Page 120 of Enzo
It was after lunch when I finally got up.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. My heart was torn down the middle. On one hand, I wanted to find a dark corner and mourn my sister without the shadow of death around me. But on the other hand, I heard my heart whispering something heavier.
Stay. Love him. Be there for him.
I thought about what he’d shared with me. He’d had a turbulent childhood; it was no surprise he ended up in that warehouse with a resigned look in his eyes, waiting for me to walk away.
But I couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that.
I stood, walked to the kitchen, and made coffee.
Enzo appeared minutes later. He was in gray sweatpants, barefoot, and there was a hollowness to his eyes, but he looked no less gorgeous.
He leaned in the doorway and said in a hoarse voice, “I thought you were sneaking out. Leaving me.”
His shoulders dropped, and I could almost hear something crack in his chest. It was almost as if hehopedI would leave him, that he deserved it. It hurt my heart to see it.
“I’m not leaving,” I answered honestly. “Not unless it’s with you.”
His brow furrowed. “Why?”
“You’re my husband, Enzo. My home. I understand why you did what you did, and I’d be a hypocrite to say that I would have reacted any differently. I love you, and if you love me, let’s takeon the world together, but don’t think for a minute I’m leaving you.”
His eyes stayed dry, but his fingers trembled as he crossed the threshold and reached for mine.
I took them.
Blood-stained or not, they were his, and he was still mine.
49
PENELOPE
It had been two days since we moved in. The house still echoed, though Enzo and I had already lost hours browsing for decor inspiration online. The problem was, neither of us had the energy to care about rugs or furniture.
So he turned to his work, diving into it with the kind of focus that hinted more at avoidance than ambition. I tried to study—half-heartedly—and gave up before I even got through a page.
Lana Del Rey’sHoneymoonalbum looped in the background—ironically enough—and its haunting, melancholic tones perfectly mirrored the weight that lingered between us. Even without the shadow of recent loss, it would’ve sounded like mourning.
The music faded into the back of my mind while all my worries sprinted forward. I didn’t realize Enzo had stopped working until I looked up and found him leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, watching me.
“You’re not studying,” he reprimanded gently.
“You’re not working,” I shot back, but there was no bite in it.
He walked over and dropped to the floor beside me, our backs pressed against the blank wall. No furniture, just us and the cold hardwood beneath us.
“Did I ever tell you about my cousins, Hannah and Arianna?” He shook his head, and I didn’t think he’d see the humor in reminding him he’d met Hannah—inadvertently—years ago, on his first stalking mission. “They got wrapped up in that whole organ trafficking business. They got Hannah.”
“Hmmm.”
The criminal underworld really was a small place. “She’s alive, of course. Lost an organ, and probably a part of herself.”
“These men and women who are part of this organization don’t care about right and wrong, innocent or not.”
He was right, and it was good that Enzo was dismantling it. I just feared others wouldn’t see it that way, that they’d assume he was taking over for more sinister reasons. But we’d cross that bridge when we got there.
“I was thinking,” he started after a long silence.
