for what could only be a few minutes, and when my order is ready, I grab it from the counter and spin around to find an open table.

I assume that I beat Enzo here, considering I live right down the block.

I’m pleasantly surprised, though, to find Enzo already sitting at a small table in the corner, a cup of coffee frozen halfway to his mouth.

Just as they seem to always do around him, my cheeks heat at his perusal of my body as I make my way over to him.

I know he’s not used to seeing me like this, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying his casual attire.

He finally garners enough wherewithal to put his coffee down and stand from his chair as I get to the table, giving me a full view of his outfit.

He’s wearing a simple white T-shirt, cuffed tightly around his biceps, black jeans with rips across both knees, and a pair of black biker boots along with his usual black chain and pinky ring, but I’m pleasantly surprised to find a small black hoop in his nose.

His mahogany hair is a little messier than usual, hinting at the fact that he probably got as little sleep as I did.

But when I look at his light green eyes, I find no trace of the dark circles underneath them that I was blessed with this morning.

Overall, his appearance this morning is dramatically different from the COO persona I’ve met at work, yet… I’m not surprised in the slightest that this is what he looks like in his free time. Not to mention the fact that every inch of skin that’s visible beside his face is covered in tattoos.

I wonder what he looks like naked.

My mouth salivates at the thought.

It’s safe to say he looks downright fuckable this morning.

Whoa, Joe. Easy girl.

“Morning, Lorenzo.” I stifle a laugh as he stands slack-jawed in front of me. I could tell he liked my outfit last night—I’m not blind—but this is a whole other level. “Can I sit?”

I look at the empty chair on the other side of the table and then back to him. He catches the movement and shakes himself out of his stupor. Clearing his throat, he says, “Sorry. I just—you just—wow.” There go those damn cheeks again. “I mean, I’ve never seen you like this. You look… wow.”

Smiling, I bite my lip as his eyes quickly dart to the tattoos peeking out under my cropped top. They cover most of my rib cage and meet in the middle of my abdomen, stopping just above my belly button. They hurt like a bitch, but they are some of my favorite pieces.

Clearly, I’m not the only one who enjoys them.

His eyes find mine again, realizing I totally caught him. He nervously grabs at the back of his neck. This time, a small laugh slips between my lips. I’m not used to seeing him so nervous. He’s usually so full of confidence and swagger.

I set my coffee and muffin on the table and sit in my chair, only to realize his eyes are roaming once again to the piece I have inked on my right thigh, covering a scar I want no memory of.

It’s a snake weaving its way through a bundle of chrysanthemums and pansies. Mine and Jasper’s zodiac flowers.

“Just… fucking wow,” he says again. Not bothering to take his eyes off my legs.

“You look pretty ‘wow’ yourself,” I laugh out softly.

Attempting to show him mercy, I give him a minute to regain some composure. Once he finally sits down, I take a long, slow sip of my drink, letting it warm me from the inside out.

I don’t care that it’s almost eighty degrees out already. I’m a hot coffee girl. Always.

Tapping my nose, I say, “I like the nose ring. Why don’t you wear it more often?”

He huffs out a small laugh. “Figured the tattoos were pushing the boundaries at work enough.”

“Exactly. You already have the tattoos… might as well just wear it.” Enzo tilts his head and smiles softly. “For whatever it’s worth, I say you wear it.”

His brow raises as he brings his coffee to his mouth, finally taking the sip he was in the middle of when I spotted him. Once he’s done, he says softly, “It’s worth a hell of a lot. ”

I roll my eyes playfully as I cut my muffin in half.

Normally, I would cut off the hand of someone who tries to take chocolate from me, but I have no qualms about splitting it with Enzo.

Grabbing a napkin, I set half on it and slide it across the table toward him.

“How long have you been waiting?” I ask. “I figured I’d beat you here.”

He picks at the muffin nervously.

“Lorenzo…” I prompt.

“I’ve been here for half an hour.”

My eyes widen. “Wait, was I late? I thought we said—”

“No, you weren’t late. I was just excited to see you.”

His blatant confession stuns me. Not many men would be secure enough with themselves to admit that.

Suddenly, it’s not the coffee that’s bringing me to life this morning.

“I was excited to see you, too,” I admit.

He squares his shoulders, seemingly emboldened by my confession. The two of us continue talking for the next hour. Recounting the events of last night and sharing stories about our childhood.

I learned that, even though Enzo is Italian, he was born in Saint-Jean-de-Luz, France, which is where his parents, Giovanni and Caterina, still live.

He has two sisters, Luna and Lucia, whom he is clearly so proud of.

Luna is a well-known fashion model, and Lucia is a prominent up-and-coming painter.

Both of his sisters also live in France unless they are traveling for work.

