Eleven
ELEVEN
Molly
“Enzo is going to come for me,” I said.
I didn’t sound as confident as I had hoped, which said nothing about how I felt.
“Enzo doesn’t even know you’re gone, doll,” Fabiano said.
My stomach curdled at the sound of that pet name from him.
Hearing it from Enzo warmed my heart.
Hearing it from Fabiano made my skin crawl.
But I refused to let it show.
“Why am I here, Fabiano?” I said.
“You don’t mean shit to me, but you’ll work good enough for bait,” Fabiano said.
“Well, I guess I appreciate the honesty,” I responded dryly.
“That smart fucking mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble,” Fabiano said.
His voice was no more intimidating now than it had been the night he tried to mug me.
But then, I hadn’t been tied to a chair after being driven to God knows where.
Now, though, my wrists were raw from the tape, my throat dry, and feet freezing because the open-toed shoes I thought were so cute were no match for the frigid concrete floor.
So no—Fabiano’s voice wasn’t intimidating.
But the fact that I had been kidnapped definitely was.
“I don’t have anything to do with this,” I said.
“Enzo said you’re his. So you do,” he said.
“How?”
“Doll, you’re just leverage. So shut the fuck up and don’t get on my nerves, and you’ll be fine. For now,” he said.
Well, that was about as succinct a summary of my circumstances as I could have hoped for.
Fucked.
Yeah.
And even as I sat there—at the mercy of Fabiano, who I knew would cut my eyes out just as soon as talk to me—all I thought about was what I had heard.
He had drugged me.
It was ridiculous.
Beyond stupid.
But even here, now, in this circumstance, that betrayal stung.
Buzzed under my skin like electricity—and shame.
I had wasted time talking to Hope about what I wanted, how I felt—and yet again, I proved how stupid I was.
Falling for the man who had drugged me?
Lied to me?
It made me wonder if any of those moments I played over and over in my head had meant anything at all.
Was this all part of some sick game?
It made no sense. I had nothing to offer Enzo.
So why bother with the charade?
String me along when I was just one big joke?
I felt tears prick—but refused to let them fall.
Fabiano would think I was afraid of him.
And even though now was definitely not the time for pride, I refused to let him think that.
“How much do you think Enzo will pay for you?” Fabiano said.
“I’m assuming that question was rhetorical,” I said.
To my surprise, Fabiano smiled.
“You know, you’re actually pretty funny. I wish you had better taste in guys,” he said.
“You and me both, Fabiano,” I muttered.
He tilted his head, looking interested.
“Trouble in paradise?”
“You don’t give a shit,” I said.
“No. Just trying to make conversation. But have it your way,” Fabiano said.
He seemed unperturbed, so I was shocked when he cut a long length of duct tape and pressed it against my lips.
“Since you can’t be nice,” Fabiano said.
Enzo might not care about me—but when I got my hands on that asshole…
I wanted to giggle but swallowed it down.
What would I do?
I fell in love with a man who drugged me.
I wasn’t gonna do shit about shit.
I just needed to focus on getting out of this situation alive.
Which meant ignoring the pin and needles in my hands and feet.
And not thinking about how much skin I would lose when the tape came off.
No, I’d think about getting out of here.
That was all that mattered…
“Boss, I have something?—”
Apparently, I had drifted off, because when I heard talking, I opened my eyes and looked over at Fabiano.
He had his phone pressed against his ear, looking intent.
“There’s a meet. One hour. I’ll be there,” Fabiano said.
“You awake, doll?”
I nodded.
“Good. Now it’s time to go find out what you’re worth,” he said.
I said nothing. Didn’t even nod.
Instead, I grimaced when he pulled the tape off my arms and legs and then stood up.
My knees ached with stiffness and my wrists and ankles burned where the tape had been.
But it was as good as I’d felt in hours.
I’d been taped to a dentist chair and had intentionally kept myself from thinking about why it was in this place.
I let the blood flow return to my limbs, and followed Fabiano to a black luxury sedan.
He threw a blindfold over my face and pushed me into the passenger seat.
“In you go,” he said.
“That’s really not necessary,” I said.
“Quiet,” Fabiano snapped.
The ride felt interminable.
I tried to keep track of the minutes by counting, but when I realized I’d gone through the three hundreds twice, I knew I was lost.
Still, sometime later—maybe twenty minutes, maybe longer—the SUV turned sharply to the left, and after a while, slowed.
Nerves had my stomach feeling like water.
I had never been more afraid than I was at that single moment.
But I forced myself to keep my composure.
“You came with backup?” Enzo said.
I heard his voice but couldn’t see him through the blindfold.
But still—my relief was immediate.
I told myself it was natural.
After all, who wasn’t relieved to hear a friendly voice after they were kidnapped?
“'Where is the payment?” Enzo asked.
“How much?” Fabiano asked.
“One hundred thousand.”
“Is your family willing to risk a war over a hundred grand?” Enzo asked.
