Chapter 16
T he vision of Enzo leaning against his luxury car is straight out of a dark romance novel—just before the guy whips out a massive dick and forces the woman to her knees. Then they drive off to their event while she has his cum dripping from her mouth.
Jesus, Delaney. Get it together.
Jax and Enzo ate me for lunch in the living room, so you’d think I’d be satisfied. They made use of every inch of that couch, and I’m pretty sure it would light up like the Fourth of July if you put a blacklight to it.
I’m giving myself the excuse that I haven’t had good dick in four years. I’m just making up for lost time while there’s an abundance of very large, very erect penises in my immediate vicinity.
Except one, that is.
Luca disappeared after he and Enzo walked in on Jax and me.
I don’t know what he has to be so pissed about. I didn’t bring the laptop to purposefully sabotage our trip. Hell, I didn’t even plan on going with them. When I packed my bag, I was intending to hide out somewhere on my own. Kidnapping victim here, remember?
It can’t be me fucking Jax or that Enzo joined in. Hell, I fucked them all first... I think, at least. And then somehow they all started fucking each other. The hypocrisy of that would rival the size of his dick. And that’s saying something.
My heels crunch against the gravel as I make my way to him. The shoes are a perfect height—so they’re not too terribly uncomfortable or making me walk like a newborn foal. The fitted black dress he had delivered hugs my body like it was made for me.
There can never be any doubt when Enzo says he’ll make something happen—he does it to perfection.
An array of hairstyling tools and products was delivered, along with an assortment of makeup and nail polish in perfect shades. There was a single bottle of perfume with a note:
In a perfect world, this would be the only thing you wore tonight.
But if you must wear a dress, I hope you like this one.
E
After he devours me with his eyes, he wraps his arm low around my waist and leans close, smelling the perfume he picked out on my skin.
“You look amazing, Delaney.” It’s so quiet next to my ear, almost like he didn’t want me to hear it, and it pulls a bashful smile to my face. My cheeks heat with the compliment as he opens my door.
After I’m seated, he rounds the car, sliding effortlessly into his luxury silver vehicle.
Enzo is sporting a black-and-charcoal-gray ensemble. It’s one of his favorite color combinations, and he wears it often. He takes my hand and looks at my nails. I painted them a deep crimson. It’s not a flashy red; it’s subtle, sexy.
With a kiss placed on my knuckles, he puts my hand back in my lap, then reaches across me to open his glove box. There’s an array of silk pocket squares folded neatly in a case, and he picks one that’s a close match to my nails.
Internally, I’m kicking my feet like a giddy fucking schoolgirl.
He knows I like it too because he smirks and winks as he fixes it in the pocket of his jacket.
“Details will matter tonight, Delaney.” He drives with one hand, the other shifting gears and taking the corners like he owns them. He probably fucking does. I wouldn’t be surprised if Enzo Vincenzi owned every inch of Butte, Montana. “You’re going into the lion’s den of old-school mafia tonight.”
“So should I talk with my hands a lot and say things like, ‘Eh, fuhgeddaboudit’?”
His eyes sparkle a little when he genuinely smiles, and I force myself to look back at the road. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” He looks me over a bit longer than he should, letting his eyes run down the length of my legs.
“Eyes on the road, pervert.”
Now he releases his smile unbidden and takes my hand, shifting gears without letting go.
Yeah, that’s hot. The kitty is definitely purring.
“You shouldn’t use your real name tonight or mention your father.”
I assumed that, and I figured I’d go by my middle name, Marie. I’m sure there will be two dozen Marie’s there, for how common a name it is with the Italians. Nearly my entire dorm at boarding school was full of Marie’s.
How does one go about asking details on a possible murder-for-hire that’s two decades old? A nervousness coils in my stomach now that we’re on our way. I’ve never knowingly been around mafia members before.
Plus, I’ll be asking about a ghost from my past that does a great job of staying there.
Enzo didn’t use the valet, opting to park himself for a quicker exit if we need it. The first thing I notice about the members club is the gilded facade of the brick building. It looks like it was designed for someone to drop dead from the sheer amount of gold leaf in the damn place.
The second thing is the crest in the center of the building and the ornate-looking R initial. A remembrance of the past, and I’m curious about the building’s history.
It looks like it could have been an old theater for how lavish it is.
“What’s the R for? Ridiculously overdecorated?”
He snickers and shakes his head. “Romano. My family acquired the building about thirty years ago from the Sicilians.”
I knew he owned this place. I wonder what else.
A river runs close to the rear of the building, parallel with the street, and a cool breeze dances off its surface. But the shiver that runs down my back has nothing to do with the chill—it’s the ominous feeling I get looking at this imposing building.
Enzo opens the door for me, and his steady hand finds my lower back as we head inside. My heels click against the marble as we walk into the lobby, and it’s like stepping into another world. Velvet-lined walls in deep burgundy, gold accents gleaming in every corner, and chandeliers hanging down in heavy, glimmering clusters make it feel like something out of a Gatsby party.
The air smells of cigars and aged whiskey, with an undercurrent of expensive cologne. The whole place screams excess, and I can’t help but roll my eyes.
“Not exactly the local steakhouse with a deep-fried onion, you know?” I mutter half under my breath, but Enzo’s the only one who hears me. He cuts his eyes at me and walks with the confidence of a man who owns the entire room.
The lighting is dim and inviting, and the host greets us like Enzo’s name is a password that opens every door. He’s treated like royalty—and probably is mafia royalty, the rich bastard. I half expect a red carpet to unfurl beneath us, but instead, the man behind the desk is already shepherding us through with a reverence that seems far too real to be forced.
