Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chloe
Enzo left.
I thought I'd feel relieved. The name that had kept me up night after night was finally about to disappear from my life. I should've been happy.
But after I closed the flower shop door, standing in the empty room, what I felt wasn't freedom, it was a vague sense of loss. Like someone had carved out a piece of my chest, leaving an irregular hole. Wind rushed through it, howling.
I told myself it was exhaustion, nothing else. Then I went home, warmed some milk, took a shower, and went to bed. Everything just like always.
But I tossed and turned until two in the morning without sleeping.
My mind kept replaying Enzo's retreating figure. His shoulders used to be so straight and tense, like he was always ready for battle. But today, when he turned away, those shoulders sagged. His whole silhouette looked smaller than I remembered, like a building stripped of its support beams.
And that last look he gave me, I'd probably never forget it.
Stop. Don't think about it.
We were never right for each other. The elevator, the club—just accidents that forced us together, a mistake.
What did we have in common? Nothing. Except maybe we were both stubborn.
I couldn't tolerate deception. I only wanted real feelings. But for Enzo, status, money, reputation—those were everything. Maybe he loved me once. Maybe even now, throwing everything away to find me.
But eventually he'd realize—it was just his obsession talking. His life had so few things he couldn't have, that's why he was so persistent. Years from now, he'd think: Chloe Bennett, just another woman. Not worth giving up everything for.
What made me think I could change someone who'd lived according to plan for so many years?
Stop being naive.
I slapped my cheeks, trying to banish that image of his back.
Next morning at seven, I mechanically got up, brushed my teeth, washed my face, changed clothes, and grabbed my bag for work. When I opened the door, my foot hit something.
A manila envelope sat on the doorstep, a silver key on top.
I struggled to crouch down and pick it up. As the months progressed, even simple movements had become difficult.
I opened the envelope. Inside was a property deed.
I saw the name in the owner column: Ella Gray.
The address was a big house at the foot of the mountain on the east side of town.
At the bottom of the envelope was a bank card and a note in Enzo's handwriting, scrawled hastily.
The card balance was listed—a number so large my fingers started going numb.
Enough for me and the baby to live comfortably in this small town for many, many years.
My first reaction was disgust. I didn't want anything from him. It only reminded me of those humiliating words at the church door.
I crouched there, about to stuff everything back in the envelope, when I heard footsteps behind me.
I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. I knew that rhythm too well. A skill I'd developed at the villa—every night I'd wait for those footsteps to come home. Once, it had been my only happiness in that little house.
"That money isn't for you." The voice came from above me.
I stood and turned around. Enzo wore the exact same clothes as yesterday—dark gray sweater, black pants. His stubble was a bit longer. Deep shadows circled his eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept at all.
"It's for the child." His tone was low, but his expression unusually gentle and firm. "Whether you forgive me or not, I'm this baby's father. I have a responsibility to provide for the child's future. You can hate me, you can keep me away, but you can't take away my rights as a father."
I noticed his hands hung at his sides, fingers slightly curled.
Scabbed wounds covered his knuckles—from hitting something or being cut by something.
Under his left sleeve, bandages wrapped around his arm, pink seeping through the edges.
He had several injuries I'd never seen before.
None of these existed before I left New York.
What the hell had this man been through to end up like this?
I didn't want to think about it. But I figured breaking away from that kind of family probably cost him dearly.
I was quiet for a long time. Finally, I put the envelope in my bag.
Then, without warning, Enzo pulled me into his arms again. His arms circled my back, holding tight, so tight I could barely breathe. My face pressed against his chest. I could hear his heartbeat.
I struggled hard, but eventually gave up.
This was probably our last embrace, our last meeting.
At that thought, I couldn't help feeling sad.
"I fucked everything up." His voice came from above my head, muffled and hoarse. "I was greedy. I thought I could run an empire and keep you hidden, thought I could have both power and you. But I was too greedy. Being greedy meant losing it all."
My hand stopped on his chest. My eyes started burning again. Before meeting Enzo, I never realized what a crier I was.
"Chloe," he spoke almost against my hair, every word breathy, like he was afraid speaking louder would shatter someone's heart. "Give me one more chance. Please."
Please.
When that word left his mouth, my eyes welled up. Tears finally fell.
Damn it, I didn't want to feel sorry for him. I shouldn't feel sorry for him. But I couldn't help it.
I thought about those things he'd mentioned so casually.
How did he give up everything? He said it like it was nothing, but I knew every single thing meant gambling with his life.
How did he get that bandage on his left arm?
How many nights did he stay awake to earn those dark circles?
I could barely control my voice from asking.
He'd thrown away everything he'd built in New York and run alone to this nowhere town—for me.
The old Enzo Falcone wasn't like this. He was strong, proud, and never bowed to anyone.
But still, I couldn't say yes. Last time I gave him my heart, what did I get? Lies. Imprisonment. Watching the man I loved marry someone else in a church. If I trusted him again and got hurt again, I'd break completely.
I didn't hug him back.
I waited for his arms to slowly loosen, then stepped back and shook my head.
Enzo watched me shake my head. His lips pressed tight. But he didn't ask. He took a deep breath—his chest seemed to tremble.
"I'll wait," he said. "However long it takes. I'll be a good father. I'll prepare a warm home for the child. No matter how much time you need to forgive me, I'll wait."
