Page 1 of Enzo
PROLOGUE
PENELOPE, 21 YEARS OLD
Revelation, Connecticut
Iwas S.T.U.P.I.D.A.
If my parents ever found out about this, they’d track down this poor man and kill him—slowly. The same way his burning, all-consuming gaze was killing me right now.
And when I said “my parents,” I meant both of them—my mama and my papà. Luca DiMauro, head of the Italian mafia in Sicily, and Margaret Callahan DiMauro, Irish mafia royalty, were an intimidating pair. They could kill a man who deserved it without so much as blinking… and still be the best parents a girl could ask for.
And that was just the beginning. Our extended family? No less dangerous.
Yet, as I followed the masked stranger through the velvet shadows of the club called Revelation, leaving my two best friends behind, the only thing I felt was electric anticipation. The hallway stretched endlessly ahead, cloaked in darkness, myheart pounding as I clung to his hand like it was the only steady thing in the world.
“Where are we going?” I whispered, breathless.
He stopped and turned, his mask glinting under a sliver of light. “I’ve secured a private room. Is that alright?”
I swallowed hard, then nodded. Reckless? Absolutely. But I wasn’t backing out. No, I was all in. And better yet—I’d be all over him. Nothing and no one could stop me now.
“Then shall we?” he asked, his voice dripping with an Italian accent that made my knees weak.
“Yes. Please,” I said. “Lead the way.”
The room he brought me to was soaked in candlelight—soft, golden, intimate. The door clicked shut behind us, sealing the moment. We stood chest to chest, the only sounds our shared breaths and the furious rhythm of my heart.
“Will you strip for me?” he murmured, his voice low, seductive, and dangerous.
God, how did he make that sound like the sexiest command I’d ever heard?
I didn’t hesitate. My fingers found the zipper of my dress, dragging it down with slow, deliberate purpose. The dress slipped past my shoulders, the fabric whispering against my heated skin as it fell in a soft puddle at my feet. I stood before him in nothing but heels and nerves, lit only by flickering candlelight that painted my body in gold and shadows.
His eyes—the dark pools behind the ornate mask—devoured me. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to, because the heat radiating off him said it all.
He stepped forward, closing the inches between us, and brought his strong, veiny hand to the curve of my throat. Not tight, but just enough pressure to remind me that I was his for the night. But he was also mine.
“I can’t wait to hear you scream my name,” he murmured, his voice like dark velvet brushing against my skin.
“We said no names,” I reminded him—barely—my breath catching on the words. But God, I wanted to scream it. I wanted to rip it from my throat loud enough for the whole world to hear… loud enough to shatter the silence of my carefully arranged future. If they heard me, maybe they’d finally understand—I never belonged to Enzo Marchetti.
“No names,” he agreed while his other hand found my waist and gripped it with a rough, possessive strength, like he was staking a silent claim. There was no gentleness, only certainty. Control.
Then his mouth crashed onto mine, fierce, unapologetic, stealing the breath from my lungs with the kind of kiss that didn’t ask, only took. His body pressed into me, hot and unyielding, a wall of desire and dominance that left no space between us, no room to think, only feel.
I shuddered, my lips parting on a moan as heat bloomed through me. My body responded instinctively, traitorously, curving into his like it had always belonged to him.
His mouth moved south, leaving a blazing trail everywhere he touched me. Then he lowered onto his knees and gently spread my legs before he buried his head between my thighs.
My head fell back, overwhelmed by the sheer heat of his mouth against my skin. Every kiss ignited a nerve, each one darker and deeper than the last. My fingers tangled in his thick hair, gripping tight. It wasn’t just for balance, but to anchor myself in the storm he was pulling me into.
He kissed me where no one had dared before—bold, claiming, unapologetically intimate—and all I could do was gasp and hold on.
The world spun as his mouth traced every inch of my inner thigh and pussy, each kiss hotter than the last, and I felt myselfunraveling—losing control in the most delicious way. My fingers clenched tighter in his hair, but the rush was too much.
With a shuddering breath, I pulled back just enough to draw in a shaky gulp of air, my chest rising and falling in desperate gasps. My lips trembled as they parted, and my eyes fluttered open to lock with his smoldering gaze. He still knelt before me, like a Roman god carved from shadow and desire.
“I… I…” I stammered, voice raw, breath ragged, words caught somewhere between need and disbelief.
