Chapter 57 Allegra
ALLEGRA
"I've never been with another woman, little tigress. Before, or after you."
I stare in shock at Enzo and his latest lie, trying to process how in the living hell he could have contrived something like this. It's so ludicrous that I do the only natural thing.
I laugh.
Bending over, I grip my stomach with laughter, amazed at what he could fabricate.
Does he think I'm that big of an idiot?
But as my laughter stops and I take in his wound, still leaking blood down his chest, I have to admit to myself that I am an idiot.
I'd come here with the express purpose of putting an end to our wretched relationship and cut ties with him forever.
I'd been set on driving the knife through his heart just like he'd done to me so many times in the past. The plan had been rather easy, especially when I'd smelled that perfume on him and my anger had skyrocketed.
It should have been easy!
Except it wasn't.
It only took one glance from him, one whisper to make me waver.
I couldn't kill him.
Then he had to go and tell me he'd been helping me behind the scenes? Just how much of what he's telling me is the truth?
I have to admit I'd been skeptical of the way Lia had helped me set everything up, and in retrospect it makes sense I may have had some outside help. But why?
So many things don't make sense, and now he has to drop another bomb on me.
"Do you expect me to believe that?" I raise an eyebrow at him, watching hopelessness envelop his entire face.
He looks tired and beaten up, and somehow that tugs at my heartstrings.
"I guess I deserve that," he responds with a sigh, falling back and leaning against the couch, his head tilted at an angle, blood still pouring out of his wound.
Is the wound hurting him? Is it serious?
God, I'm so pathetic.
He rummages through his pants until he removes his phone, dialing someone.
"Who are you calling?" I ask accusingly.
"The owner of the perfume," he says. "Maybe she can shed some light on our situation and you can start seeing that not everything I say is a lie."
He places the phone between us and puts it on speaker.
"Mon cher? What happened?" An accented voice answers, and I instinctively cringe at the way she addresses him. A sudden image of a glamorous French woman assaults me, and I'm barely holding it together as I imagine her using her seduction on my husband.
"Did you finally sober up?" she asks dryly before he has the chance to reply. "Don't worry, Luca's sleeping peacefully at my place," she continues and my eyes turn murderous when I realize my son is with this woman.
"What?" the word tumbles from my mouth, my hand suddenly searching for the knife.
"Maman," Enzo addresses her and I pause, frowning at his appellation.
Why is he calling her mother?
His eyes slide to mine as he continues.
"My wife has a few questions for you."
What, me? Way to throw me under the bus.
"Mon fils," she exclaims, almost in wonder, "you mean she's…"
"Yes," he answers dryly, "she's alive and here to kill me. And your answer might just save my life."
"Enzo, don't joke with such things!" She makes a tsk sound before pausing. "Allegra? Are you there?" She calls out my name and I don't know why I'm suddenly a little embarrassed.
"Yes," I clear my throat, curious to see what she could possibly tell me about Enzo that I don't already know.
"Mon Dieu! C'est un miracle. Enzo, tu as beaucoup de chance. Ah, c'est incroyable."
"Maman, English please," he tells her, a little amused.
"Ah, oui, oui. My dear, I can't believe this is happening. I thought Enzo was mad when he kept telling me you were coming back. And here you are," she releases a dreamy sigh, and I have to reluctantly admit that her chatter is endearing.
"Allegra, what is it that you wanted to ask? Don't worry about your son, he's in good hands. I love that little angel more than anything," she continues, and my animosity seems to lessen.
But I can't let myself be roped into their lies.
So I go straight to the point.
"What's your relationship with Enzo?"
"My relationship with Enzo..." she trails off, as if the question is absurd. "Oh, I see, I see—you’re jealous," she states point-blank, and I feel put on the spot—again.
"Indeed, maman, my little tigress is so jealous she's sharpening her claws on my skin. It would be really nice if you could assure her that our relationship is purely platonic," he replies, a smile creeping up his face.
"But of course. Allegra, dear, don't you worry, our relationship is purely platonic," she says, reiterating Enzo's words verbatim.
"How convincing," I mutter.
"He's thirty years my junior, Mon Dieu! I'd never rob the cradle," she continues in a disgusted voice. "We've known each other for almost two decades, and he's been like a son to me."
"You've certainly been the mother I never had, maman," Enzo adds fondly.
"Ah, mon cher, you're making me weep," she says. She pauses as she shuffles a few things around before I hear a sniffle, and I realize he did make her weep.
Just who is this woman?
"Enzo, do I have your permission to tell her how we met?"
"Go ahead. I don't want any more secrets," he states as he looks me in the eye.
"I'll speak plainly then, dear. I was a prostitute in one of Rocco's clubs, many, many moons ago. I was his mistress first, but that bitch Lucia hired someone to ruin my face. I know it's not confirmed, but I'm positive it was her." She takes a deep breath, her voice growing heated.
"After I no longer had any appeal to Rocco, he sent me to one of his establishments to work.
That's also where I met Enzo. I think he was twelve or thirteen, the poor boy.
They had poured alcohol down the throat of a child and then left him to his own devices.
And you've seen him… Mon Dieu, I've known many men in my life, prominent actors and models, but none as striking as him.
I'm saying this most objectively, dear; please don't take offense," she pauses to tell me, and I can't help but crack a smile.
"None taken," I respond.
"Good, I know he's all yours, but everyone with two good eyes can see that he's a very good-looking man. Even back then, he was so beautiful it hurt to look at him. And that led to people taking advantage of him," she pauses with a sad sigh.
"What do you mean?" I'm almost afraid for the answer, because a drunk child and 'taken advantage of' can only mean one thing. I whip my head toward Enzo and he has a grave look on his face.
"I don't know exactly what happened before I arrived.
Enzo never told me the specifics. I was walking down the hall of the club when I heard a strangled cry for help.
I didn't even think—I just barged through the door, and the entire scene was horrific," her voice hitches, and she's clearly affected by what she's saying—no way anyone can feign that.
"Poor Enzo was naked, face-down on the floor, and some old man was on top of him, straddling him and…" she trails off, and I hear a sob.
Enzo's expression still hasn't changed, and I barely stop myself from reaching out in comfort.
"Thank God I got there just before the worst happened. He was so disoriented, so vulnerable, and my heart just broke for him. Somehow, after the fact, Enzo got it into his mind that he had to repay me, so he did just that."
"I bought her a club," Enzo interjects, the semblance of a smile playing at his lips.
"We've been friends for so long, but really, I see him as the son I never had," she gushes, and a blush creeps its way up Enzo's neck.
"Thank you, maman," he adds with genuine affection.
We chat a little more, and she tells me a few anecdotes of Enzo over the years, and just as we're about to end the conversation, she adds something.
"Please be easy on him and listen to everything he has to say. I know everything points to the contrary, but I can swear on my life that my boy loves you more than anything in the world. Give him a chance, please."
"I'll let him talk," I find myself agreeing.
Maman assures me she will drop Luca off the following day before hanging up.
Enzo pockets the phone, and I'm speechless as I look at him.
"Did they…" I can't even bring myself to ask the question. He shakes his head.
"It was a close call, but maman was there to help me," he replies, and I don't think he realizes how his hand instinctively reaches for the bottle of alcohol on the table.
"Enzo, I..."
"There's more," he cuts me off, taking a swig of alcohol. "I don't even know how to say this… Besides maman, I've never told anyone." His voice breaks and he closes his eyes, his hand rubbing at his temples.
What could be worse than that?