Then he looked at me for a long time. With that infinitely gentle gaze. Then turned and left, taking part of my heart with him.
I stood in the doorway watching him disappear around the corner.
Then I closed the door, went inside, sat on the couch, and stared at the ceiling.
I replayed everything we'd had in my mind.
Actually, I understood him. I really did. His obsession with power came from Carmine's pressure. Choosing the alliance marriage with Valentina was practically the only path in that world. We were both people damaged by our parents. He expressed love through control; I protected myself by running.
What we were best at happened to be what the other feared most.
This understanding made me ache, but understanding didn't equal forgiveness.
He could've told me the truth. Could've sat down before the wedding and talked to me properly.
Could've let me make my own choice. But he didn't. Again and again, he chose deception; again and again, he chose to decide for me.
He treated me like something that needed protecting, not a person with the right to know the truth.
That was the most painful part. Not the betrayal itself—that from start to finish, he never treated me as his equal.
Whatever. It was over. He was gone. This was the best outcome.
I wasn't in the mood for work. I called Grandma Ruth to take the day off. She just said "okay" and hung up. I loved that about her—never pried, always gave me maximum respect.
During the day, I took the envelope out of my bag and put it back three times. But in the afternoon, I finally put the bank card and property deed in the deepest drawer, covered them with old magazines. Out of sight, out of mind.
It rained that evening.
At first just a light drizzle, tapping softly on the windows. I ate something, showered, changed into pajamas, and got into bed. My belly felt heavy, forcing me to lie on my side. When I turned over, I was as clumsy as a beached whale.
The baby kicked twice inside. Lately, it had been more active, its schedule like someone on another planet—always livelier at night. I rubbed my belly and said, "Be good, Mama needs to sleep."
Then I actually drifted off, until a sharp pain jolted me awake.
That intense contraction surging from deep in my lower abdomen made my heart leap. I looked down and saw a dark stain spreading across my nightgown, seeping quickly along the fabric.
My water broke.
Damn it, I wasn't even at my due date yet. At least three weeks early.
Outside, the drizzle had turned into a downpour. Thunder rolled from the distance, one crash after another. Lightning flooded the room in harsh white light. My hand trembled toward the phone on the nightstand. I dialed emergency services.
No signal.
I tried again. Still nothing. The storm had cut communications.
I didn't give up. I tried Grandma Ruth's number, Mrs. Douglas's number, and every number I had saved. Same result every time. Unable to connect.
Fear poured over me like ice water. I was alone in this house, rain pouring outside, phone useless, the baby pushing to come out. My mouth filled with the taste of blood—I'd bitten through my lip.
When the next contraction hit, my body arched uncontrollably. The pain nearly made me black out. I slid off the bed onto the floor, back against the bed frame, legs curled up, nails digging into my palms. The bottom of my nightgown was soaked through. A small puddle pooled on the floor.
I was going to die. Me and the baby both. When that thought exploded in my head, my whole body shook. My teeth chattered, hands and feet numb with cold.
I tried to crawl to the door. Maybe I could crawl next door for help. Maybe Mrs. Douglas was back? Or someone else outside. My fingers clawed at the floor, dragging myself forward, but another contraction slammed into me. The pain nearly robbed me of all movement.
I lay on the floor, face pressed against the cold wood, tasting tears and blood mixed together.
That's when the door crashed open.
The sound of rain instantly flooded the room. A figure rushed in, soaked to the bone, clothes plastered to his body, hair stuck to his forehead, water streaming down his jawline.
Enzo.
Enzo, who should've already left.
When he burst in, his shoes slipped on the wet floor, and he dropped to one knee. His eyes swept the room and found me curled on the floor. The color drained from his rain-soaked face.
"Chloe!"
Enzo lunged so fast I couldn't even react. His arms slid under my knees and back, lifting me completely. My hands instinctively grabbed his collar. His entire chest was ice-cold with rain, but his arms were warm—even through the soaked clothes I could feel that living heat.
"My water broke," my voice shook unrecognizably. "The phone wouldn't work. I was alone. I didn't know what to do."
"I know." He pulled me tighter against him. His heartbeat pressed against my ear, racing, but his voice stayed low and steady. "I'm here. I'm here, Chloe. Don't think about anything. Leave it to me."
After experiencing that helpless terror, falling into this embrace, all the resilience and defenses I'd been clinging to completely collapsed. All the tangled resentments between us got shoved aside.
"Why did you come back now..." I broke down in his arms, screaming, tears smearing his collar. "The power's out, the phone's dead... I thought me and the baby were going to die here. I was so scared, Enzo!"
Enzo didn't flinch. He let my fingers dig into his skin. He just held me tighter, his broad palm cradling the back of my head.
Another violent contraction slammed through me. I gasped and buried my face deep in his burning chest.
"Deep breaths. Look at me, Chloe. I'm here. Nothing's going to happen to you or the baby." Enzo kissed the top of my head, soothing me gently.
Feeling his strong, steady heartbeat and his arms wrapped tight around me, I pathetically found an unprecedented sense of security in the arms of the man I'd desperately tried to escape.
As if as long as he was here, nothing in this world could hurt me or my child.
Enzo didn't waste another second. He grabbed a thick coat nearby, wrapped it securely around my soaked, shivering body, and held me firmly in his arms.
Then he scooped me up, using his broad shoulders to shield me from the wind and cold, kicked the door open, and without hesitation carried me straight into the howling storm.