Chapter 33 #2
The waiter arrived with a busboy in tow, polished and professional, taking their now-empty plates and handing them off, then placing a plate in front of Enzo and one in front of Kathleen.
Enzo’s was something rich and French that would have tasted better if his blood wasn’t still boiling.
Kathleen’s was a simple pasta dish with herbs and olive oil.
The waiter asked if they wanted wine.
Kathleen answered before Enzo could. “No.”
Enzo’s eyes flicked to her.
She didn’t look away. “My judgment is already questionable today.” A ghost of a smile played on her lips.
A pulse of amusement hit him. He loved that she was teasing him back. “Fine,” he agreed reluctantly.
The waiter disappeared.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, the kind of silence Enzo used to live in. Strategic. Listening. Waiting. Letting time reveal intention.
Kathleen broke it first. “Do you think he enjoys this?” she asked quietly, not moving her lips much. “The… theater.”
Enzo kept his gaze on his plate. “Dominic enjoys power. He wouldn’t work for Vitale if he didn’t. His role gives him the power to do whatever is necessary to accomplish the goals set before him.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“This…theatre, as you call it, is part of accomplishing his goal. I doubt he sits there and thinks about it. It’s just ingrained at this point.”
She huffed softly, then continued eating, as if refusing to let the man across the dining car steal her appetite.
Enzo was watching Dominic through reflections more than directly. The man’s posture never changed, but his attention did. When someone laughed too loudly, Dominic’s gaze flicked up. When the door to the corridor opened, his body shifted a fraction. Always calculating.
Enzo wanted to punish the man for the discomfort he was causing Kathleen, but he also knew the truth; Dominic wasn’t the brains behind their predicament.
He was Vitale’s right hand, the blade that carried out decisions made elsewhere.
But blades still killed. And right now, Dominic was close enough that Enzo could imagine reaching across the aisle, grabbing him by the throat, and snapping his neck before anyone even understood what they were seeing.
The image was vivid. Satisfying. And completely useless.
If he snapped Dominic’s neck in the dining car, he couldn’t escape.
He died. Kathleen died. And Vitale and Rocco Rinaldi still got what they wanted.
They would just take the map off his cold, dead body.
And why didn’t they just do that? It was the question hovering in the back of his mind.
Why not just kill him, take the map, and retrieve the treasure themselves?
It gives both of them what they want. There was a missing piece of the puzzle, one he hoped Jamie or the Callahans could shed light on.
Enzo forced his attention back to Kathleen.
She had sauce on the corner of her mouth.
Barely visible. She was exhausted and still managing to look like she belonged here, like she owned the air around her.
He wanted to reach across and wipe it away with his thumb.
Or nibble it away with his own lips. Wanted to lean closer and tell her she was doing incredible.
Wanted to tell her that in another life, he’d have taken her to dinner like this for real.
Instead, he said, “You’re doing good?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “At eating pasta?”
“At not panicking.”
Kathleen’s gaze slid toward Dominic, then back to Enzo. “I’m panicking on the inside.” She winked, and then her face went serious. “I’ve been through this before. After experiencing a degree of freedom, it’s harder this time.”
Icy fingers squeezed his heart. He hated that she was in the middle of this mess. Hated it. “Doesn’t show,” he offered, trying to support her any way he could.
She smiled faintly. “Good.”
The chair across the aisle scraped softly. Enzo’s hand tightened around his fork. He didn’t look up until he had to.
Dominic had risen from his table and walked toward them at an unhurried pace.
He didn’t glance at other passengers. He didn’t check for permission.
He moved as if the car belonged to him, and everyone else was simply allowed to exist in it.
He stopped at their table, hands in his pockets, expression almost pleasant.
“Ciao, Enzo,” he said, like they were old friends. Then his gaze flicked to Kathleen. “Signora Drake.”
Kathleen wiped her mouth with her napkin, unbothered. “Dominic.”
Dominic’s mouth curved slightly. “I didn’t realize we were on a first-name basis.”
“We’re not,” Kathleen said. “I’m just saving time.”
Enzo’s chest tightened. Jesus, she had nerve, and he loved it.
Dominick’s eyes lingered on her, assessing. “You have spirit.”
“People keep saying that,” Kathleen replied, then took another bite as if he wasn’t standing there. “It’s almost like I’m a person.”
Dominic chuckled softly, then looked at Enzo again. “I assume you’re enjoying your meal.”
