Page 98 of Savage Enemy

Rocco’s team had repaired most of the damage already and cleaned the place up, but unfortunately, the large vase that sat on the mahogany entry table for as long as I could remember couldn’t be replaced.

The absence of my mother’s favorite vase made everything seem off, like my home would never be quite the same. In a way, I supposed that was right.

“You’re back,” Enzo said.

His tone, his stare, made it feel like an accusation.

“I am, but not for long. What are you doing up so early?”

Clearly, the boy had eavesdropped enough to know when I would return and that his mother wouldn’t be coming through the door with me. Seemed he’d been doing it most of his life, listening and knowing more than Val thought possible.

“Where is she?” he snapped.

I didn’t want to lie to him. He deserved to know I’d failed him and his mother.

“She’s in Chicago, at her father’s house.”

His cheeks grew pink, and his eyes darkened.

“Why didn’t you bring her back?”

“I tried, but her father refused my deal. I’m not giving up. I’m going back to take her tonight.”

“You should just give up,” Enzo snapped. “When are you gonna start actually protecting her like you’re supposed to?”

“Watch yourself, boy.”

“No! You promised us and you broke your promise again!”

I didn’t have the energy or patience to deal with an angry child, but I wouldn’t walk away from my son.

“I brought her home to you the first time, and I’ll bring her back this time, too.”

Clenching his little fists, Enzo held his position in front of me, his cherubic face now bright crimson.

“With more bullet holes in her? Is she even going to be alive this time?”

Fuck. I knew where things were headed.

“Look, I understand you’re upset, but taking it out on me won’t get her back any faster. I’m not the enemy.”

“Maybe you are,” he screamed. “You promised!”

Tears welled in his eyes, and he wiped furiously at them.

“And you broke that promise. To me?—”

The truth in his words gutted me, and I lashed out.

“I’ve broken nothing, goddamn it,” I shouted. “I’ll get her back. I just need some time.”

With his shoulders heaving, Enzo reached into his back pocket and pulled out the knife I’d given him.

“Son,” I warned, “if you’re going to pull a weapon, you better be ready to use it.”

The boy charged me, willing to strike a man two feet taller than himself—and his father at that.

I grabbed his wrist, gripping tightly but being careful not to hurt him. He kicked at me, screaming, slapping with his free hand, trying to yank his arm away.

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