“None of your concern. Just hand over the cash,” Fabiano said.
Enzo was silent for a moment, but I easily pictured his face.
“You mean to tell me they’re willing to take the risk but don’t want to own up to it? Exactly what you’d expect from a Genovese,” Enzo said.
Fabiano growled.
“I can take a souvenir. Is that what you want?” Fabiano said.
“Take the blindfold off,” Enzo said.
The blindfold was gone, and I blinked, my eyes burning as they tried to focus.
I glanced over and saw Nico—waiting. In front of him, Enzo.
I wanted to throw myself in his arms but stayed still, torn between my heart, that wanted comfort, and my head, that demanded distance.
“Fabiano,” Enzo said.
“What?”
“You’re a fucking idiot,” Enzo said.
In the next breath, he reacted, lifting the gun at his waistband and pulling the trigger.
Fabiano fell down. Crumpled like a paper doll.
“I just needed him to hear that before he died,” Enzo said. Then he looked at me, completely unbothered by the dead man ten feet away from us. “Why’d you leave the restaurant?”
I glanced at him, looked at Fabiano’s body, then looked back at Enzo.
He hadn’t hesitated. And I should have been focused on that.
“Is there something you want to tell me, Enzo?” I said.
“Molly, I drugged you. I’m an asshole. You gotta get over it,” he said.
I thought I had wanted that. But hearing the words unleashed a terrible anger.
“Enzo,” I said as he rubbed my wrists, frowning at the marks there. Then I glared at him. “I want to slap the hell out of you. But I won’t. But take me home—and stay out of my sight.”
“Fine,” Enzo said.
The ride to my apartment was tense, thick with anger.
"You can go now," I said when we reached my apartment.
He acted like I hadn’t said a word.
“Fuck off, Enzo,” I growled when he followed me inside.
He didn’t move an inch.
I was suddenly exhausted and decided to ignore him. Practically an impossibility—but somehow, with Enzo in my space, making it seem much smaller, I managed.
And he didn’t even try to speak to me again—something I was grateful for as I lay in bed.
Just like I told myself I was grateful when I woke up and he was gone.
I wanted to stay buried under the covers, ignoring the world outside. But hiding wouldn’t change anything, so I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom.
“You look like shit, Molly,” I said to my reflection.
I did, but I supposed it made sense.
After all, I had been kidnapped.
And got your heart broken.
I ignored that thought, turned off the light, and padded down the hallway.
I hated to admit it, but my place felt so different, so empty, without him.
“You know what he did, Molly,” I said before I chuckled.
This fucker had me so out of sorts, I was talking to myself out loud.
As if I needed more proof that Enzo was no good for me.
I’d known that but ignored it for the thrill.
Sure, I’d told myself whatever was going on with Enzo was on a stopwatch.
It couldn’t have lasted.
Even though little embers of hope had tried to burn through, I’d forced myself to be realistic. Eventually, reason would have prevailed and Enzo and I would have gone our separate ways.
So in truth, I should have been grateful for what I’d found out. Getting kidnapped was one thing, should have been enough to prove that Enzo was far too dangerous and that I needed to keep my distance.
And if that hadn’t done it, there was the fact that he had drugged me.
Lied to me.
It was as simple as that. Proof of who and what Enzo was.
Sure, it stung, but I’d get over it.
Get over him.
I told myself that as I dressed, pausing for a moment to remember that I was wearing my trusty black overalls. The same ones I’d worn the second time I’d met him.
Not the second time, stupid. You forgot that because he drugged you , I reminded myself.
That memory sat sour on my tongue, and had bile burning at the back of my throat. But I welcomed the pain.
If everything I had felt with Enzo wasn’t a fantasy, it was based on a lie.
I could never, ever, allow myself to forget it.
Somehow, I managed to go to work and got through most of the day. Eventually, I felt almost normal.
Until it was time to close.
“Ugh, what is that awful smell?” I muttered as I arranged the cleaning products, trying to ignore my turning stomach.
If nothing else, working at the shelter would give you a stomach of steel. We kept the facility impeccably clean, but new animals were usually in bad shape, so cleaning and grooming them was standard operating procedure.
I’d been overjoyed when I’d found a great shampoo and managed to secure a sponsorship from the distributor. Best of all, I’d loved the smell. It was a faint honeysuckle scent that wasn't overpowering and didn't irritate the dogs.
But when I grabbed the open bottle to refill it, I almost threw it out of my hands, intent on getting the awful stench away from me.
“They must have changed the formula,” I said to myself.
I waited till my stomach calmed, finished up my work, and headed home.
But as I walked, a feeling settled over me, one that I couldn’t ignore.
I made a brief detour, hoping, praying I was wrong.
But when I looked down at the two little lines, I wasn’t surprised.
Maybe, on some level, I had known. It wasn’t like we had done anything to prevent it.
Still, I stared at the piece of plastic, unbelieving.
But it was true.
I was pregnant.
With Enzo Moretti’s baby.