Chapter 21
A loud, boisterous peal of laughter from outside the apartment jolts me from my sleep.
My eyes snap open, heart racing, and I find myself alone in the dim, quiet living room.
It takes me a second to place the noise that startled me awake—Nikolai’s guys in the hallway.
If they’re going for inconspicuous, they’re failing miserably.
They were quite animated in their conversations all night, and apparently, they didn’t tire as morning rolled in.
Sitting up, my neck immediately protests having fallen asleep on the couch and the position I twisted myself into—one arm wedged under my head and my legs tangled in something warm and soft.
A duvet . Blinking away the last traces of sleep, I recognize the smooth, black fabric immediately.
It’s from Enzo’s bed. It smells like him, too—woodsy and sharp, with a spicy undercurrent of ginger. He must’ve covered me up.
That means, they’re back.
My breath blows from my lungs, shaky and full of relief.
I clutch the duvet tighter, pulling it to my face and breathing him in.
It does nothing to relieve the aching longing in my chest. I wish desperately I were upstairs in his bed, instead of sleeping out here on the couch and pretending this blanket is enough.
I want to be in his arms and surrounded by his warmth.
I imagine his hands at my waist and his mouth at my ear, whispering the dirty things that make me melt for him.
The way he kissed me before he left keeps looping in my mind—possessive and desperate.
Like he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving me behind.
I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. I tried to stay up, to be ready in case anything went wrong. I’d paced the floors for hours, heart lodged in my throat, replaying every worst-case scenario I could imagine. Because no one woke me, I assume they’re all here. All three of them. Safe. Alive.
Cillian is the first to make his way downstairs, quickly clanging around the kitchen.
Likely making the one breakfast meal he knows how to—toast and eggs.
Padding barefoot into the kitchen, I stretch my neck and rub my hand along the aching muscles.
“And now you see why I’m so eager to get my bed back,” Cillian teases.
“If this is how you feel every morning, I’m half tempted to give it back to you. ”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Cillian cracks eggs into a bowl, whisking them as I fix myself a cup of coffee. “I’m reaching out to some contractors today to remodel the office and the guest bath. It’ll be a little smaller than you’re used to, but it’ll give you space—privacy. And get me my bed back.”
Nik and Enzo filter downstairs as though their stomachs are drawing them to Cillian’s scrambled eggs.
Nik grabs a cup of coffee and sips it at the island, silently scrolling through his phone.
Leaning against the fridge, with his eyes locked on me, Enzo sips his black coffee.
I pretend not to notice—falsely willing myself to believe that my pulse doesn’t tick a bit faster every time I spy his eyes still on me.
Not one of them says a word about the meeting last night.
I want to ask, but I also don’t want to know.
The drama with the Armenians is more than enough for me right now. I don’t know if I can handle any more.
Cillian plates breakfast for us all, and we take seats at the island—Cillian, then Nikolai, then Enzo…
then me. Enzo’s barstool is closer to me than it needs to be, and his thigh brushes against mine beneath the counter.
Every little touch feels like a fire. His knee taps mine, and his fingers graze over my thigh, just beyond Cillian and Nikolai’s view.
Tiny fleeting moments, but I feel them everywhere.
His touch causes my body to react instinctively—my heart racing, breath hitching, and the fluttering between my thighs.
Nikolai tells some ridiculous story about the time he and Cillian stole a truckload of vodka from down at the docks.
Cillian—as expected—stays straight-faced, unimpressed with Nikolai’s recollection of events.
I smile on cue and laugh when I’m supposed to, but my entire focus is on Enzo—tracking every breath he takes and the subtle shifts of his body beside mine.
His fingers roam high up my inner thigh.
My lips part and let out a tiny gasp before I can catch it.
From the corner of my eye, his jaw clenches at my reaction to him.
But the others are completely unaware—they don’t see or say a thing.
Reaching over me to grab the pepper, his lips press dangerously close to the shell of my ear, and he whispers, “You’re driving me insane, princess.
All I can think about right now is eating you on this counter. ”
Startled, I swallow hard and suck in a breath, squeezing my thighs together in a futile attempt to quell the desire he just ignited.
He shifts back into his seat and sprinkles pepper over his remaining bites of eggs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he didn’t just set me on fire. Asshole.
I spend all day trying to get a moment alone with him, but it’s impossible.
This massive apartment feels too small—Cian and Nik are constantly wherever we are.
Enzo is repeatedly pulled into calls—actually, the three of them are—pacing the apartment with that low, commanding voice that makes my skin tingle.
Regardless of how busy or crowded we are, his eyes always find mine.
Across the kitchen. Beyond the windows from the terrace.
A glance. An ogle when he can. A spark that grows with every stare—until I’m burning .
Muttering something about needing a pen, I sneak into his room. It’s a flimsy, transparent excuse. But I don’t care. His room is dark, the curtains drawn tight. It smells like him— stronger and more dangerous. I run my fingers along the edge of the mattress, my pulse suddenly racing.
I don’t hear the door open behind me, but I feel him. I turn slowly, finding him standing in the doorway, framed by the fluorescent light from the hall. His eyes are locked on me, the dark chocolate pools full of ravenous hunger. He closes the door behind him and steps toward me, unhurried.
“What are you doing in here?” His voice is low. Controlled. Like a dam about to break.
“You know,” I whisper so softly that it’s barely audible.
“I know?” he teases and keeps coming.
He stops in front of me, so close I can feel the heat radiating off his body. He reaches up, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, his thumb lingering on my cheek. “This is fucking hell,” he exhales, his warm breath blowing over my face.
“I’ve been trying to get you alone all day.”
“You think I don’t know that, princess?” he murmurs. His hand slides to my waist, tugging me against him like it’s nothing—a gasp blows from me when I slam against his firm body. His mouth hovers just above mine, close enough that I can practically feel his lips.
I fist his shirt and press onto my toes to close the distance between us. “They’ll hear us.”
“Let them.” His lips brush my cheek, maddeningly close yet so far from where I want them.
He dips his head, his lips feathering against mine as a crash erupts from the kitchen—both of us freeze as Cillian yells and Nikolai curses.
“Later,” Enzo groans softly, pressing his forehead to mine.
Pulling back, his jaw is tight with restraint.
“Go help them with dinner. They clearly need it.”
Doing as he asks, I head downstairs to find complete chaos in the kitchen. “I’m not eating that,” I huff, crossing my arms, taking in the burned chicken sizzling on the counter. “Maybe stick with the scrambled eggs a while longer before moving onto more advanced culinary skills,” I tease.
“I’m not eating that either.” Nik scrunches his face, swiping through his phone. “I have a strict rule about not eating anything I almost had to use the fire extinguisher on. I’m ordering us pizza.”
The boys all tell jokes and ridiculous stories through dinner. It’s easy and lighthearted—at least it appears that way. I’m still restless and burning from the inside out. An issue that only intensifies when Enzo meets my gaze across the table.
As it gets late, everyone retreats to their rooms—me to Cillian’s with him on the couch again.
I curl up in bed, wrapping myself in the blankets, my book open in my lap, untouched because the words are a blur.
All I can think about is Enzo’s hands on my thighs.
His mouth on my neck. The way he keeps looking at me like he’s seconds from losing control.
The apartment grows dark and quiet, but I don’t sleep.
I wait.
For one more stolen moment.
Hoping. Aching. Burning.