Page 39 of Savage Enemy

Did Benedetta have something to do with Saul Moscatelli coming for my girl?

I flexed my fists.

Then I gave my next order through clenched teeth.

“You get that bitch over here right fucking now.”

CHAPTER 8

VAL

I sucked in a sharp breath and choked on it as the jet took off.

Marco had known all along.

He’d known my death was faked and where to find me.

He didn’t say anything else. None of us did.

I refused to let any more tears fall, even as a lump swelled in my throat and my nose began to run.

If I sat quietly through the flight, maybe no one would pay attention to me, and I could use the time to sort through the big mess banging around inside my skull.

I spent the next two hours calming my silent frenzy and worrying about Enzo. Was he okay? Had Stefano called the doctor to examine our son’s injury? Did I really have confidence in Stefano’s commitment to our son? Would he keep Enzo safe?

Did my baby miss me?

Did he hate me?

“Let’s go,” Marco said, startling me.

Then, after leaving the plane, we climbed into another stupid fucking limo—Stefano would never use rented limos—and I couldn’t help staring out the window at the city I’d left behind so long ago.

Chicago buzzed with a different energy than New York.

Still, the two cities had a lot in common.

Neighborhoods with traditional brownstones and districts with massive high-rise buildings made of glass and steel. Beautifully preserved mansions and glorious Art Deco reminiscent of wealth and taste from an era long past.

I focused on the city as we passed through, working hard to ignore the discomfort from Aris’s stare. He had something to say, I could feel the weight of it burning onto my skin, and the only reason he stayed quiet was because Marco had warned him to keep his fucking mouth shut.

It wouldn’t stop Aris forever. It hadn’t stopped him when we were kids. I doubted that would be different now.

No. If I knew my twin, he was biding his time. Waiting to get me alone, so he could do whatever he imagined inside his sociopathic brain.

The stop-and-go traffic slowed us down, but it was better than the constant gridlock of Manhattan. Soon enough, the rent-a-driver turned into a residential neighborhood along the Gold Coast.

As we rounded the corner onto Saul’s street, a heady cocktail of emotions clawed at the inside of my chest. My throat closed again, and an intense longing swelled around my heart. For better or worse, I’d come home.

My childhood had been filled with so many horrors, so much pain. Countless obligations no child should ever carry. But a few good memories existed too.

Moments of joy, laughter, and warmth.

Those memories had all been made when my nonna was alive. So much had changed since then.

The neighborhood being one of them.

I searched for the house on the corner next to ours, the one Saul swore he would buy and tear down just because he didn’t like the unruly kids who lived there. I didn’t find it, because nowa mid-rise tower that looked like an apartment building took up both lots.

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