Chapter 67 Enzo
The elevator doors slide open, and Violette steps into the penthouse with the poise of someone who’s never once had to announce her presence.
She takes in the room—the candles lit on the table, the scent of roasted garlic drifting from the kitchen, the flowers on the table that Zara insisted on earlier.
Her attention lands on the figure by the door. “Still not speaking?” she asks.
Dante offers her a single nod, nothing more.
Violette exhales, amused. “I’ve encountered statues more chatty than this one.”
I take her coat before she can press him further. “Statues can’t clear a room the way he can.”
Lars enters behind her, his gaze flicking to Dante in quiet acknowledgment. No words. Just the brief nod of two men who understand exactly what the other is capable of.
From the kitchen, Zara calls, “You’re just in time.” She appears in the doorway a moment later, wearing a soft smile that doesn’t hide the pride in her eyes. The scents trailing from the kitchen follow her—herbed pasta, warm bread, something rich and simmered low all afternoon.
She hugs Violette, then Lars, before gesturing toward the table. “Sit. Everything’s ready.”
Violette slips into her seat while I pour her a cocktail and hand Lars a glass of whiskey. Zara sets down bottles of cola and ginger ale for the two of us—her rule, not mine. Pregnancy has made her stubborn about what I drink when we’re together. I don’t argue.
The first plates hit the table, and Lars glances at Zara before turning to me with a grin. “Well, you don’t need me anymore. Woman’s feeding you like a king. I might as well stay in Texas.”
“You’re not moving to Texas,” I tell him, passing the bread.
“You’re only allowed to leave for work and come right back, Lars,” Violette says smoothly, lifting her glass. “I heard you’re heading down there to bring someone home.”
Zara’s smile falters, the weight of the words settling between them. She leans in, her hand brushing the edge of his sleeve, almost hesitant. “Thank you for going, Lars. I know it’s not simple. I know it’s not safe.”
His eyes meet hers, steady and unshaken. “Finding your sister’s worth the trip.”
“It’s more than that,” she says, her voice threading with something deeper. “If it were anyone else…I wouldn’t trust it. But you—” She stops, swallowing back whatever rush of emotion threatened to break free. “You’re not going because you have to. You’re going because you care.”
Lars’ expression doesn’t soften in a way most people would recognize. But I see it—the slight shift in his eyes, the unspoken vow in the way he leans forward. “Family doesn’t get left behind,” he says quietly. “Not on my watch.”
Beneath the table, Zara’s hand slides into mine, her fingers curling with a warmth that anchors me. I return the squeeze, a silent exchange that says more than words could manage.
We move into easier talk—Violette critiquing the art over the fireplace, Lars claiming Dante could scare it off the wall if he stared long enough, Zara arguing that the chairs need to go before anything else.
Dante says nothing, but his faintest twitch of a brow earns him a rare laugh from Violette.
Plates empty and for a while, the weight of tomorrow lifts. Tonight, everyone who matters is here, under my roof. And if the city’s waiting outside, so be it. It can wait until Lars is wheels-up for Texas.