Chapter Two
ART
“Should Arturo Enzino just run away?”
My words hang in the air, unanswered. Since I’m the only one here, it would be creepy as fuck if I heard a reply.
I’ve been talking to myself for as long as I can remember.
My loud brain has always needed an extra outlet.
I do have the best conversations…with myself.
They help me straighten my thoughts, especially when those little fuckers are popping up from every angle.
“Enzinos don’t run away,” I recite my father’s motto. Ugh. Internal scream. “Especially in these heels.”
I look down at my patent red leather boots. They are my lucky ones. Never been shot down while wearing these babies, especially when matched with my black velvet mini skirt. I do a half spin to enjoy the view of my sweet ass in it. But I’m not feeling it.
I left the dance floor and went inside the restroom to clear my head. I keep remembering the talk I had with my father this morning. Or should I call it a monologue since it ended before I could even speak?
Jack Enzino has always been the reason why I hide my true self.
He’d argue that being weak, stupid, pathetic, and insolent is my true character, when I’ve been shackling my real self since I was a kid.
I’ve acted exactly as he expected from the product of a one-night stand with a prostitute.
The core of my existence is a lie, and repressing and lying are two skills I’ve developed rather quickly, becoming quite the master at them.
After this marriage deal nonsense, though, I’ve been waiting for the right time to stab my old man in the chest…
or the back—I’m not picky, anywhere would do.
But since it wouldn’t be the first time I try to hurt him, the repercussions would be way too much to bear.
Plus, Aurora Coretti, my future wife, and I made a deal ourselves.
So here lies the conundrum. Should I stab him anyway and run?
Or marry Aurora and keep hiding my true self?
I choose option number three: beam me up, Jesus, or…down, Lucifer. I pout, checking my eyeliner in the mirror.
I hear the bathroom door opening, and then the reflection of a man I saw checking me out on the dance floor suddenly appears behind me.
He’s handsome, tall, with big feet and big hands.
He’s probably a two-star meal—in my personal sex a-la-carte guide—I don’t usually taste men below three stars, but maybe if I let him fuck me against this sink, the post-nut clarity could elucidate some of my thought processing?
“Hey, beautiful. Want to get a look at a real beast?” He grabs his dick over his jeans and proceeds to lick his thin lips while leering at my ass.
Drunk loser alert! Only a douche uses such a pick-up line. Two stars my ass. He has none. He’s…what’s the equivalent of no stars? A black hole that sucks them all.
“A look is all you’ll get from me until you shrivel and die,” I tell him without turning around.
His whole demeanor changes in the blink of an eye. His face turns all red. “Your loss, bitch,” he spits out, before stomping off like a rejected teenager.
My bitch mode is indeed activated, my current resting face would make the Sanderson witches proud, but damn, I’m pretty even when I’m mean. I move a blond lock of hair off to the side, as a long sigh leaves my lips.
“Now what, Arturo Enzino?” I ask my reflection.
I roll my shoulders, letting the red top collar show more of my chest, more skin out means more eyes on me.
I danced already, though only a few minutes compared to the long time I spent in the club’s office working.
Should I go shake my ass again? The prospect doesn’t thrill me as it should.
Perhaps a little fresh air before going back to the sweaty, testosterone-filled atmosphere.
That always makes me feel better. I push the bathroom door open just as one of my phones starts vibrating—the burner, which I slid into my panties tonight.
A little extra bulge can turn a few guys’ heads.
Marco “Knuckle” Moretti’s number is the one I see on the screen after I stealthily retrieve the cell out of my lace underwear.
He is the right hand of the Leone’s boss and the broody fiancé of my dear friend, Fly.
I haven’t seen Fly since the day he was kidnapped—the wounds on my back have just healed. The usual shiver of disgust runs down my back when I think about the person who caused them. My half-brother. Mario.
I managed to keep my friendship with Fly a secret for as long as I could, but he found out somehow. Thankfully, Fly is under the Leones’ protection now. Even my nutjob of a half-brother wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to hurt him.
Still, I decided to keep away from Fly and to accept this marriage proposal—not that I had a real choice. Hopefully, this will assuage my father’s greed and put an end to Mario’s insane obsession with me. He’s lying low, but I’m sure he’ll show the weight of his displeasure soon.
Arturo Enzino. Married. To a woman. A Mafia princess at that.
Sounds like the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.
