3. Enzo
3
ENZO
O ne hour and thirty-seven minutes. That's how long it takes for their night to implode, unraveling before my very eyes.
I don’t do background checks on Autumn’s friends. One, it would take far too long to sift through their histories. Two, it’s a waste of money and resources that could be better spent elsewhere. Three, I simply don’t want to. But when her blonde friend Isabella transforms from the life of the party into a venomous diva in heels, I can’t help but wonder if there was some way I could have intervened to prevent this impending disaster.
It all started innocently enough, a seemingly carefree evening. They grabbed drinks at an outdoor bar, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air as they guzzled their cocktails down with gusto before heading to a club. I thought they had slipped past the door with a stunning pair of fake IDs, until the bartender tipped me off, casually remarking that the blonde had a jaw-dropping rack. “Thanks, buddy.” I slip him a twenty, feeling a mix of gratitude and annoyance, then head inside, scanning the crowd for my under-dressed Cinderella and her out-of-control best friend.
It doesn’t take long to locate them amid the pulsing lights and throbbing bass. Isabella is dancing in a cage, her movements bold and reckless, while Autumn is down on the ground, her voice raised in a heated confrontation with some guy in an ill-fitting suit. My blood starts boiling, a hot rush of protective instinct surging through me. Do I rush in to save the twit who’s too drunk to know any better, or do I focus on the girl of my dreams, who deserves far better? Decisions, decisions.
I watch from the sidelines for a couple of minutes, my heart racing as I try to determine what to do. Isabella is flashing the room her goods, completely unbothered by the attention. I can't help but wonder if she even wore panties when she stepped out tonight. The good news is that she's finally stopped drinking; the bad news is that she’s already had enough to reach a level of recklessness that worries me. When Sia sang about swinging from the chandelier, it was Isabella she was channeling. That girl is wild, a whirlwind of energy and chaos. I kind of admire her spirit, even if it puts her in precarious situations.
It only takes her a few seconds to realize that Autumn is being carted off by the man in the suit she was arguing with. Without a second thought, Isabella springs from the cage, landing on the dance floor with the grace of a superhero. Her determination is palpable; she has no interest in letting Mr. Big and Bad take her friend for the night. With fierce resolve, she grabs onto Autumn's arm and jerks her in the opposite direction, as if she’s trying to save her from the jaws of a predator.
At this point, my feet move without being told to, propelled by a sense of urgency. I begin walking toward them, my heart pounding louder than the bass thumping in the background. Everyone in my way—the dancing girls lost in their own revelry, the men trying to cozy up to them, and the multitude of partygoers in between—gets pushed aside as I make my way through the chaotic crowd. Autumn is being fought over like a piece of meat, and the closer I get, the more their argument escalates, reverberating in the air around us.
"Let her go, meathead," Isabella snarls, her voice dripping with venom, reminiscent of a feral dog ready to defend its territory. I swear she's about to foam at the mouth with rage.
"You're bad for her, Izzy, just like you were bad for me. Stop dragging our family down," he retorts, tugging Autumn's arm harder in the opposite direction, his face a mask of frustration and disdain. The tension crackles in the air, and I know I can’t stand by any longer.
For a split second, she looks up and sees my face, and in that fleeting moment, recognition ignites a spark in her eyes. A silent plea for help flickers there, raw and desperate, and it sends a jolt through me. I weigh the possibility of grabbing her around the waist, yanking her away from the chaos surrounding us, but a nagging hesitation holds me back. I don’t want to pull her into a third direction, complicating an already fraught situation.
Isabella steps closer, her presence imposing as she gives Autumn's arm a slight tug, allowing her body a moment of slack. "Liam, baby, this is the best pussy you've ever had," she taunts, her tone laced with both possessiveness and contempt.
"Excuse me, mind if I steal this beautiful woman for a minute?" I interject, finally making my way toward them, my voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air. Liam and Isabella manage to agree on something for once; they both shout a resounding 'no' at me, their voices ringing out in unison like a discordant harmony. I tighten my jaw, the muscles in my face tensing as I remind myself not to rip either of them apart right here and now. "Then at least let the lady go."
In a surprising twist, Liam does exactly that, but only so he can invade my personal space, his anger palpable. "The fuck you want, Bianchi? You think I don't know who you are?" he sneers, his eyes narrowing in challenge.
Funny how that works; just a moment ago, I had no clue who he was. It was only Isabella's sharp utterance of his name that jolted my memory back to the surface. "Put your dick away, Gallagher. Nobody wants a fight," I reply, my tone dripping with disdain, ready to defuse the situation before it spirals further out of control.
