Page 39 of Beautiful Evidence

And when his hand moves again, I don’t stop him.

Enzo's touch is feather light as he unbuttons my blouse one button at a time, his fingers skimming my skin with each pass. My breath catches in my throat, and I arch into his touch, seeking more of his heat. His lips trail along my jawline, sending shivers down my spine. I tilt my head back, inviting him in, and he doesn't disappoint. His lips brush against mine, soft and tentative at first, then more insistent as the passion between us ignites.

Our kisses deepen, tongues tangling in a desperate dance as our hands explore every inch of each other's body. I tug at his shirt, desperate to feel his bare skin against mine. He obliges, quickly shedding it before returning his attention to me. His hands skim up my thighs, bunching the fabric of my skirt before he undoes the fly of his slacks and pulls his swelling dick out.

Enzo's erection is hard against my center, and I can feel the heat radiating off him. My heart races in anticipation as he guides me down onto his length, one hand cradling my hips to position me. His other hand slides up my skirt, revealing the moisture of my desire. He groans low in his throat, and I arch my hips toward him, aching for more contact. His breath catches in his throat as he slowly pushes inside, filling me completely.

"Enzo," I moan, arching my back as he starts to move, thrusting in and out in a slow, delicious rhythm. His hands slide upmy blouse, caressing my breasts, teasing my nipples until they harden under his touch.

He quickens the pace, driving into me with more force as our bodies grind together. The car rocks gently as I squeeze my thighs around his waist, drawing him even closer as we move in sync. The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of us and the primal need coursing through our veins.

As our bodies move together, I feel a familiar heat building low in my core. Enzo’s thrusts become more urgent, his breathing ragged in my ear. I can’t stop the whimpers and moans that escape my lips, the intensity of pleasure overwhelming any semblance of restraint. Enzo buries his face in my neck, muttering words I can’t quite make out as his grip on my hips tightens.

My core begins to pulse, the first fingers of orgasm toying with my body. And when I jerk and twitch, he grunts loudly and bites down on my neck hard.

Finally, with a shudder and a muffled groan, he stills inside me, holding me close as our breathing slows to a less frantic pace. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and neither do I. We just sit there, tangled in each other’s arms, trying to regain control of our senses.

I'm still on his lap, breaths unsteady, my body soft against his. He presses a hand against the back of my neck, fingers threaded gently through my hair.

“You’re coming with me,” he says, his voice low.

I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “Where?”

“First, home,” he says. “You’re going to pack a bag—just what you need. After that, I’m taking you to a safe house.”

My stomach turns. “Why? What happened?”

He rubs a hand down my spine, not to comfort, but to steady me. “The Bianchis know you’ve been subpoenaed. They’ve decided you’re a problem. I can’t protect you if you stay at home.”

I nod slowly, trying to swallow around the dry knot in my throat. The men following me, the ones trying to break into my home—it wasn't just intimidation at all. I'm scared. "What about the rest of it?"

“I’m working on it,” he says. “I have an idea. It’s not perfect, but if I can pull it off, it won’t just keep you safe. It’ll get us out of this entire mess.”

He doesn’t explain, and I don’t ask. But I can see it in his face—whatever this plan is, it’s already in motion. Maybe he’s made calls or moved people. Maybe even taken risks I don’t know about yet.

And if it works, it’ll save me.

If it doesn’t…

I'm too scared to ask what might happen.

24

VINCENZO

The container yard sprawls ahead in a crescent, surrounded by rusted fencing and iron skeletons of shipping crates stacked too neatly. This isn’t a routine run. Emilio sent me here as some sort of quiet punishment for pushing back against what he wanted to happen. I keep my hand near my weapon, just in case, because my alarm bells are going off already without having seen a red flag anywhere.

It's supposed to be a quick exchange for me. I take the case of money and hand over a key and a note explaining where the weapons are stashed and get the fuck out of here. It's a new guy, someone Rory vetted, apparently, and Emilio doesn't feel great about it, but we can't pass up the opportunity to expand the business.

I kill the engine and sit still, one hand on the grip of my pistol. The cicadas are silent. There is no breeze to move the trees. No cigarette smoke rises from behind the containers. The yard holds its breath unnaturally. It feels abandoned, not just empty—like someone cleared it out and forgot about it.

The container marked with the large black numbers matching the ones on the memo indicating where I'm supposed to meet the contact is straight ahead. I walk toward it with the folder in one hand and the other resting near my weapon on my hip, expecting to pass the note and key off without hassle. I approach cautiously, scanning for movement.

The paint looks fresh, the metal too polished to have been sitting out here long. I draw my weapon as I step closer. The door is ajar, just enough to see that the lock has been cut clean. It swings slightly on its hinges, which I'm sure will squeak if I try to open it.

"Hello?" I call, expecting the contact to push open the door and walk out, but it stays quiet for a second. Maybe I'm a little on the early side, but I prefer watching them approach over being taken by surprise by someone waiting for me.

I pause ten feet back, crouch low, and scan the lot. Elevated scaffolding rises about twenty yards to the east. Another row of containers stands to the west, positioned with a clear line of sight to the water's edge. The space is a mess of rusted-out containers and scattered industrial debris. I can feel eyes on me, and the sharp burn of adrenaline in my throat makes my hair stand on end. Someone is out there, waiting.

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