Page 117 of The Chaos She Brings
A minute later Taylor Swift starts blaring from the speakers. My best friend has the weirdest taste in music.
Tess stays silent at first, lost in her thoughts, but then I hear her hum, low at first, before she starts singing along with Nate. Her voice is shaky but defiant, the two of them sounding more like cats in the throes of a dying gasp than anything musical. Carina joins in, and despite how ridiculous it is, it pulls something light out of me. A smile tugs at the corner of my lips before I can stop it. Enzo, though—he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.
The singing stops when the car slows as we approach a large mansion with heavily guarded gates. Enzo rolls down the window and murmurs something to the guards.
The gates slowly open and Enzo begins driving again, the tires crunching over the stone driveway. At the end of the drive, we park next to a large central fountain. We all get out, despite Enzo’s insistence that the rest of us should wait inside.
The door to the house opens and a large man walks out, wearing a pinstripe suit and an evil glare.
He stops in front of us, his expression hard. “Lorenzo Russo, you have some nerve coming onto my property.” His accent is thick Russian, his voice low and deep.
Enzo walks over to the boot of his car, opens it, then pulls out Nikolai’s dead body. It’s no longer limp, now stiff with rigor mortis, but he manages to drag it over to the man, dropping it unceremoniously in front of him.
A growl rumbles from the man’s throat, a sound thick with menace. The air between us crackles with tension. Then a gun is pointed squarely at Enzo’s head, the cold, deadly precision of the weapon reminding me just how fragile this moment is. Guards emerge from the shadows, their weapons drawn, encircling us. The silence is suffocating, like the calm before the storm.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Enzo warns, his expression neutral and unbothered like he doesn’t have a gun in his face.
“You have five seconds to tell me why I shouldn’t kill you,” theman hisses.
“Because, if you do, then all your crimes will be posted to the media. Then you’ll be dead too,” I say, finding my voice.
The man stills, body going tense as his gun swings towards me. “Explain.”
“Your son was going to force a marriage on someone who didn’t want it.”
The man rolls his eyes, flicking them at Tess who stands defiantly, not cowering under the pressure. He already knew this and didn’t care.
“He paid for that mistake with his life,” Enzo cuts in. “We have evidence of all your worst crimes, all your betrayals. Let us go, leave Tess to her life, and nothing will happen with it. Kill us, and all my men are ready to release it. Your enemies and the police will be here before you have time to run.”
The man hesitates.
He lowers his gun.
“Get off my property before I change my mind.”
None of us have any issue with that as we hurry back into the car and Enzo throttles the engine, speeding out of there.
The drive back to the penthouse is quiet, and no one tries to fill it with music this time.
By the time we get back I’m ready to sleep for a week, but life has other plans. Waiting for us is Massimo Russo, his arms crossed in front of him, expression thunderous.
“You went to fuckingRussia! Without telling me!” he roars as soon as he sees us. “You insolent—If you weren’t my child you’d be fuckingdead. How dare you takemymen, usemyresources, and not fucking tell me!?”
Enzo looks unbothered by his father’s fury. “Relax. It all worked out. We got Tess back.”
“You didn’t even tell me she was missing,” he hisses. But then his eyes land on Tess and they soften. I swear they even water just a little.
Enzo winces at his words and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah… sorry about that one.”
Massimo doesn’t take his eyes off Tess, his gaze unreadable, a mixture of fury, guilt, and something softer. Tess shuffles uneasily under his scrutiny, then steps forward, hesitating. ‘Do you... do you want a hug?’ The words feel strange coming from her, but they carry something honest. Something vulnerable.
Like maybe she’s not asking for his benefit. But her own.
He deflates then nods tersely.
She moves forward slowly until she’s standing right in front of him, then she wraps her arms around his waist. He freezes for a moment, before hugging her back, his arms coming around her shoulders.
“Please never be a martyr again,” he pleads, his hand stroking over her hair. I’m not even sure he realises he’s doing it. “There’s always another way.”
