Chapter 41 Zara
The first thing I notice is the ache. A deep, pulsing soreness in my thighs, the bruised sting on my hip where Enzo bit me, the dull throb of satisfaction. It’s the kind of ache that doesn’t let you forget what you did or who you did it with. Every inch of me is stamped with him, claimed.
I stretch under the silk sheet, the fabric sliding over my bare skin, and a soft sound escapes me before I can stop it.
God. I should be furious, terrified, ready to claw my way out of here.
Instead, my body hums with satisfaction and compliancy.
The memory of his hands, his mouth, his voice rasping my name, it was prayer and profanity all at once.
The bed is too big, too perfect, and yet it still feels full even with him sprawled beside me. Enzo’s half on his stomach, arm flung over the pillow where I’d been, muscles slack for once, his features softened by sleep. He looks younger like this. Almost human.
The illusion shatters with the faintest knock at the door. Barely a tap, but it sends my heart sprinting into my throat. I pull the sheet tighter around me as the door swings open without waiting for my permission.
A woman enters, balancing a silver tray.
Her expression is carefully blank, eyes lowered as if even glancing too long at me would be a mistake.
She sets the tray on the table near the corner, then moves to the curtains.
In one sweep, she floods the room with daylight, and I flinch at the sudden glare.
Then she clicks the remote and the flat screen mounted across from the bed flickers on. Morning news. The anchor is mid-report about an ongoing investigation into last night’s cathedral shootout. Headlines roll across the screen: “Gangland Wedding Interrupted in St. Bellamy Violence.”
My jaw drops. I hold the sheet tighter to my chest, sitting upright and glaring at the woman like the intruder that she is. She gives a small nod in my direction, then glances at Enzo still blissfully asleep and—God help me—naked, sheet rumpled at his feet.
Fully naked.
Balls-to-the-mattress, sun-glinting-off-his-ass, naked.
I jab my elbow into his ribs. “Enzo.”
He groans, shifts. I jab harder. “Enzo, wake up. There’s someone in the room.”
He rolls to his back and stretches like a damn cat, biceps flexing, dick now on full display, a lazy smile curving across his lips without even opening his eyes. “Mmm. Smells like coffee.”
“Enzo!” I whisper-yell, eyes darting to the maid who’s now folding a towel at the foot of the bed like we’re not having the most mortifying morning in history.
Finally, his eyes open, drowsy but alert. He rolls onto his side, smirking when he sees me wrapped in sheets like a scandalized nun.
“She saw you,” I hiss, pointing with my chin toward the maid as she walks out the door, closing it behind her.
He shrugs and yawns. “She’s worked for me for years. Nothing she hasn’t seen before.”
“No,” I snap.
Enzo arches a brow. “No what, Angel?”
“No other woman gets to see your dick.”
He blinks.
“I don’t care how long she’s worked here or how many times she’s seen it.
That cock,” I say, jabbing a finger at his groin where he’s completely unbothered and already semi-hard from our argument, “is mine now. You married me. Sure, this is a fucked-up situation, but I’m still your wife.
That dick is off-limits to everyone but me. ”
Enzo laughs. Not just a chuckle—a full-bodied, deep, rumbling laugh that rolls out of his chest like thunder. He presses a hand to his stomach as if he can’t take it.
“Jesus, you’re serious,” he wheezes, eyes shining with amusement.
“Dead serious.”
He sobers a bit, but that cocky grin lingers. “Possessive little bride.” He rolls toward me, propping himself up on one elbow. “Fuck, I like you like this.”
“Good,” I say, chin lifted defiantly. “Get used to it.”
He leans in, his voice dropping. “I could get very used to it.”
And just like that, the playful irritation simmers into something more charged. His hand comes to rest on my thigh, sliding beneath the sheet. I shiver.
But I’m not ready to let him distract me.
I swat his hand away and make myself a cup of coffee instead. “Try anything before I’ve eaten, and I’ll bite you.”
“Bite me later, then,” he says with a wink.
I sip again, smirking over the rim. “Deal.”
We fall into a strange silence, broken only by the sound of the news droning in the background. I sip the coffee, grateful for something warm and familiar. He pours himself a cup, settling back against the headboard like this is just another normal day.
"My accountant will be by later," he says casually. "He’ll load my card to your phone and get the bank app set up for you."
I choke slightly on my sip. "What now?"
"You’re my wife. What’s mine is yours. Don’t argue."
My mouth opens to protest, but I close it again. He’s not asking for permission. There’s no room for negotiation in his tone.
"You really just plan to pretend like we’re a normal couple now?"
He shrugs. "We’re not normal."
That part I can’t deny. The past two days have been too raw, too eventful to be anything less than insane.
"I have to work today," he adds. "Things are already getting loud, I need to stay present, Falco won’t stay quiet for long with his bride gone."
