Chapter 55 Enzo
ENZO
I stare solemnly at the mahogany coffin that's being laid in the ground. It barely has any remains inside since everything had been incinerated at the site of the accident.
The cemetery is empty, and only a few people are around for Chiara's funeral—because I refuse to believe the body in that box is Allegra's.
I simply refuse.
For days now, I'd tried to reach Lia to get confirmation that my little tigress is alive, but it's been all for nothing. It's like she disappeared into thin air.
While the silence is nerve-racking, it's giving me hope Allegra is alive and she's just biding her time until her last victim has his guard down. Because what better time to strike than when someone is at their lowest.
I look around at the people in attendance—my sister with her husband and a few of the staff. I hadn't been able to keep this from them when the news had broken out, but I'd been able to at least delay everyone else knowing.
My wife is not dead.
"Enzo," Lina says, coming to take my hand and looking at me with worry in her eyes.
"I'm fine," I say, my voice a little too brusque. I don't think I can deal with these people offering me their condolences when my little tigress is still alive.
"If you need anything…" she continues, but I just shake my head, extricating myself from her hold.
"I just need to find Luca," is all I say, and I move to leave, my eyes meeting Marcello's as he comes to hug Lina. "Take care of her, will you?" I address him shortly before heading back home.
Maman Margot is playing with Luca in the living room, and the moment he sees me, he runs toward me, hugging my legs.
"Papa," he exclaims, his bright eyes full of blithe energy.
"How's my boy?" I ask as I lift him into my arms, kissing the crown of his head.
"Good. Maman played with me all morning," he starts telling me about his day, happily chatting away.
Maman is in a corner, looking at me with a strange expression on her face.
Soon, Luca starts yawning, and I know it's time for his nap, so I take him to his room to put him to bed. Swinging by my own room, I take off my blazer and undo my tie.
"You're not well, Enzo," maman says when I come down, my fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle of Jack.
"I'm fine, maman. I told you like I told everyone. I'm just fine," I answer as I plop myself in a chair, removing a cigarette from my pack and lighting it.
"You're not. Anyone can see you're not. Allegra…"
"That wasn't Allegra," I interrupt her aggressively. "Allegra's alive and well, and she'll come back," I say with all the conviction I can muster.
Because I can't allow myself to think for even one moment that she's gone. Not again. I can't go through that again because this time, I fear I might actually do something stupid…and there's still Luca to consider.
No, I simply can't go down that rabbit hole.
"Enzo, you have to face the possibility that maybe…"
I shake my head vigorously.
"She's alive, and I know she'll come for me. Whether to kill me or to love me, I don't care. She can shoot me as many times as she likes as long as I have tangible proof she's alive," I mumble, not making much sense. "She's just trying to make me suffer."
"Enzo," maman starts, her tone worried, "you're being delusional," she continues, taking the bottle from me. "This isn't the way to go about things."
"And what am I supposed to do?" I ask, my voice ragged, the words almost broken. "Accept that she's gone? Because I can't."
The more I try to force the words out, the more my eyes grow wet, the moisture threatening to spill down my cheeks. I wipe it away with the back of my hand, taking a deep breath and trying to calm myself.
"She's alive," I say again, trying to convince myself more than anything.
Maman shakes her head, slowly coming toward me.
"Mon cher, I know you love her, but…" she wraps her arms around me, giving me a hug.
"No buts, maman. I don't think I can continue on if she's really gone. Not again," my voice is muffled as some tears finally make their way down my cheek.
"You have to. For Luca." She threads her fingers through my hair in a gesture of comfort.
"What if I can't?" I whisper, ashamed of myself.
"You're strong, mon cher. Stronger than anyone I know. And I've seen how much you love that boy—too much to leave him helpless in this world."
She's right. I would never rationally leave Luca to fend for himself. But this grief operates on an irrational level, and the only thing I can think of is Allegra.
My little tigress.
"She's alive," I state, this time with no shade of doubt.
"Mon cher," maman makes a tsk sound, disappointed that I'm not seeing reason.
"I don't like this. I'm taking my godson with me until you get yourself together.
I don't feel comfortable leaving him with you like this…
" She sighs deeply. "I know you, and soon you'll search for comfort at the bottom of a bottle.
Non, this isn't a productive environment for a child. "
"Fine, just…give me a day or two," I take a deep breath, recognizing maman is right, even though I don't like the thought of Luca being away.
But right now…I don't want him to see this side of me.
"I'll go grab him." She takes a few steps before turning sharply toward me. "Don't do something stupid, okay?"
I raise my eyes to hers and nod slowly.
Then, alone once more, I do, in fact, find comfort at the bottom of a bottle.
My gaze is blurry as I open my eyes. But there's no mistaking the determined saunter of the woman in front of me or the way she's wielding a long, pointy knife.
She's wearing a pair of dark jeans coupled with a gray woolen sweater—and she looks fucking hot as she sways her hips, her murderous intentions only making her sexier.
"I knew it," the words tumble out of my mouth as the alcoholic haze lifts.
"You son of a bitch," she says, her eyes blazing with fury as she charges me. I catch her by the arms, holding her in place as we both fall to the ground.
"Bastard," she continues to spew insults, trying to free her knife hand.
"Little tigress," I can barely speak, the happiness bursting from deep within me.
She's alive. I knew she'd come back to me.
"Let go of me, you asshole," she struggles in my hold, but I just tighten my arms around her.
"Just one moment. Let me hold you for a moment," I rasp, desperate to feel her warmth, her scent—the proof I so desperately needed that she's alive.
"Shh," I whisper in her hair, reveling in her presence.
How many years did I dream of just this? Holding her like this?
She's still struggling, and her knife jabs my chest, its pointy tip scratching the surface of my skin. The sudden pain surprises me, and she takes advantage of it to jump out of my arms.
"You fucking bastard. You couldn't keep it in your pants even at my funeral?" She looks at me in disgust, and I can't help but frown in confusion.
"What are you talking about?"
"You think I don't remember that blasted perfume?" She shakes her head, taking a step back. "It's been imprinted in my memory since the first time I smelled it on you." Her head moves back and forth as if she's looking for something.
"Where is she? Where did you hide her?" she continues, and it takes me a moment to realize she's talking about maman's perfume.
"You're wrong," I start, trying to decide how best to explain maman to her.
"I'm wrong?" Her brows arch up. "How am I wrong when it's been the same person from the very beginning?" She pauses, looking at me as if she'd been struck. "Do you love her?" she asks in a small voice, her features drawn in pain. "That's it, isn't it? You've loved her all along."
"No," I answer, struggling to choose my words carefully. "She's a dear friend and nothing more. She's Luca's godmother," I say, and her eyes widen in horror.
"You let that whore near my son?" she screeches, launching herself at me once more, the tip of the knife resting just above my heart.
"She's not a whore," I say through gritted teeth, knowing that in her volatility she could easily stab me—even accidentally. "She's a friend. An elderly friend," I add for good measure, but the suspicion doesn't disappear from her eyes.
"How many times?" she asks brokenly, her voice cracking. "How many times did you betray me?"
The knife keeps digging into my skin, and I feel a trickle of blood making its way to the surface.
"None," I say, raising my head to look her in the eye, hoping she'll see the sincerity in mine.
"Don't lie to me!" she cries out, the knife digging deeper and the pain intensifying.
"I'm not," I reply calmly, my hands cupping her face. There's so much hate in her eyes, and all of it is directed at me.