Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Enzo
Chloe stopped telling me to leave.
Every time she tried, I'd just pretend to comply, duck out of sight for a while, then drift back to her side. After everything that had happened, I couldn't let her and the baby out of my sight.
Chloe needed me. Just as I needed her.
I wasn't naive enough to think she'd forgiven me. But lately, things between us had eased. A little.
I rented a small place in town, not too close to her rental, not too far. The house was tiny—one bedroom, one living room, a kitchen faucet that dripped nonstop, windows with weather stripping so old the wind leaked right through. Compared to my penthouse in New York, it was a joke.
But it had one thing going for it. From the balcony, I could see straight into Chloe's place.
For me, that was enough.
Chloe went back to work not long after the birth. The old lady who ran the flower shop offered to help watch the baby and show her the ropes. First-time mom, hands full—having someone like that was a gift.
I thought about offering to hire a nanny. I worked up the nerve, knocked on her door, but she shut me down before I could get a word out.
So every morning at eight sharp, I showed up at Ruth's flower shop. It was the only way I could get close to the woman I loved. The baby stayed in a makeshift nursery in the back, though. I hardly ever saw her.
I pushed through the door. Chloe stood behind the counter, apron tied neatly, hair pulled back, expression no different than it was for any other customer.
"What do you want?"
"White daisies."
"Twelve dollars."
"Thanks."
Four lines. Every day. Not a word more.
I paid, took the flowers, turned, and walked out. Next day, same thing. Third day. Fourth. Fifth. Same conversation, same expression, same distance.
At first, Chloe would deliberately ignore me.
But Ruth and Noah were too curious. The second they started talking to me, Chloe would shove the flowers into my hands and push me out the door.
Not that it worked. Ruth and Noah clearly knew by now that Chloe and I weren't exactly strangers.
Noah figured it out fast after he helped Chloe once, brushed her hand, and caught my death glare. He backed off after that.
Seemed he was smarter than that bastard Liam.
But no matter how obvious it was, even if everyone knew Chloe's identity was strange, even if they could tell there was something between her and this guy who showed up every day, no one said a word. Chloe was happy to play dumb. She didn't want me using her real name. She liked this identity.
Fine. I'd let her have it.
Just being able to see her standing there, alive and breathing, was enough to make me happy.
Hell, it was the happiest I'd ever been. My life had never felt this good.
Two weeks passed.
At eight, like clockwork, I walked into the shop. The bell chimed when I pushed the door open. No one behind the counter.
I stepped forward. Heard sounds coming from the back room. The baby was crying. Chloe's voice, frantic, cut through the wails.
"Okay, okay, stop crying. Mama's here. What's wrong? Are you hungry? Did you wet yourself?"
The baby didn't care. She cried harder. I knew Chloe hated me getting near the baby, but hearing those sharp, desperate cries—I couldn't help it. Before I knew what I was doing, I was around the counter, standing in the doorway of the little back room.
Chloe held the baby in one arm, the other hand rifling through the bag on the table, looking for the bottle.
Stuff clattered to the floor. Her hair had slipped loose from the tie, hanging half-down, apron smudged with some kind of white powder.
She looked wrecked. When she saw me in the doorway, she froze.
Her lips parted, closed. She probably wanted to say, "How did you get back here?
" or "Get out", but the baby's screams drowned out whatever she might've said.
I walked over and took the baby from her arms.
Emily was so small. My two hands could hold her entire body. Her face was red, mouth wide open, sobbing in jagged gasps. I held her against my chest, one hand covering her back, patting gently, slowly.
I didn't know why I knew how to do this. I'd never held a baby before. But something guided my hands—how to support her head, how to angle her so she rested against my heartbeat.
Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was all those sleepless nights I'd spent flipping through Chloe's baby catalog. There was a page about soothing newborns, correct holding positions, illustrations included. I must've memorized it without meaning to.
Emily's cries softened. Her face was still flushed, but her mouth slowly closed. Her tiny fist grabbed onto my sweater collar, gripping tight. She pressed her face against my chest, made a few muffled sounds, then went quiet.
I looked down at her. Her lashes were long, wet, and clumped together from crying. Her nose was small, just like Chloe's. Her fingernails were smaller than grains of rice, but she held onto my sweater with surprising strength.
This was my daughter.
I bit down hard, forced the surge of emotion back down. I couldn't cry in front of Chloe. Not again. Once was enough.
No girl wanted a man who cried all the time. I couldn't believe I'd done it before. I never thought that kind of judgment would apply to me.
But this feeling—I couldn't describe it. I'd never held something that trusted me completely. My hands had been stained with blood, signed death warrants, pulled triggers. But I'd never held a baby.
Chloe stood beside me, still holding the empty bottle. She didn't say anything. Just watched. Her gaze moved from my face to Emily's, then back to mine.
There was something soft in that look. Even if it was just wishful thinking on my part.