"I was the bride."
"Exactly."
I set the coffee down, an uncomfortable thought surfacing. "Wait…my stuff. From the hotel. Did I lose everything?"
He smiles. "You mean these?"
He gets out of bed—completely unbothered by his nakedness—and strides to the massive walk-in closet, returning with three familiar designer bags and my battered duffel.
My eyes go wide. "You have my stuff?"
He sets them gently at the foot of the bed. "Of course."
"Why?"
He looks at me for a long beat, then walks over and kneels beside the bed, resting his elbows on the mattress.
"Because I looked for you. For a month straight we searched, trying to figure out why you vanished from that hospital.
I had men in Detroit, Vegas, hell, even fucking Seattle.
My men traced you to that hotel and I went in, looking for anything that could lead me to you.
It seemed as if those bags were all you had, so of course I kept them. "
The breath leaves my lungs in a rush. The room feels smaller now, warmer, suffocating with the weight of his words.
"You searched for me?"
"Relentlessly."
A war wages in my chest—guilt and longing battling it out, and neither side is winning.
"You could’ve moved on."
His brow lifts. "Zara, when will you realize there is no moving on from you? Not in two years, not in a month. I had to make sure you were safe, and when I found out you weren’t, I couldn’t rest."
Goddammit.
He returns to his coffee like he didn’t just throw a live grenade in the middle of my emotional equilibrium. I slide out from under the sheets, grabbing my duffel and unzipping it with trembling fingers.
At the bottom, hidden beneath some folded clothes, is the false bottom still intact.
The flash drive.
I retrieve it from its hiding place and stare at it for a beat, my fingers brushing the edge. I’d hidden it years ago, thinking it was safer in my possession than out in the world. But now? Now everything’s changed.
I glance back at Enzo. This man found me, stole me, married me to protect me. And now he wants to give me everything—including his trust. Maybe I should give him mine.
I turn the drive over in my palm, the metal cool against my skin. It’s lighter than I remember, but it might as well weigh a thousand pounds. Everything I’ve hidden, everything I’ve protected for years—it all sits inside.
My eyes find him again, sitting on the edge of the bed, sipping his coffee.
Naked, tattoos like battle scars across his chest and arms, his dark eyes soft when they land on me.
There’s something in them that I didn’t expect—not demand or dominance.
It’s a look of happiness. It’s care. It’s something terrifying and beautiful all at once.
I close my fingers around the flash drive and take a deep breath.
He looks up when I begin to speak, tilting his head slightly. "I need to give you something," I say softly, crossing the floor until I’m standing right in front of him.
He sets down his cup and straightens a little, brows drawing in. I open my hand and show him the drive.
"This isn’t just information. It’s everything I’ve kept hidden from the world. It’s what I’ve been running with...and running from."
“What do you mean?”
“It’s everything that could take down my father. I want you to take it. I want to use what’s on there to destroy him.”
Enzo doesn’t take it right away. He watches me, carefully, quietly. "Are you sure?"
I nod, throat tight. "Giving this to you... I’m choosing to trust you, Enzo."
He finally reaches out and takes the drive, his fingers brushing mine. "Angel," he looks at me, voice rough. "You have no idea what this means."
I sit down beside him, the mattress shifting beneath our weight.
"It means I’m tired. Tired of hiding, of surviving instead of living.
I’ve spent the last few years watching over my shoulder, always waiting for the next blow.
And it wasn’t just fear—it was betrayal.
My father didn’t just rule our family with fear, he used me, he was willing to sacrifice his own flesh and blood to retain power. "
Enzo's arm comes around my back, pulling me closer, steadying me. I don’t resist.
"He had this plan in place for years. The marriage, the alliance with the Falcos...it wasn’t just strategy. It was a punishment. A final act of control. The moment I started questioning things, the moment I stopped playing the good daughter, he started planning how to shut me up. Permanently."
Enzo runs a hand down my spine, grounding me. "That’s what you’ve been carrying all this time."
I nod. "There’s more on that drive than I ever dared say out loud. Ledgers, emails, photos—proof of what Lachlan’s done. What he’s planning to do. Not just to me, but to anyone in his way."
He looks at the drive again, then meets my gaze. "You’re safe now, Zara. You hear me? No one will ever touch you or use you again. Not your father. Not Falco. Not anyone."
My throat tightens, tears burning hot and angry behind my eyes. "I want him to pay. I want them all to pay."
Enzo cups my jaw, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. "They will. I swear it to you. You have my word that I will lay them at your feet, Angel."
I lean into his touch, breath shaking, something in me cracking open with the weight of everything I’ve held back. And for the first time in what feels like years, I don’t feel like I’m carrying it all on my own.
He presses his forehead to mine, our breath mingling in the quiet. And at that moment, I let the weight slip from my hands and into his.