“Mr. Vincenzi, always glad to have you visit the club,” he says, his gaze lingering on me a little too long before flicking back to Enzo. I offer him a tight smile and nod, making a mental note to never come back here unless I absolutely fucking have to.
I’m used to crowds and gatherings. When I have a new book releasing, there’s usually a tour: stopping at bookstores, meeting fans, and autographing their books. Aside from writing, that’s my favorite part about being an author—the comments they share with me in those few minutes at my table.
I’ll just pretend like this is a signing.
And all these people are readers... old, male readers... who look at you like you should be sitting on their plate instead of the rare steak they ordered.
“Isn’t it, like, a general rule of thumb that mafia men gouge out the eyes of anyone who dares look at their lady?” I tease, though the staring is making me a little shifty.
Enzo suddenly turns his six-foot-four frame toward me, towering over me. I stop abruptly and crane my neck to meet his gaze as he pulls me against him. My hands go to his chest on instinct as he lowers his mouth near mine.
“Are you?” he asks, his eyes flicking between mine.
“Am I what?” I whisper back, the room suddenly stifling.
“My lady?” His mouth is a millimeter away from mine. So close, but not actually touching.
I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. I don’t know.
“Hmm.” He looks disappointed. Then he leans to the side and kisses my cheek. He lingers a moment, and I realize, from this angle, it looks like we’re locked in a passionate kiss—a public claiming. He pulls away, and the cold of the room wraps around me tightly. “They’re just curious.”
Enzo puts my hand in the crook of his arm and escorts me the rest of the way into the dining room. Looking out the windows that surround us, I spot the river behind the building and the beautiful sunset casting the sky in golden hues.
“Curious why?”
“Because I’ve never brought a woman out with me in public.” Then he looks me dead in the eye. “Ever.”
Well. Isn’t that something.
With a deep breath, I stand taller and let their gazes slide over me. They’re trying to figure out how I fit into this godforsaken mess. But I need other things out of tonight, and I’ve got to find a way into the conversations to get what I want.
The host leads us to our table and removes a marble table marker etched with the name Vincenzi. It’s secluded from the rest of the room, but not by much—we have the lay of the land from here and can see every table.
Looks flick our way, linger a second, then dart off as if they were never here. I can already tell this is going to be one of those dinners where the air is thick with cigars, secrets, and lies.
Enzo pulls out my chair for me and slides it back gracefully. For someone who’s never graced the public with a woman on his arm before, he’s pulling it off perfectly.
He sits across from me, the setting sun’s last light flickering over his dark hair and the deep wood paneling that surrounds us. There’s something about him in this place—the way he belongs here. He’s surrounded by people who respect him. Hell, they’ve practically kissed his feet as he walked by, but I can see the lines of tension in his jaw. The tightness in his shoulders. The darkness in his eyes as he casts them around the room.
“You own this place, don’t you?” I ask quietly, noting the grin he quickly wipes away. “Like, actually own this town—not just the members club. It’s yours?”
“You’ve always been perceptive. I own this club. I own this town and everything around it.”
He nods once at the waiter, who scurries over. Enzo speaks low into his ear, and I narrow my eyes at him.
“I knew it.” I rest my chin in my hand, elbow on the table. “You took those turns too comfortably for someone who doesn’t own everything in this valley.”
He takes my hand on the table, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. “Not everything, apparently.”
I take my hand from his and smooth my dress over my thighs, suddenly nervous with my back to the room. It seems Enzo can sense my unease because he leans closer and lowers his voice. “Give me your hand again.”
“Enzo.”
“I just want to show you something.”
I hold my hand out, and he guides me beneath the table. “What? Are you showing me your gum collection you’ve been sticking under here since you were a little mafia baby?”
He actually chuckles, and I think I might pass out.
My fingers run along something metal and cold fixed to the underside of the table. I gasp when I realize what it is. It’s a gun in the perfect spot for him to grab quickly should he need to.
“Now,” he says, releasing my hand and straightening himself. “Feel under your side of the table. Jax made a visit earlier to make sure the place was ready for our visit. Just in case.”
“I don’t want to touch a gun. What if I shoot my vagina off?” I whisper, one hundred percent serious.
This time, he straight-up throws his head back and laughs. The poor waiter looks like he’s going to have a stroke, witnessing the rarest event on Earth right here alongside me.
“You’ll be fine. Trust me.” He gives the waiter his attention, examining the label of a wine bottle and approving it.
I carefully let my hand feel the underside of the table, confused for a moment as I make out what it is. Enzo watches me, his sharp gaze catching every movement while the waiter pours our wine. When I finally realize what I’m touching, my mood shifts instantly.
“My spa?—”
Enzo shushes me and looks around, cutting off my outburst.
“Sorry. My spatula,” I whisper. “I feel better now.”
He shakes his head in disbelief, picking up his glass and holding it out toward me. “You have a six-foot-four, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound killing machine at your beck and call. I’ve crushed men’s skulls with my bare hands, and you prefer a spatula to keep you safe?”
I clink my glass against his and take a drink. Of course, it’s my favorite wine. “First of all, don’t disrespect The Spat, okay?”
“Oh my god, you’ve given it a nickname.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes before lifting his glass to his lips.
“Second of all, you better have washed those skull-crushing hands before you stuck them in my pussy this morning.”
I sit back, satisfied, sipping my victory wine as he sputters and chokes on his. He stands abruptly, straightening his suit jacket before he buttons it. He holds out his hand for me to take. When I stand, he leans down, his lips brushing against my ear.
“You’re getting spanked for that later.”
Mmm. Activate kitty purring in three... two... one.
“Now, let’s get that perfect ass of yours to the dance floor so the vultures can start circling you.”