He also told me that he has known Luca his entire life. Luca was also born in Saint-Jean-de-Luz to Pascal and Serafina Vittori, lifelong friends of Enzo’s parents. Enzo told me Serafina passed away when Luca was two, and Pascal is now married to Ronan and Mac McDermott’s mother, Emma.

Enzo regaled me with stories of him and Luca attending college at Brown University in Rhode Island. Little to my surprise, Enzo was the shit-disturber. Constantly getting both him and Luca into all kinds of trouble. I get the sense, though, that Luca has never minded Enzo’s antics much.

Welcomes them, actually.

When Enzo asked me if I had any hobbies, I told him I loved kickboxing.

His eyes widened in awe as he told me that he is professionally trained in kickboxing, mixed martial arts, and Krav Maga.

I made a joke about being his new sparring partner, and his reaction was as if he had just won the lottery.

After using the bathroom, I smile into the mirror at the thought as I wash my hands. Two large chai’s, and my bladder was ready to burst at the seams.

Just as I exit the small bathroom to make my way back to our table, nowhere near ready to go home, I run square into a large man. For a moment, I think it’s Enzo, but I immediately know I’m wrong. The smell, the feel of his chest, the aura around him—it’s all off.

Looking up, I find a huge man with sandy blonde hair, a dark blonde beard, and eyes that immediately tell me he’s not in this hallway for anything good.

I move to take a step back into the bathroom, but he reaches around me, grabs the handle, and pulls the door shut.

Pinning me against it. Every alarm bell inside of me goes off.

I clench my fists at my side, ready to defend myself should I need to.

“Move.” I don’t bother with pleasantries. We both know the situation calls for nothing of the sort.

“Josephine Jenkins,” he says my name with a thick Russian accent. Where I would usually find a foreign accent interesting and alluring, his only sends a chill down my spine.

I won’t confirm or deny my name. Instead, I just repeat myself, “Move.”

“Aren’t you going to ask how I know your name? Or what my name is? It’s polite, you know.”

“No. No. And I don’t care.” I move to step around him, but his hand wraps around my forearm.

Just as I’m about to send my other fist into his jaw, tattooed hands grab onto the arm that’s holding me, and in one fluid motion, I watch as Enzo flips a man who is much larger than him through the air and onto his chest on the floor of the hallway.

Enzo holds the man’s arm up in the air at an unnatural angle behind his back and uses his boot to pin his neck to the floor.

The man lets out a deranged laugh, seemingly unphased by his current position. “I was wondering how long it would take you to come back here.”

“Let me catch you with your hands on her again, Damien, and I will personally remove this arm from your body.”

My eyes dart to the end of the hallway to ensure no one is watching whatever is happening in front of me. When I don’t find anyone staring, I refocus my attention on Lorenzo. Long gone is the charming man I’ve spent the last hour talking to. Now, all I find is unbridled and unrelenting rage.

“Enzo…” I whisper. I’m not really sure what else I want to say. Maybe just remind him that I’m still here. That I’m okay. But he doesn’t look at me. His furious stare remains pinned on Damien.

“Why are you here?” Enzo asks harshly as he pulls harder on the man’s arm.

A small hiss of pain escapes his lips. “Andrei has been trying to get in touch with you. ”

“And there’s a reason none of us have responded. We want nothing to do with Andrei Novikov or the rest of you.”

That name faintly registers in the back of my head, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

“He just wanted to meet the new customs broker at Vittori Enterprises.” Damien’s voice strains, his breath likely stuck in his throat thanks to Enzo’s boot as he pushes harder on his neck.

“Heard she’s pretty good at her job. Word on the street is you need someone with her expertise.

With all those missing shipments and all. ”

Enzo steps down harder on Damien’s neck. I reach out slowly and wrap my hands around his forearm. “Lorenzo… not here.”

I don’t know exactly what is happening right now, but I do know that it can’t be happening in the middle of a coffee shop on a Sunday morning. His eyes finally meet mine. Taking a deep breath, he lets go of Damien’s arm and removes his boot from his neck.

Slowly, Damien stands, but before he can get so much as a breath out, Enzo pins him to the wall.

His forearm pressed firmly against the Russian’s neck.

“This is your first and only warning. If any of you come near Josephine again, if you look at her, if you touch her, if you so much as breathe the same air as her, we will kill every last one of you. Do you understand me?”

Damien smiles deviously before looking over Enzo’s shoulder at me.

“You wouldn’t happen to be related to that famous bull rider, would you?

Jasper Jenkins? Lives in Billings, right?

I hear it’s beautiful there this time of year.

Thinking about taking a vacation. Change of scenery and all.

Maybe I can catch him at a competition.”

My entire body stills at the unspoken threat, and a light bulb suddenly goes off in my head. I know why that name sounds so familiar. I’ve read about it in countless news articles since I moved to New York.

Andrei Novikov… head of the Bratva in New York City.