Chapter 68 Zara
The dishes are mostly cleared, Enzo and Violette are still talking near the table. Dante stands by the window, a shadow against the city lights. Lars is slipping on his coat when I step into the hall, catching him before he can leave.
“Hey.”
He pauses, turning toward me with that measured stillness of his.
I cross my arms, not because I’m trying to be guarded, but because I need something to hold on to. “I know I already said it at the table, but…thank you. For going. For doing this for me.”
His eyes study me for a long beat. “Enzo would move heaven and earth for you. I’m just clearing the path.”
“That’s not all you’re doing.” My voice catches, softer than I want it to be. “I’ve…been waiting years to find her. And part of me’s scared. That she won’t be the same. That I won’t be.”
“You don’t have to be the same,” he says simply. “Neither does she.” He leans in slightly, his voice lowering. “And you will see her again—good or bad. Doesn’t matter what she’s done or where she’s been. That day’s coming, and you’d better be ready to face whoever she is now.”
The words settle deep, heavy with meaning. “And if she’s not—”
“Don’t think about that possibility now.” His voice sharpens, firm enough to cut through doubt.
I exhale, nodding, my throat tight. “You sound so sure.”
“I’ve hunted people in worse places,” he says. “And trust me, if she’s tied to anyone who’s thinking about using her against you, they’ll regret it before they take their next breath.”
Something in me eases—not completely, but enough to step forward and wrap my arms around him. It’s awkward at first; Lars isn’t a man who lives in hugs. But after a second, his hand comes up, resting briefly at the back of my head, solid and certain.
“Just make sure you come back to us in one piece,” I whisper into his shoulder.
He nods once. “Count on it.”
When we pull apart, Enzo’s already walking toward us.
The two men lock eyes, no words needed. Lars reaches out, gripping Enzo’s shoulder, and Enzo pulls him in—no half-hearted pat on the back, but a full, crushing embrace between brothers who’ve bled and brawled together.
I see Enzo’s jaw tighten, his hand lingering between Lars’ shoulders like he’s memorizing the feel of him before letting go.
“Watch your six,” Enzo says.
“Always,” Lars answers, and there’s something in his tone—mutual trust, mutual history—that makes my chest ache.
Violette sweeps in before the moment can stretch too heavy, all perfume and energy as she hooks her arm through Lars’. “You call me when you land, you hear me? And if you so much as skip one meal, I’ll hunt you down myself.”
Lars smirks faintly. “Yes, ma’am.”
She pats his cheek, her voice warm but fierce. “Good boy. Now go do what you’re best at and bring her home. Family is all that matters.”
With that, she lets him go, and Lars steps into the elevator without looking back. The doors slide shut, leaving the four of us in the soft quiet of the penthouse, the absence of him settling in like a shadow we all feel.
Violette’s heels click down the hall, Dante falling in behind her without a word. The elevator doors close, and for the first time all night, it’s just me and Enzo.
The quiet stretches, not awkward—never awkward—but charged. He’s still in his dark slacks and open-collared shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, looking every inch the man who could run an empire and ruin me in the same breath.
“Finally,” he mutters, striding toward me.
“Finally?” I arch a brow, even as my pulse spikes.
He stops in front of me, so close I can feel the heat radiating off him.
“You have any idea what it’s been like watching you all night, knowing I couldn’t touch you the way I wanted?
” His gaze drags over me. “Knowing your arm is healed. Knowing I can finally have you the way I’ve been thinking about every damn day since that night. ”
He hauls me against him, his mouth crushing down on mine in a kiss that’s pure possession—no softness, no easing in. Just Enzo, claiming. My fingers curl into his shirt, holding on as his hands roam down my back, over my hips, gripping like he’s memorizing the feel of me all over again.
When he pulls back, his voice is a breath against my ear. “Bedroom. Now.”
We don’t so much walk as stumble through the doorway, mouths colliding between steps. He shuts the door with his foot and backs me toward the bed. His hands are already on the zipper of my dress, pulling it down in one unhurried drag, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet room.
The fabric slips off my body, pooling at my feet. He takes a step back, just enough to look at me, and his breath hitches—real, unguarded hunger flashing in his eyes.
“Jesus, baby…” His voice is rough, reverent. His palms come up to cup my breasts, thumbs sweeping over the peaks through my bra. “You’ve been killing me. Do you know how much I want to worship these breasts? How fucking perfect they are?”
