Page 126 of The Toy Collector

“That fire in Brighton Heights,” Matteo says at one point, tearing into his steak with barely restrained violence. “Clean job. No trace.”

“The insurance won’t pay out,” Rafe replies, his tone conversational. “Too many questions.”

“That wasn’t the point,” Remus interjects, not looking up from his plate. “It was about the message. Why is Enzo the only one who can deliver a message without violence?”

Matteo guffaws. “Yeah, say that to Senator Jacobs. That was a bloody message—”

“I swear to God, I’ll fucking stab you,” Enzo growls.

Rafe looks over at me, and the grimace he makes is enough to tell me he doesn’t like what he sees on my face. “Guess you didn’t know about that one,” he says, and there’s a lilt of apology in his tone.

I chew slowly, letting the weight of it settle in my gut like warm metal. Yet, all I can think is, I fucking knew it. I still remember seeing Senator Jacobs resign, and even then, it felt forced.

“Why did he resign?” I hear myself asking, catching Enzo’s eyes.

“Jacobs brutalized several interns,” he replies coldly. “It was needed.”

Nodding, I take another bite of the food. “And you murdered him?”

Instead of being horrified, I find myself leaning forward slightly, intrigued by the power dynamics at play. By the casual way they wield influence that most people only dream about.

“Technically, Cy did,” Enzo replies. “But yes, Senator Jacobs died for his transgressions.”

I lean closer to Enzo and lower my voice as I ask, “Have you ever killed someone who didn’t deserve it?”

“No.” There’s no hesitation in the answer. “And I rarely kill. It’s not what I do.”

Closing my eyes, I take a moment to contemplate everything I’ve learned. It’s a lot to take in, but surprisingly, I’m not as appalled by it as I would have thought I’d be. I mean, politics is messy.

I was never one of those getting into it without knowing the stakes, and the dirty deals that sometimes take place. World leaders have to sacrifice people all the time, so is this really that different? No, I don’t think so.

But… it all comes down to one simple thing. A burning question I need to ask. “Will I have to kill someone?” I whisper.

Enzo takes my hand, bringing it to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the palm. “No, Toy. Not unless you want to.”

The answer takes me by surprise. That’s definitely not something I want to do. Not even Ben, who I know Enzo still holds captured. Does he deserve death? Yeah, he needs to pay. I just don’t want to be the one to do it.

“I don’t want to kill,” I murmur, stroking his cheek. “But I want to be there when you finish Ben. I want to see his face when he realizes it’s too late, and you’re the one who ends it with me at your side.”

Enzo presses one last kiss to my hand before moving it under the table, interlacing our fingers, and I squeeze back—a silent affirmation. I’m not running. I’m not afraid. I’m already inside the fire—and I want to see how far it burns.

Chapter 44

Lorenzo

The snow falls like a confession outside the window—relentless, accumulating, refusing to stop until everything is buried in white. Cleveland disappears beneath it, the city lights diffused into hazy halos that barely penetrate the thick curtain of white.

Inside, the warmth of our apartment feels like another world entirely—quiet, golden, sealed off from everything but each other. It’s Christmas Eve, and the world outside doesn’t exist.

I watch her more than I watch the snow. She’s curled into the corner of my Italian leather sofa, those long legs stretched across my lap.

She’s wearing my shirt—white cotton, half-buttoned, draped like sin across bare skin. The collar slips wide, teasing the slope of her collarbone, the shadow between her tits. Her hair is a tousled mass of dark waves, still bearing the impression of my fingers from earlier.

“Open yours first,” she says, nudging the box on her lap toward me. It’s larger than the one I’m holding, wrapped in matte black paper with a thin gold ribbon.

“No.” I place my palm over her gift, pushing it back toward her. “Mine first.”

She smiles—that particular smile that comes after she’s already decided to let me win. “Fine. But it’s too small to cause much trouble, right?” She picks up the black velvet box I’ve placed on her thigh.

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