14. Simone #2
“That was your preferred type, if I recall.” Enzo gives me a knowing look, as if the fact that he remembered what kind of wine I like to drink connects us in some way.
I suppose it should make me feel good, that he noticed.
A lot of men wouldn’t bother. But I don’t feel anything.
Only a knot in my stomach, reminding me that by being here, I’m crossing a line.
One that could come with far more severe consequences than just locking the door to my bedroom.
We order food to go with the wine—linguine with shrimp for me, veal for him—and make small talk until the waiter disappears. Then Enzo leans forward, his expression growing serious.
"I'm glad you agreed to meet with me, Simone. I wasn't sure you would."
"I'm curious what could be so important that you'd risk my husband's displeasure." I look at him, considering. “You have business interests here in Miami. This meeting could ruin them. Make an enemy of my husband and Konstantin.”
Something dark flickers across his face at the word "husband," and I file that reaction away for later consideration.
“Business isn’t for you to worry about,” Enzo says, and I feel my teeth grind together. “But that's exactly what I wanted to discuss. This marriage… it's not what your father intended."
I let out a sharp breath. "My father's intentions died with him."
"Did they? Because I remember my conversations with him, Simone. I remember the plans we made, the future we discussed. Your father wanted you to marry into a family that understood the traditions, the legacy. Not some Irish upstart who thinks he can waltz in and claim what doesn't belong to him."
“He has claimed it, though.” I’m not trying to needle Enzo, not intentionally.
But if I’m going to consider anything he has to say, I have to make sure that he’s considered the ramifications.
That he’s taking this seriously. If not, then we could both go down in flames.
“My marriage is legal in every possible way. Binding. What my father might have preferred is irrelevant now.”
"Is it?" He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing mine. "You don't seem happy, Simone. You seem… strained."
I pull my hand back, not liking the familiarity of his touch. "My happiness is my own concern. And it’s never been a part of marriage negotiations.”
That seems to sting Enzo. His mouth turns down slightly. “You don’t think you would have been happy with me?”
“I was thinking about my father’s wishes,” I say carefully. “My happiness would have come later.”
Ever the traditionalist, this seems to mollify him. “We could still make this right, Simone,” he murmurs, his voice dropping.
My pulse quickens. Not from Enzo, but from the thought of freedom.
It wouldn’t be freedom for long, my mind whispers, but I ignore it.
True, I’d trade one shackle for another.
But Enzo isn’t Tristan. Enzo is polite. Sophisticated.
Malleable. I could manage to convince him that it’s for the best that he visit me one or two times a month to make an heir.
I could live my life mostly as I please, suffering his attentions in bed occasionally and making up for it the rest of the time with shopping and vacations and luxury.
And I wouldn’t miss Tristan’s touch. Or our fights. Or the way he makes me feel. Not at all.
I clear my throat, banishing Tristan from my mind. "What exactly are you suggesting?"
Enzo glances around the restaurant, then leans closer. "I'm suggesting that this mistake can be corrected. Your Irish husband is powerful, yes, but he's also reckless. New to the game. It wouldn't be difficult to arrange… an accident."
My blood runs cold. I don’t know why, but I didn’t expect that to be the answer. I’ve never thought of myself as naive… but violence didn’t occur to me. How else would I be liberated from Tristan, though? Divorce is an impossibility, and he’d never let me go willingly. "An accident?"
Enzo waves a hand, as if the details are unimportant. "Nothing crude, nothing that could be traced back to us. Perhaps a problem with his business interests, a deal gone wrong. These things happen in our world, Simone. You know this."
I do know this. I've grown up in this world, seen how men disappear when they become inconvenient. I’ve seen seats at the dinner table that were occupied by one man one week replaced by another the next, in his same position.
But hearing Enzo discuss Tristan's murder so casually, like we’re talking about the weather, makes my stomach churn.
"And then what? I become a grieving widow?"
"For an appropriate time, yes. And then you marry me, as your father always intended. I take over the territory, the business interests. We build the empire your father dreamed of, the way it should have been built. By Italians, for Italians. Konstantin will go along with it, once I present it to him as your father’s true wishes. "
I swallow hard. “I doubt that. Konstantin and my father didn’t end on good terms.”