He clenches his fists by his sides, the muscles in his arms tensing visibly, and puffs out his chest in a display of bravado. Liam stands at a couple of inches shorter than me, measuring in at 5'9". I can’t help but think that being on the south end of six feet gives him some sort of complex. It’s not something I dwell on too much, but I’ve seen enough guys with Napoleon syndrome to recognize the signs. "That's my sister, Bianchi. Don't talk about dicks in front of her," he snaps, his voice low and threatening, as if he’s trying to assert his dominance in a territory that feels all too familiar.
If I clench my jaw any tighter, I’m going to end up breaking a tooth. "Sweetie," I start, my voice laced with condescension, "I'll pull my dick out and show it to her up close and personal if you get any closer to my face. Step back, Liam." The words slip out with a calmness that belies the tension simmering just beneath the surface.
"You threatening her virginity, you motherfucker?" His eyes blaze with a mix of fury and something else—possessiveness, perhaps?
She's a God damn virgin? The realization hits me like a jolt of electricity, and I’ve never been harder in my life. This Irish fuck in front of me could pull out a pair of brass knuckles and thrust them straight into my jaw, and I’d still be hard, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
"Liam, stop." Autumn’s voice cuts through the charged atmosphere as she grabs his arm and gently pulls him back, her demeanor a calming balm amidst the brewing storm. "Enzo is my neighbor. Can you be nice, for once?" Her words hang in the air, a fragile hope for peace.
As it turns out, the answer to that question is a resounding no. Liam's glare remains fixed on me, his expression as if he wants to grind me into a fine powder. "You got bad taste, Autumn. Shitty friends, shitty neighbors—" His voice drips with disdain, a clear attempt to undermine me.
"Shitty brother," Isabella interjects, her tone sharp and cutting, a reminder that even in this chaos, familial loyalty runs deep.
I'm relieved Isabella voiced the truth instead of me. "Listen, I'm just here to have a few drinks, Gallagher. I saw some commotion and thought I’d check it out. If I had known it was just a family spat, I would’ve stayed put, but I’ve got a soft spot for damsels in distress. So sue me if I’m drawn to trouble."
Liam's lip curls in disdain, his irritation palpable as he sizes me up, but he ultimately relents. "C'mon, Autumn. We gotta go," he insists, his tone brokering no argument.
"I told you, jackass, she's not going with you," Isabella jumps back in, reigniting the very argument that had spiraled into this mess in the first place.
Liam pivots his fiery rage toward the blonde, towering over her with an intensity that could scorch. "Listen here, slut, just because you want to parade around the clubs looking like a hooker doesn't mean my sister will. It was probably your influence that convinced her to step out looking like this," he sneers, gesturing dismissively back at Autumn.
Honestly, I’m kind of digging the slip dress. It’s got a very vintage vibe, something that stands out amid the chaos. "Guys, maybe this isn't the place to?—"
"Shut it, Bianchi," Liam roars, his voice booming without even glancing my way. "Stop calling my sister. Stop texting me. Stop inserting yourself into my family's life." The finality in his words is chilling, underscoring the tension hanging thick in the air.
Autumn takes a quiet step backward, her presence shrinking as the tension between the two men escalates. I catch a glimpse of her eyes flicking nervously in my direction before darting toward the exit, a silent plea for escape. While Liam and his friend hurl insults at each other, engaging in a ridiculous contest to determine who possesses the bigger ego and who can claim the title of the worst influence, we seize our chance to slip away unnoticed.
Once we step into the warm embrace of the Las Vegas night air, my heart soars like a bird released from its cage. I've dreamt of this day for months, maybe even years, envisioning the thrill of freedom and adventure that comes with it. This is everything I’ve ever wanted. Autumn grips my hand tightly, a spark of excitement lighting up her face as she pulls me toward another building, her grin infectious. "Come on," she urges, "before they figure out we left."
I can't help but reflect on my own life as we move away from the chaos. I attend church with my mother whenever she asks; she's a devoted Catholic, attending services regularly as part of her routine. My own relationship with God is more complicated—tinged with uncertainty and occasional doubt. In moments of great distress, I’ve been known to call out in prayer, seeking solace or guidance. But right now, I'm not in distress; I feel invincible, riding high on a wave of exhilaration. I can almost picture God looking down, surprised to hear from me. Thank you. I know we should talk more, and I swear I’ll see you on Sunday. But thank you for making every dream I've ever had come true.
Indeed, as Autumn pulls me through the entrance of Cloak & Dagger, the vibrant energy of the place washes over me, and I can’t imagine my life ever getting any better than this exhilarating moment. The thrill of possibilities stretches out before us like the neon lights illuminating the Las Vegas skyline, and I feel a sense of hope blooming within me.