Heat floods my cheeks, but it’s nothing compared to the rush between my legs when his mouth dips to the swell of one breast, kissing over the lace before sucking the peak through the thin fabric.
“Enzo…” My voice is already breaking, my fingers tangling in his hair.
He pulls back just enough to look up at me, smirking. “These are mine. All of you is mine. And now that I’ve got you healed and in my bed again…” His hands trail down my sides, hooking into my panties. “I’m going to remind you exactly what that means.”
The panties are gone in one sharp tug, and then he’s looking down at me with those dark, hungry eyes. “Get on the bed, Zara. Spread your legs. Let me taste how much you’ve missed me.”
I shuffle up the bed and he follows. My legs part for him and he wastes no time, positioning himself in between my thighs.
His tongue flattens against my pussy and the sound that comes from him is a filthy combination of relief and passion.
Slowly, a finger slides inside, firm against the spot inside that makes me see stars.
He works me with perfection, knowing my body, at just the right pace to drive me insane.
His fingers slide deeper, curling in a way that forces a moan from my lips.
The pressure is perfection, like he’s trying to pull me apart one perfect touch at a time.
His mouth closes over my clit, the wet heat of his tongue moving in lingering, devastating circles.
A primal sound tears from my throat as my hands fist in the sheets. I can’t stop the way my hips roll toward him, chasing every flick of his tongue. He pins my thigh to the mattress with the solid weight of his forearm, holding me exactly where he wants me while his mouth worships me.
“Fuck my tongue, Angel. Take what you need.”
I grind into his mouth, the rhythm of him unraveling me.
Each stroke of his tongue, each curl of his fingers pushes me higher until I’m clinging to his hair, pulling him closer, desperate.
The release hits hard, my body arching off the bed as pleasure rolls through me in waves.
He doesn’t stop—just slows enough to draw every last tremor from me until I’m trembling and boneless beneath him.
When he finally lifts his head, his mouth is wet, his lips swollen. His eyes find mine, dark and fixed with an intensity that makes my chest ache.
Enzo moves up my body unhurried, pressing lingering kisses along the inside of my knee, my thigh, my stomach, my ribs. His palm drags up my side, over my breast, the weight of his hand a claim.
“You’re perfect,” he says against my skin. “Every part of you. I’ll spend my life proving it if I have to.”
My chest tightens. I cup his jaw when he reaches me, my thumb brushing over the rough line of his stubble. “You already have.”
Our mouths meet and the kiss feels like it’s branding something into my bones. He breaks away just enough to guide himself to my entrance, pushing in inch by inch until I’m filled, stretched, and aching for him to move.
A sharp breath escapes him. “God, I’ve missed being inside you.”
He holds still for a moment, his forehead pressed to mine, letting us both feel the connection—deep and consuming. Then his hips begin to move in a steady grind that has heat building under my skin all over again.
I cling to him, nails dragging over his shoulders, feeling the ripple of muscle under my touch. Every thrust is deep, the kind of precision that makes my breath stutter. I can feel the restraint in him—how much he’s holding back, like he’s savoring every second.
“Enzo,” I breathe, and my voice alone draws a guttural groan from his chest. His mouth trails along my jaw, his breath hot against my skin.
“Tell me you love me,” he growls, the demand raw, his hips snapping forward with just enough extra force to send my pulse racing. “Tell me you’re mine.”
“I love you,” I whisper, the words trembling out of me, then louder as his thrusts grow harder, more urgent. “I’m yours. Always.”
The vow sparks something in him. His hand slides beneath my thigh, hooking it high over his hip, giving him the angle to push deeper, to claim me in every sense. His lips graze my ear. “My good girl. My Angel. Sometimes I think you’ve fallen straight into my arms just to save me.”
Heat swells in my chest, my body arching into his with a desperate need to be closer. “Enzo…” The sound of his name breaks apart into a gasp as pleasure tightens, sharp and unstoppable. “I’m so close.”
His pace turns relentless, but his voice stays low, coaxing, commanding. “Then fall with me, Zara. Let go.”
I tumble headfirst into him, into us, into everything we’ve built and everything we’ve survived. My release crashes through me, clenching around him in waves that steal my breath. He groans my name like a prayer, thrusting harder, chasing me over that edge.
“Zara,” he groans, the sound jagged, almost unholy, as he drives into me harder, chasing that last ounce of control before it shatters.
And then he’s gone, spilling into me with a shudder that wracks us both, his forehead pressed to mine, his breaths rough and uneven. “I’ll love you until the end of time.”