“Then we present it as yours.” Enzo sits up, his smile proud, as if he’s thought of something particularly unique. “You agreed the first time to marry Konstantin’s choice. Now, it’s your turn to choose. You want the man you were meant to marry all along.”
The waiter appears with our food, and we fall silent while he serves us. But I can barely look at the linguine, my appetite completely gone. Enzo, meanwhile, cuts into his osso buco like we're discussing vacation plans instead of murder.
"You're talking about killing my husband," I say quietly once we're alone again.
"I'm talking about freeing you from a marriage that should never have happened. Look at yourself, Simone. You're a shadow of the woman I met six months ago. He's breaking you down, making you into something you're not."
"You don't know anything about my marriage." My vehemence surprises me. Why am I defending Tristan, a man I hate? I should be asking Enzo how he wants to pull off the murder, not fighting to explain a marriage that I never wanted.
"Even if what you're suggesting were possible," I say carefully, "it would be incredibly dangerous. Tristan has allies, people who would ask questions."
"Konstantin only cares about stability. If the transition is smooth, if there's no disruption to business, he won't interfere. And the Irish… they're not invested in Miami the way we are. Without Tristan, they'll withdraw, focus on their own territory."
“ The Irish is Tristan’s father. His brother. They’re the only Irish power in Boston. They’ll care what happened.”
“We’ll frame it well enough that someone else takes the fall. The trail will lead to someone they can get their revenge on, and that will be enough. Case closed.” Enzo wipes his palms together.
My stomach tightens. So there will be more blood than just Tristan’s. Someone innocent—or innocent of his murder, at least—who will die, probably horribly, to give the O’Malleys the revenge they’ll crave without it coming back on Enzo and me. The thought makes my insides churn.
But that’s the world I live in, isn’t it? Violent and bloody and terrible. If I want to be treated as more than just a fragile princess, I have to be tougher than this.
Don’t I?
I wasn’t raised to be tough. I was raised to let someone else do the hard things, while I focused on looking beautiful and behaving elegantly. But where has that gotten me?
Married to a man I hate, who has usurped everything that once belonged to me. Even my own self.
I take a deep breath. "You've thought this through." Am I really going to say yes to this? I don’t know the answer to that. But I do know that I’m not ready to walk away from this yet. Not when Enzo is dangling the possibility of freedom in front of me.
"I've thought about little else since I heard you’d gotten married." His hand covers mine again, and this time I don't pull away. "I know I should have spoken up. Before the Irishman claimed you. But as you said… Konstantin likely wouldn’t have allowed it. I needed to bide my time. Find… allies.”
“Allies?” I raise an eyebrow, and Enzo’s hand tightens around mine. This time I do pull it back; I can’t risk any of Tristan’s men seeing, even though I told them to stay outside. “Who are your allies?”
“We can talk about that later, Simone. What I need to know is if you’re on board with this. If you’re willing… if this is what you want.”
I press my lips together. "I never wanted any of this."
"I know. And that's why we can fix it. Together."
Enzo’s voice is eager. Sure of himself. But my father was sure of himself too, and now he’s dead, buried six feet under while I pick up the pieces of the life that I thought was safe and secure.
Enzo was my father’s choice. If I want to set things back to the way they were before, then going along with Enzo’s plans is the way to do it.
I stare down at my plate, my mind racing.
Enzo is offering me everything I thought I wanted—freedom from Tristan's domination, a chance to reclaim my life, a marriage based on respect rather than possession and passion. What I was supposed to have.
But at the same time…
There’s a tug in my chest, a feeling of loyalty that is, I think, entirely misplaced. I have no reason to feel loyal to Tristan, other than the fact that he is my husband on paper, according to the law. He’s done nothing to earn my loyalty.
Other than protect you from Konstantin, a small voice whispers.
But did he? If I’d refused him, I think he would have let Konstantin kill me, and then taken everything I had anyway.
He wants me to be grateful for my life, but I don’t think any of what happened was predicated on any concern that he had for me.
"How would you do it?" I hear myself asking.