For starters, I’m as gay as a male thong on a beach and as promiscuous as a rabbit on amphetamines—my old man pretends not to know, but he knows.
On top of that, I’m not really part of the Enzinos.
My father has forced me to do things related to the family only twice in the twenty-five years of my life.
He has Mario for that, and my half-brother is only happy to dirty his hands every single time.
Another shiver filled with repulsion hits me as I think about him. And in an attempt to stop remembering, I pick up the call.
“I can’t hear you!” I scream over the booming music coming from the club. “Wait!”
I reach the back door and move outside to the smoking area.
“Don’t shout, I can hear you,” Fly screams back. Fuck, the lungs on him. “Are you at a club? Without me?”
He’s practically married already. Plus, Marco would gun down any guy standing less than four feet from him—rumors say.
“Where? At Big’s? The Smooth Cactus?”
“I’m at Red Tape. What do you want?” I ask, using an acceptable voice volume now that I’m out.
He huffs. “Is that how you greet all your friends?” I can hear the pouting in his voice.
“I don’t have other friends.”
He snorts at my answer, but it’s the truth.
Bob, the guy who lives in an alley near my building, is the only one I talk to regularly.
I give him food and drinks on my way back from the clubs, but he doesn’t even know my name.
I can’t have people close. I don’t want them to suffer because of me.
That’s why taking his calls is risky, but I can’t seem to stop.
“Why are you calling again? Are you wallowing in loneliness? Where’s Mr. Popularity, Marco bulldog-face Moretti?” I taunt him. His fiancé is sexy as fuck and just as rude.
I lean against the wall and take a pack of Reese’s Pieces out of my purse. I toss some in my mouth as I hear him say, “Jeez, even all that sugary food you stuff yourself with can’t sweeten your forked tongue.”
“That same forked tongue has been called legendary by more than one man,” I counter with a sniff.
“I bet, you tramp!” he teases me.
“Oh, I’ve missed this,” I confess, earning an aww from him.
“Being reminded how whorish you are?”
I hum. “I like these secret phone calls between us; they make me hard.” And now I get an ugh from him in return.
“Stop it. I only have a few minutes. Marco went to buy me ice cream.”
“Your madman of a fiancé is so sweet.” The sarcasm is dripping out of my mouth as I check my nails. I need a manicure pronto. “Since you have only a few minutes, let’s talk about serious stuff. Would you rather trust an alien with waxing your asshole or Captain Hook?”
Fly doesn’t disappoint. “Are they licensed cosmetologists?”
“The Captain is, but he probably bribed his way through the academy,” I reply quickly.
“I’ll go with at-home hair removal laser.”
“You must be very flexible. You are turning my dick into stone tonight,” I joke. It’s the opposite actually. Shit, it’s cold. I left my jacket in the club office.
Instead of giving me grief, his voice turns serious. “Art, you know why I called, right? I’m worried about you.”
“Are you talking about those damn crows following me?” I look up, but it’s night, no birds in sight. “Do you also think the avian revolution is near?”
“Stop fucking around. You know I’m talking about your marriage with Coretti!”
I scratch my neck, something I always do when I’m nervous.
“What about it? Do you want an invitation?” I try to keep my voice light, even chirpy. Fly shouldn’t know the details of my crappy life. It would only burden him, or worse, he’d try to help me and get hurt in the process. “The seating chart is already—”
“I know they are forcing you to marry her,” he snaps.
“They aren’t.” Well, I’m not lying…technically. My father didn’t ask me what I wanted. He just told me to do it. If I say no, he’ll make me do it, though, so maybe I am lying. Oh, fuck it! “But you know I do like some force, especially when my panties are down.”
“Art, maybe Seb can help…” he insists.
“Seb as in Sebastiano ‘Ice’ Leone? My father’s number one enemy? That Seb? He’d pretend to help me, and after getting all the information about the Enzinos out of me, he’d kill me or send me back to my father to be killed for betraying him,” I finish, crushing the empty candy wrapper in my hand.
He sighs. “No, he won’t! They promised me.” Well, they lied. He knows I’m right. “Just…remember I’m here for you, whatever you need.”
“Look, you don’t owe me anything for that day.” I’m talking about his kidnapping.
“Idiot! You are my friend. Even if you hadn’t saved my life, I would still care for you. I’m just…even more invested in your happiness because of it now,” he clumsily declares. He’s such a good person. I truly have no idea how he’s tangled himself in this criminal world.