Page 78 of His Bride

I frown. “I see you’ve adopted his ego now too.”

“Gotta sell it, brother.” Nicoli straightens his suit jacket sleeves and looks at Isaia. “Leandra on her way back?”

“Yeah. Now that Alexius is awake and out of the danger zone, she’s agreed to play her part.”

“Wait.” I raise a hand. “What did I miss?”

“Enzo is in town,” Nicoli says.

“Enzo? Our Italian pimp?”

Isaia laughs.

“What the fuck is he here for?” I ask.

“To pick some new girls for Club Mito,” Isaia mutters. “Life is hard.”

“A new group of survivors arrived three days ago. Declan’s given them the all-clear, and Enzo requested some new faces for the club.” Nicoli grabs his phone, swipes across the screen, reads, then slips it back into his pocket. “Enzo also requested an audience, to pay his respects.”

I finish my glass. “Snoop.”

“He works for us, runs our club in Italy, so what’s so unusual about it?” Isaia looks at us both.

“Rumors seem to have crossed oceans,” Nicoli continues. “My guess is Enzo’s getting pressure from our Italian clientele, and he wants an audience with Alexius to put those rumors to rest.”

I scoff. “In other words, he’s here to check on us and see if we’re weak or hiding anything.”

Maximo appears at the door. “He’s here.”

“Send him in.” Nicoli straightens his jacket and nods toward me. “Welcome our guest. I feel like making him wait for Alexius.”

I look at my brother and smirk. “Showtime.”

Enzo’s been here for thirty minutes, checking out the place and talking about the girls he wants.

I let Isaia take the lead, having called Nicoli on my phone so he can hear the conversation. Isaia’s actually good at this, and we keep things friendly and casual. Business-friendly.

“Forgive me for intruding,” Enzo says, a good-looking guy in his late forties with silver threads in his hair. His suit is immaculate and his gaze misses nothing in the room, not that there’s anything for him to spy on. “My condolences on your mother’s passing.”

I nod, finally lighting the cigarette I took out earlier.

Enzo and Isaia have helped themselves to Alexius’s cigars. They’re not the Cuban ones, but they’re top quality. I’m not in the mood for the heaviness of a cigar.

“Thanks, but it’s life, you know?” I shrug and fill my lungs with tobacco.

“And Alexius? I trust he’s on the mend?”

I just smile. “You could have put your order in from Italy. We do, however, appreciate the visit.”

“I know the Italian sex market, which girls will do well there. You have quite the international selection, but some won’t cut it. No matter how beautiful. The Italian men can differ from theAmerican-Italian in wants and expectations.”

“We’ve got a host of meetings at the club, and then you can enjoy the wares.” Isaia refills his Cynar, the Italian bitter apéritif of the amaro variety, a drink Alexius imports from a small maker in Venice.

“Grazie.” He looks at us. “Alexius will be joining us, or is he too unwell?”

“Alexius is fine,” I say, not liking his tone. Silver-fox Italians annoy me.

Enzo hesitates for a moment, then speaks. “I’ll be frank.”

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