From that day on, I was allowed to hold Emily. Not every day. Not for as long as I wanted. But when Chloe got overwhelmed, she'd shift slightly, open up a space, give me a chance to take the baby. She never said a word. But that shift was her silent permission.
I treated every moment like it might be the last. Holding her five extra minutes today was a win.
Chloe's mouth curving slightly while watching me with the baby was progress.
When she handed me the bottle and our fingers brushed, even if it was only a tenth of a second, it was enough to replay in my head all night on the walk home.
Our relationship was moving faster than I'd expected. To keep things smooth, I had Luca, who'd just quit and followed me to this town, hire people to come buy flowers every day.
Ruth was too old, and Chloe had just given birth. Noah only helped out occasionally. So when I volunteered, hauling the heavy planters quickly became my job. It wasn't exactly a scheme. I was just a decent boss making sure my employees brought their girlfriends flowers to keep things happy.
Business picked up. I blended into the little flower shop and became employee number two.
But my presence also raised Noah's suspicions.
"Hey, Enzo." He said my name casually, like we'd known each other for ten years. "I've been meaning to ask. What did you do before this?"
I looked up from the cooler. "Before this?"
"Your job. I saw those scars on your arms when you were moving the flowers. You ex-military?"
Chloe's hands stilled behind the counter where she was wrapping a bouquet. Clearly listening.
"Something like that." I stood and pushed the last bucket of lilies into the cooler. "Close enough."
"Which branch? Iraq or Afghanistan?"
"Noah." Grandma Ruth's voice drifted from the workroom in back. Not loud, but carrying enough weight to shut her grandson up. "If someone doesn't want to talk about something, don't push. What did I teach you when you were little?"
"Just asking won't kill anyone," Noah muttered, but he changed the subject. "So what's the deal with you and Gray? You're here every day. Come on. You're here for her, aren't you?"
"He's a customer." Chloe's voice cut in from behind the counter, cold. She didn't look up. Her flower shears snipped sharply. "A customer who buys so many damn flowers I put him to work for free."
Noah looked at me, then at Chloe. His mouth twitched. "Free labor. Uh-huh."
"Noah!" Grandma Ruth appeared in the doorway, holding a bundle of trimmed rose stems. "That box of carnations in back isn't going to unpack itself. Go. Stop getting in the way."
"How am I in the way?"
"Every way. Go."
Noah grumbled under his breath but obeyed under his grandmother's stare and headed to the back. Watching Noah and Ruth bicker, Chloe let out a faint smile.
Though the second she noticed me watching, she killed it.
Looked like if I wanted forgiveness, I'd need to haul a lot more flowers.
Work ended late today. I walked to the window, habit pulling my eyes toward Chloe's place. Her living room light was on. Shadows moved behind the curtains. Probably putting Emily down.
Then my gaze shifted to the main road at the edge of town.
A black SUV sat by the gas station at the entrance. It had been sitting there for fifteen minutes before it finally pulled away. I'd never seen that car in this town before.
Maybe just tourists passing through. Blackhill got out-of-towners sometimes. But my gut told me otherwise. After thirty years in this business, instinct was the weapon that kept me alive. It had never lied to me.
The next day, the SUV came back. Same spot, same time frame. Stayed twelve minutes, then left. Third day, it returned. This time, it parked closer to the center of town.
I snapped a photo of the plates and sent it to Luca.
His reply came four hours later. He'd traced the registration to a company called Blue Ridge Investments.
On paper, they did real estate development.
But Luca dug through the ownership structure and found three layers of shell companies.
At the bottom was a link to a guy named Marcello, one of Julian's men.
Marcello handled Julian's money laundering.
Huh. Julian.
I gave him everything. I thought that would be enough.
But clearly, as long as I was still breathing, Julian's seat would never feel secure.
People in the family knew who the real king was.
Even if that king had stepped down. As long as I had breath in my lungs, Julian would never sit easy in that chair.
He wouldn't let me go. And he wouldn't let Chloe and Emily go either.
But what really set off alarm bells wasn't Julian himself. I knew his crew—bunch of drunken idiots. I could handle them alone.
But these weren't Julian's men. This was Carmine Elite Squad style.
That unit was made up of veterans Carmine brought back from Palermo in the nineties.
Every single one had seen combat and had kills under their belt. Once they took a contract, there was no backing out. Even if the client died, they'd see it through. I'd trained with them when I was younger. I knew their tactical manual by heart. Which also meant they knew my habits, my playbook.
Julian had called them in. He was using Carmine's old connections and resources. This wasn't an impulse. He'd thought it through. He was going to rip me and everyone around me out by the roots in one move.
I walked to the dim window. The warm yellow light in Chloe's little window had just gone out.
She'd probably put Emily to sleep and gone to bed herself. She had no idea that on the edge of this quiet town, trained killers were lurking in the shadows like snakes.
I would never let that filth touch her or my daughter again.
Even if I had to trade my life for theirs.