Enzo kept his face blank. “Is there something you want? Or are you simply trying to threaten us?”
Dominic’s smile sharpened. “You mistake proximity for threat,” he said. “If I were here to hurt you, this conversation wouldn’t be happening.”
“And yet here we are,” Kathleen said, still chewing, “watching you hover like a creep in a dining car.”
Enzo’s lips pressed into a hard line. He should shut her up. He should keep her from provoking Vitale’s enforcer. Except he didn’t want to.
Dominic’s gaze returned to Kathleen, and any lingering trace of amusement faded. “You’re very brave for someone who doesn’t understand the rules.”
Kathleen swallowed, then set her fork down carefully. “I understand the rules fine. You’re trying to intimidate me because you can’t control me.”
Enzo’s pulse spiked. If Dominic responded in any physical way, all bets were off. He’d kill the man without hesitation.
Dominic leaned in slightly. Not threatening. Not overt. Just close enough to make it personal. “Control isn’t always necessary,” he said softly. “Sometimes it’s enough to remind someone what happens when they resist.”
Enzo readied himself to launch at the man.
Dominic didn’t flinch. It was like he sensed the violence in Enzo and welcomed it.
Kathleen leaned forward too, eyes steady. “Is that supposed to scare me?”
Dominic’s mouth twitched. “It should.”
Kathleen’s expression didn’t change. “You’re not the scariest man I’ve met this week.”
Enzo almost made a sound. He didn’t know whether to laugh or drag her back to the compartment and lock the door.
Dominic straightened slowly, eyes returning to Enzo.
“Mallorca tomorrow,” he said, voice lethally low now.
“Or Bianca pays.” The name hit like a two-by-four to the solar plexus.
He kept forgetting about Bianca. Not forgetting exactly, but losing focus on her.
She used to haunt him, but she was nothing more than a distant memory now.
And that was bad. Her life might be on the line.
Enzo’s jaw locked. He forced himself to breathe.
Dominic watched him for a long beat, then tipped his head toward Kathleen. “Enjoy dessert,” he said, as if offering hospitality. Then he turned and strolled back to his table as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
Kathleen exhaled slowly through her nose. “Well. That was charming.”
Enzo stared at his plate, appetite gone. “You shouldn’t poke him.”
Kathleen’s eyes flashed. “He’s going to do what he’s going to do whether I poke him or not.”
Enzo couldn’t argue with that. He also couldn’t stop the surge of something warm and dangerous in his chest. Admiration. And desire. Kathleen Drake was dangerous to him in a whole new way. He’d better focus, or he’d be in serious trouble.
The waiter arrived with a tray. “Dessert?” he asked brightly, oblivious.
Kathleen didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Please.”
Enzo’s gaze snapped to her.
She shrugged slightly. “If we’re going to be held hostage, I’m at least getting dessert.”
He grinned. “I like the way you think.” He turned to the waiter, “Bring tea and coffee too. To go.”
The waiter smiled and moved away.
Kathleen’s phone vibrated on the table a moment later. Both of them froze.
Enzo didn’t need to see the screen to know who it was. The Callahans. Jamie. Gage. Mitch. Whoever was on the other end of that call, he hoped they would have some answers because he had a hell of a lot of questions. But now was not the time. They wanted to speak freely.
Kathleen’s fingers hovered over the phone.
Enzo shook his head once, barely perceptible.
Kathleen’s jaw tightened, but she flipped the phone face down and, after a second, slid it into her pocket.
Enzo flagged the waiter and asked to have everything boxed so they could take it with them.
The waiter returned with dessert, something glossy and French, too pretty to eat, and a small tray with lidded cups of coffee and tea.
Kathleen thanked the waiter. “Now we go?”
Enzo nodded and rose, sliding his hand to the small of her back as they stepped into the aisle. It was the lightest touch, but it anchored him. Reminded him of what mattered.
Kathleen picked up the dessert and the drinks with calm efficiency. She didn’t look at Dominic as they passed.
Enzo did.
Dominic lifted his glass of wine in a silent toast, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
Enzo held his gaze for a fraction too long, letting Dominic see the promise of violence there. Not here. Not now. But one day. Then Enzo guided Kathleen down the corridor toward the couchette, each step measured, each breath controlled.
They didn’t run.
They didn’t rush.
But the entire time, Enzo’s body thrummed with one relentless truth: if Dominic or anyone else put a hand on Kathleen, Enzo would stop caring about consequences.
And that would be the end of all of them.