Page 50 of Enzo

“They didn’t know what he made me do, remembering the money trails, the evidence he had on them, the deals he made behind their back, and I wanted to live, but I fought,” he said, eyes wide and staring somewhere far away. “The first time. And the second. More… but then, I stopped fighting. And that’s worse. That’s worse, Enzo, because I just… let them hurt me.”

“You didn’tletthem,” I was fierce. “You survived them.”

“I don’t feel like I did.” His whole body shook. “I feel like they’re still inside me. Like I never left.”

I kissed the top of his head. Held him tighter. “But you did. You’re here. You’re safe. And I swear to God, anyone who tries to take that from you again?—”

He buried his face to my chest and sobbed. Raw, awful tears that soaked through fabric and skin and dug into my bones.

“I’ll find them. I’ll keep you safe. I promise you.” As his world shattered, all I could do was hold him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, “I’m so tired.”

“I’ve got you. You can sleep now,” I whispered into his hair, running a slow, careful hand up and down his back.

And he did. Before I could even start a movie, his breath had evened out, his body melting into mine as exhaustion dragged him under. I held him close, listening to the steady sound of his breathing and feeling the faint, almost absent-minded way his fingers curled against my shirt.

I should have stayed awake and thought about what this meant, the name that had left his lips—John—and the other two he’d described.

I should have been thinking about how someone had tampered with Redcars’ security and gotten their hands close to other half of my heart.

But instead, I sat there with Robbie safe in my arms and somehow, I slept too.

SEVENTEEN

Robbie

I wokeup in Enzo’s arms, and he hugged me before letting me go, then waited outside the bathroom door as I showered and dressed before shadowing me downstairs. I was mortified and exhausted, every muscle tight, my skin prickling with the sense something—or someone—was out of view. And then last night…

Maybe it wasn’t him?

A face in the window. Just a glimpse. Half-lit. Half-shadow. Gone in a blink, but it had been there. Then another face, or had I imagined that?

The brick through the window.

The other face, grinning, pointing…

Jamie and Logan were already tearing into the security system as if it had insulted them. We were in the garage office, the air heavy with stale coffee, solder smoke, and the thrum of tension. Jamie was checking every wire, every junction box, muttering as he traced the network as if it were a map to something buried.

“Two,” I murmured to Enzo.

“Sorry, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart?

The endearment gave me strength. “There was someone else out there with John.”

“One of the other men?” he asked gently I wanted to cry again.

“No… it looked like… he…I don’t know”

“They hacked the wires to pieces,” Jamie called in, crouched outside the back door. “Cut the feed at the junction behind the breaker.” He pulled a laptop closer and tapped a few keys.

“How do you know this shit?” Rio asked.

“I know computers and I know wires,” Jamie said, and huffed in disgust. “but our system wasn’t killed pretty, it was hacked with a fucking machete. The only usable footage we have is this.” He turned the laptop, showed us something grainy, timestamped. “Backup camera,” he added. It showed the far edge of the yard where the chain-link met the alley wall. Two figures slipped through the gap—hoods up, shoulders hunched, faces hidden. One of them moved as if they belonged there, the other was clumsy, hesitant.

“That’s the only frame where we catch them,” Jamie said, voice flat. “Everything else is dark.”

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