Page 33 of The Prices We Pay
I roll my eyes playfully as I cut my muffin in half. Normally, I would cut off the hand of someone who tries to take chocolate from me, but I have no qualms about splitting it with Enzo. Grabbing a napkin, I set half on it and slide it across the table toward him. “How long have you been waiting?” I ask. “I figured I’d beat you here.”
He picks at the muffin nervously.
“Lorenzo…” I prompt.
“I’ve been here for half an hour.”
My eyes widen. “Wait, was I late? I thought we said—”
“No, you weren’t late. I was just excited to see you.”
His blatant confession stuns me. Not many men would be secure enough with themselves to admit that.
Suddenly, it’s not the coffee that’s bringing me to life this morning.
“I was excited to see you, too,” I admit.
He squares his shoulders, seemingly emboldened by my confession. The two of us continue talkingfor the next hour. Recounting the events of last night and sharing stories about our childhood.
I learned that, even though Enzo is Italian, he was born in Saint-Jean-de-Luz, France, which is where his parents, Giovanni and Caterina, still live. He has two sisters, Luna and Lucia, whom he is clearly so proud of. Luna is a well-known fashion model, and Lucia is a prominent up-and-coming painter. Both of his sisters also live in France unless they are traveling for work.
He also told me that he has known Luca his entire life. Luca was also born in Saint-Jean-de-Luz to Pascal and Serafina Vittori, lifelong friends of Enzo’s parents. Enzo told me Serafina passed away when Luca was two, and Pascal is now married to Ronan and Mac McDermott’s mother, Emma.
Enzo regaled me with stories of him and Luca attending college at Brown University in Rhode Island. Little to my surprise, Enzo was the shit-disturber. Constantly getting both him and Luca into all kinds of trouble. I get the sense, though, that Luca has never minded Enzo’s antics much.
Welcomesthem, actually.
When Enzo asked me if I had any hobbies, I told him I loved kickboxing. His eyes widened in awe as he told me that he is professionally trained in kickboxing, mixed martial arts, and Krav Maga. I made a joke about being his new sparring partner, and his reaction was as if he had just won the lottery.
After using the bathroom, I smile into the mirror at the thought as I wash my hands. Two large chai’s, and my bladder was ready to burst at the seams.
Just as I exit the small bathroom to make my way back to our table, nowhere near ready to go home, I run square into a large man. For a moment, I think it’s Enzo, but I immediately know I’m wrong. The smell, the feel of his chest, the aura around him—it’s all off.
Looking up, I find a huge man with sandy blonde hair, a dark blonde beard, and eyes that immediately tell me he’s not in this hallway for anything good. I move to take a step back into the bathroom, but he reaches around me, grabs the handle, and pulls thedoor shut. Pinning me against it. Every alarm bell inside of me goes off. I clench my fists at my side, ready to defend myself should I need to.
“Move.” I don’t bother with pleasantries. We both know the situation calls for nothing of the sort.
“Josephine Jenkins,” he says my name with a thick Russian accent. Where I would usually find a foreign accent interesting and alluring, his only sends a chill down my spine.
I won’t confirm or deny my name. Instead, I just repeat myself, “Move.”
“Aren’t you going to ask how I know your name? Or what my name is? It’s polite, you know.”
“No. No. And I don’t care.” I move to step around him, but his hand wraps around my forearm. Just as I’m about to send my other fist into his jaw, tattooed hands grab onto the arm that’s holding me, and in one fluid motion, I watch as Enzo flips a man who is much larger than him through the air and onto his chest on the floor of the hallway. Enzo holds the man’s arm up in the air at an unnaturalangle behind his back and uses his boot to pin his neck to the floor.
The man lets out a deranged laugh, seemingly unphased by his current position. “I was wondering how long it would take you to come back here.”
“Let me catch you with your hands on her again, Damien, and I will personally remove this arm from your body.”
My eyes dart to the end of the hallway to ensure no one is watching whatever is happening in front of me. When I don’t find anyone staring, I refocus my attention on Lorenzo. Long gone is the charming man I’ve spent the last hour talking to. Now, all I find is unbridled and unrelenting rage.
“Enzo…” I whisper. I’m not really sure what else I want to say. Maybe just remind him that I’m still here. That I’m okay. But he doesn’t look at me. His furious stare remains pinned on Damien.
“Why are you here?” Enzo asks harshly as he pulls harder on the man’s arm.
A small hiss of pain escapes his lips. “Andrei has been trying to get in touch with you.”
“And there’s a reason none of us have responded. We want nothing to do with Andrei Novikov or the rest of you.”
