Page 63 of Enzo

I blinked, my face heating as I realized I’d been lost in thought. “I’m here,” I muttered, though we both knew that was a lie.

Rio smiled in encouragement, but that worry was still there. “Sure. Are you gonna tell me what had you zoning out, or do I get to guess?”

Not John. Not that Vinnie guy. Certainly not Enzo.

All lies.

“I was thinking about work,” I defended.

“Yeah, right.”

“At least one of us does that,” I joked—anything to lighten this weird stare-off Rio and I had going on.

Rio took the joke and ran with it, clutching his chest in mock horror. “Wow. A direct attack. And here I thought we were friends.”

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at my lips. I knew Rio worked hard—probably harder than most people gave him credit for—but that didn’t mean I would let him off easy.

He grinned, dropping the act as fast as he’d started it. “Talking of non-work…”

“What have you done now?”

“Let’s start again,” he said. “Morning, Robbie.” Rio’s voice carried the confidence that set him apart from Jamie. Where Jamie was controlled and deadly quiet at times, Rio was wild and unpredictable, his energy shifting constantly, but his smile was gorgeous. It wasn’t as beautiful as the ones I got from Enzo, but it was very nice.

“Morning Rio,” I deadpanned. “What can I help you with?”

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, exuding the kind of effortless cool that made people gravitate toward him. In doing so, he revealed tattoos climbing up his forearms and disappearing beneath the short sleeves of his shirt. Jamie had tattoos, darker, more intricate, woven like secrets across his skin. But Enzo’s tattoos were my favorite because…

Well, it was because they were on Enzo.

Then he pouted, “The coffee machine is snapping at me.”

“Seriously, Rio, what did you do to it?”

“Nothing! I swear. It’s just in one of its Jamie-type kill-everyone moods again…” He waggled his finger, a knowing smirk on his face. Jamie might be quiet most of the time, but avoiding his propensity to burn things when something got under his skin was best.

“And?” I encouraged.

“And what?”

“You’ve just come to tell me that the coffee machine spat at you?”

Rio huffed. “It didn’t just spit at me—it launched a scalding revenge mission. It’s personal now.”

I smirked, setting my pen down. “You do realize it’s a machine, right?”

He pointed at me with exaggerated seriousness. “That’s what it wants us to think. But I swear it’s evolving. One of these days, it will form a union and demand better working conditions.”

I rolled my eyes, but I knew where this was going. It was always on me—from staples to complicated mechanical parts that seemed to break more each week. Keeping the coffee hub running was becoming a full-time job, and every request felt like solving a new puzzle. It wasn’t just frustrating—it was impossible. Sometimes, I wondered if it malfunctioned to test my patience or if the guys secretly enjoyed watching me struggle to hold everything together. Still, I accepted it. This was my role, my part in keeping Redcars functional. “What do you need for it?”

Rio tapped his temple. “It needs a new filter, an exorcism, or a blessing from a young, sexy priest—whichever we can get first. Preferably all three.”

I snorted. “Pretty sure an exorcism is out of the question.”

Rio threw his hands up. “Then how do you explain its unholy vendetta against me? It hissed, sputtered, and then shot a stream of molten lava straight at my hand. This is how horror movies start.”

“It’s a no on the priest as well,” I said with exaggerated sadness. “And I doubt we have any holy water lying around.” I almost enjoyed this banter, as if everything were completely normal.

No Vinnie. No John.

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