Page 58 of Enzo

“You look like shit,” I greeted him.

Logan laughed. “Back at ya.”

“Late-night calls with Gray?”

He shook his head, drained. “Wish it was that easy. Lawyers are asking me to accept my ex and her new man taking Cassie to Switzerland for fucks sake, and I can’t afford a lawyer of my own and… fuck my life.”

Silence filled the kitchen as we waited for the coffee machine, both tangled in our worries. I jumped when Logan spoke again.

“So that’s me. What’s eating you?”

Frustration boiled over. “Finding Vinnie. Finding John. The others.” I rubbed my eyes. “Wanting more with Robbie, more kissing, holding him, completely fucking things up.”

Logan didn’t look surprised, just amused. “About damn time.”

“Not helpful.”

He shook his head, serious now. “Enzo, anyone with eyes can see how you look at him.”

I sighed, heart aching. “It’s complicated. Robbie trusts me. Depends on me. And after what happened with this John guy, I want to protect him, not confuse him.”

“Robbie’s not fragile,” Logan said, his tone gentle but firm.

“But he is… he’s scared and needy and looks to me to help and I should be doing that and not perving on him.”

“Jesus, Enzo, that’s a lot to unpick.”

I exhaled sharply, frustration curling through me. “It’s not—it’s not what you think. It’s not real. It’s just—” I gestured vaguely, searching for the right words. “We both know he’s running from something, and yeah, I’ve been there for him, but that doesn’t mean this—whatever makes me want to hold him is real. He thinks he needs me because I was the one who found him, and I make him feel safe. That’s not attraction. That’s survival. I’ve Stockholm Syndrome’d him. “

Logan huffed a quiet laugh. “Robbie isn’t a prisoner; you’re not his jailer.”

The side door creaked open, interrupting us. Jamie stood there, bleary-eyed, suspicion flickering across his face.

“Why are you two up?” Jamie asked, eyes narrowing, then he frowned. “Kid okay?”

“Not a kid,”

“Word on Vinnie?”

“Nothing. What are you doing here so freaking early?”

Jamie huffed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Rio went to a fight, and brought home a guest,” he said, using exaggerated air quotes. “Walls are thin.”

I knew better than to ask for details. Rio was a revolving door of hookups and half-hearted relationships, with each new encounter leaving a subtle ripple of tension. Though he rarely voiced his frustration, Jamie often got irritable with his roommate and best friend, his patience thinning with every restless night. Still, we had an unspoken agreement: Jamie kept his grievances private, I resisted prying even when I could smell smoke on him, and Rio remained a mystery wrapped in underground fights, random hookups, and bad decisions.

With a sigh, Jamie trudged toward the kitchen and planted himself in front of the coffee machine, glaring at it as if it had personally wronged him.

“I spotted someone leaning against a beat-up sedan across the street like he had nowhere better to be.” He pressed a button. The machine hissed, sputtering in defiance, but finally, all three of us had coffee, and Jamie’s statement had time to percolate as well. “Thought it was Vinnie and nearly leaped a car to burn the fucker.”

“But you didn’t.”

Jamie showed us his hands. “No accelerant,” he joked, and it was enough to get me to smile.

I took a slow sip of my coffee, jaw tightening.

Logan finished his first coffee, going in for a second. “We’ll keep all security recordings, okay?”

“Yep.”

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