2. Enzo
“You sure you know what you’re doing?”
Lorenzo Conti raised a brow at his brother.
Lucian—Lucky to those who knew him—sat slouched in a chair on the other side of Enzo’s desk, his dirty boots kicked up on the corner.
He wore dark denim jeans and a black polo shirt, his gun and badge clipped to his hip.
He looked out of place in the fancy chrome and marble decor of Blackwood, Thorne it makes you an emotionally unavailable partner,” Lucky retorted.
“Thanks, Dr. Phil.”
Lucky gave him that look—the one he hated. The one where he acted like Enzo was someone to be pitied. “You’re only acting like that because you’re afraid of someone breaking your heart again.”
Enzo rolled his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time since his brother had shown up.
He wasn’t having this conversation again.
“That was ten years ago. I play with trained submissives because it’s convenient, not because I’m afraid of getting my heart broken.
If he wants a Daddy, I’m willing to train him, as long as we can come to an understanding about his expectations.
Namely, not to have any. I like him. He’s got sfacciataggine. ”
Besides, it was Seven who had run out on him, not the other way around. Seven was the one who told him not to be nice, not to treat him like he was important. Enzo wanted him to be important, he just didn’t want him getting his heart broken when Enzo inevitably disappointed him.
Lucky studied him. “Wait, you actually want to…date him?”
That wasn’t exactly what Enzo was proposing, but Lucky didn’t need to know that. Still, his brother didn’t have to be a dick about it.
Enzo’s brows furrowed together. “Why do you say that like I just said I planned to kill and eat him?”
Lucky gave a derisive snort. “Compared to dating you, cannibalism might be kinder.”
He wasn’t wrong. Hurtful, but not wrong.
Enzo grinned.
“Whatever. Your date’s biggest danger is deflating, so keep your dating advice to yourself.”
Lucky gave him a hard stare. “You’re serious. You’re gonna keep him around? You? Have you ever had a relationship that didn’t have an expiration date? At least since—”
“Have you ever had one that didn’t require an air pump?” Enzo fired back, cutting him off.
Lucky’s face turned an ugly shade of red. “For the last fucking time, I told you it was an initiation prank. I don’t fuck blow-up dolls.”
“No judgment,” Enzo said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers threading together across his flat stomach.
No amount of deflecting could make Lucky less right.
Enzo hadn’t had a serious relationship in over a decade and he didn’t plan on starting now.
That was why he played at his brother’s club.
He was married to his job. Relationships took too much of his time, and no matter how much he warned his partners in advance, they all grew too clingy, too needy.