Page 82 of Enzo
I pulled my gaze from the glittering diamonds, afraid that if I stared any longer, the weight of it all might splinter me. Instead, I let my fingers drift across the red petals—velvet-soft and blood-bright—grounding myself in something that was tangible.
“Amara would love these.”
Worry for her and her health instantly dimmed my mood, making my shoulders slump. My parents had sent another message last night saying everything went fine. No details. No follow-up. That usually wasn’t a good sign.
“A bouquet was delivered to her this morning, as well.”
My eyes met his, mine burning with emotions. “Thank you.”
His brow dipped. “For what?”
“For being considerate. For being so good with her. For all of”—I waved a hand around as a sob escaped my throat—“this.”
The pressure in my chest grew so tight it became challenging to breathe. I swallowed, then picked up my glass of juice and took a long sip.
“I’m so scared,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.
“I know.” He reached his hand out to mine, squeezing it gently. “But Amara is a fighter.”
“I don’t think she wants to fight anymore,” I rasped, uttering those words aloud for the first time. I couldn’t pinpoint when I started feeling her surrender, but I couldn’t shake it off.
“She’s tired, and it’s understandable.” I nodded in understanding, although a part of me struggled to accept it. “We’ll let her rest while we continue fighting just as hard, okay?”
My soul shuddered with the force of a hurricane, conflicting feelings thickening the air around us: fear, love, anger.
“It’s not fair, you know.” I’d imagine that every family that got hit with cancer probably uttered those words. And if they hadn’t, they thought them. “It shouldn’t be her, Enzo.”
“No, it shouldn’t. No kid should have to be touched by that illness.” I shook my head to agree with him. “But I promise you, Penelope. I’ll do everything in my power to help. Lie, cheat, or kill, trust me on that.”
The terrifying part was that I believed him.
ENZO
Amadeo: Found Atticus. Dropping the pin now.
The words lit up the screen and part of the bedroom, and I quickly dimmed the light, worried it would wake Penelope.
She hadn’t so much as stirred, which wasn’t totally surprising.
We’d spent half the day on the beach, and then Penelope demanded I teach her to cook. Homemade lasagna—fromscratch.
“I want to start big,” she’d said, then reminded me about my clothes. I suspected she just wanted to watch me strut around the kitchen in my boxers. Of course, I didn’t mind. Especially when we became distracted and I ended up fucking her on top of the counter, all thoughts of lasagna on pause.
Dinner was inedible, but the way she’d lain there, spread out and writhing on the flour-covered countertop, was unforgettable.
We raided her parents’ fridge before spending the rest of the night tangled in each other’s arms. My young wife was insatiable and far more adventurous than I could’ve ever predicted.
My phone buzzed again, reminding me my brother was waiting for a reply.
I opened the location he sent over and sighed. Atticus was in West Africa, the heart of black-market operations. That part of the world was even on Interpol’s radar, if my sources were to be believed—and I had no reason to doubt them. It just meant the international community wasn’t rushing to throw more resources at the issue, to no one’s shock. The organ trade business was too lucrative.
Amadeo: Are you sure you don’t want me to end him?
I didn’t want Amadeo involved in this at all. However, the pestering, loving brother that he was, he knew me too well and had been bugging me to finish whatever business I had with Atticus. Especially since I was now the head of the Marchetti family. Amadeo used that card to insist I needed to let him in on whatever I was doing.
So to some degree, I did let him help. Amadeo was excellent at tracking—and killing—people.
Me: No, I need him alive.
