Chapter 20 Enzo
They didn’t have sex.
Instead, Enzo watched as Seven stuffed himself full of pasta, cheeks puffed out like a hamster, before dramatically flopping onto the bed and groaning about feeling “bloated and gross.” Enzo had tried to bite back a smile, but he couldn’t.
Even when he whined, Enzo found Seven adorable.
He both loved and hated that his mother had taken one look at Seven and somehow just known he was it for Enzo.
Vince would never let him live it down.
Enzo had once prided himself on his self-control.
His ability to keep things compartmentalized—work, family, sex, feelings.
But somehow, this prickly porcupine of a boy had kicked in the door and demanded more.
Demanded everything—his time, his attention, his respect.
His love. He’d refused to settle for Enzo’s bullshit half-measures.
And Enzo, god help him, had risen to the occasion.
They’d crawled into bed to watch a movie, Seven’s head nestled in Enzo’s lap.
Six minutes in, he was drooling on Enzo’s thigh like a St. Bernard.
Enzo had tucked them both in, burying another smile in Seven’s hair as he mumbled into his neck that he was totally awake before promptly trying to feel Enzo up while telling him how good he smelled.
Seven was so tactile. All people used their senses to navigate the world, but Seven wanted to touch everything.
He wanted to feel it, smell it, taste it.
He wanted to savor it. Sometimes, Enzo would find him sprawled in the center of the bed, headphones in, completely blissed out, lost in whatever music floated through them.
It made Enzo more aware, too—of sounds, textures, smells.
Of how quiet his life had been before this loud, greedy, perfect boy wandered into it.
He hadn’t said anything in response to Seven’s muttering.
Just threaded his fingers through his hair and let himself enjoy it.
How right it felt. The weight of him. The soft huff of his breath against Enzo’s throat.
The nonsense he mumbled as he drifted off.
Enzo had shared his bed with plenty of bodies before.
But he’d never felt this much warmth. He’d never had this much peace.
He slept better with Seven curled around him, half draped across his chest like a possessive little heater.
The buzz of his phone across the end table jarred Enzo from sleep. He cracked one eye open, noting the light just starting to creep into the sky. It took longer than it should’ve to grab the phone and blindly swipe to answer.
“Someone better be dead,” he rasped, voice still thick with sleep.
“Wow. First, we hook your child bride up with a kickass system—in a day, no less. Now, we come to you with information that could crack this case wide open, and this is the welcome we get? Ungrateful.”
“Ansel…” Enzo growled, his tone a warning.
“Fine. Fine,” his brother chirped, way too chipper for—Enzo squinted at the screen—five-thirty in the goddamn morning. “What do you want us to do with all this information?”
“Bring it to me. Here.”
Silence stretched for a beat. “Now?” Elio whined somewhere in the background. “We’ve been up for twenty-four hours. And I have finals tomorrow.”
“Have you ever not gotten an A on an assignment since, like, kindergarten?”
Elio scoffed. “No. But that’s because our education system is a joke.”
“No, it’s because both of you are too smart for your own good. Come to the apartment. I’ll make you breakfast. You can tell us what you found.”
Enzo knew if he dangled food, they’d bite.
Still, Ansel asked, “What kind of food?”
Enzo rolled his eyes. “What kind do you want?”
“Pancakes,” one twin said as the other blurted out, “Waffles.”
“I thought twins were supposed to be in sync with each other,” Enzo said with a laugh.
Ansel scoffed. “Please, we’re fraternal twins.”
“I’m pretty sure Ansel tried to choke me out with my own umbilical cord when we were in there. The womb is surprisingly dog-eat-dog,” Elio added, now closer to the mic.
Enzo snorted. “You’re both idiots. The only person whose life was in danger was Ma’s. She had a geriatric pregnancy.”
“She’d slit your throat with a butter knife if she heard you call her that,” Ansel warned.
“It’s just a medical term, not a condemnation,” Enzo muttered. “It’s not my fault she wanted to spend her entire life pregnant. The doctor told her one more kid and he was installing a zipper where her C-section scar was. That finally made her come to her senses.”
“She couldn’t have been that bad,” Elio defended. “She’s the calmest person I know. Zen, even… unless you piss her off.”
“Yeah? Tell that to Lucky. He’s still got the scar her ring left the day she slapped him.”
“He probably deserved it. Mama doesn’t go after people without a reason. Besides, he was an adult. Well, as adult as Lucky ever is.”
Ansel wasn’t wrong. Lucky had deserved it.
“Just get here. I need to wake up Seven.”
“Ugh, fine. But you’re explaining to Mom why we skipped morning classes,” Elio grumbled. “Better yet, have Seven tell her. She likes him.”
“Are you implying she doesn’t like me?”
“Not as much as she likes Seven,” Ansel said. “She doesn’t like anyone as much as him. She hand-picked him for you. Your very own arranged marriage.”
“Laugh it up, baby brother. If it worked for me, she’s gonna think she can do it to all of you.”
Ansel gasped like the thought hadn’t occurred to him, and Enzo chuckled.
“Goodbye,” he said, disconnecting before they could continue.
He dropped his phone back on the table and collapsed onto the mattress. Seven rolled over and burrowed into his side. “You said we could have sex last night,” he grumped.
“Good morning to you, too,” Enzo said, grinning. “Did you drink so much wine you forgot the part where you ate too much, whined for an hour, then passed out drooling on my leg?”
“A gentleman wouldn’t bring that up,” Seven muttered, and then promptly sank his teeth into Enzo’s chest.
Enzo hissed and tapped his jaw, like he was trying to get a playful puppy to release a chew toy.
He flipped them, pinning Seven beneath him, caging him in with his arms. “Did you just bite me, brat?”
“What are you gonna do about it?” Seven countered, sticking out his tongue for good measure.
Enzo dropped onto his forearms, pressing his morning erection against Seven’s, grinding slow and filthy until a moan slipped out. In the dim light, he could see the way Seven looked up at him—with perfect trust.
Something Enzo had thought he’d ruined once. Something he didn’t deserve.
His chest tightened.
Seven’s expression softened, like he could feel the shift in him. He leaned up and kissed Enzo’s nose.
Enzo smiled, then returned the favor, biting it gently before drawing back.
They needed to get up, but he couldn’t stop himself from leaning in, capturing Seven’s bottom lip between his own and sucking softly.
Seven’s hips bucked, a whine escaping as he chased more. Enzo swallowed it down, but didn’t deepen the kiss. Just rocked gently against him, savoring every hitched breath and the way Seven’s fingers clung to his biceps.
When he finally pulled away, Seven tried to follow. Enzo pressed a hand to his chest, pinning him in place.
“Uh-uh. No distractions. I need to make breakfast for the IT department, who clearly spent the night mainlining sugar-free energy drinks and what’s likely a concerning number of Hot Pockets.”
“Mm.” Seven licked his lips. “Hot Pockets sound delicious.”
Enzo didn’t love dwelling on the fact that Seven was closer to his brothers’ age than his own. But it was never more obvious than in moments like this.
Most of the time, the gap blurred; Seven’s sharp tongue and street smarts aged him up. But then he said something like that, and Enzo was reminded just how young he really was. And how little he cared.
“Get up,” Enzo said. “We need to shower.”
Seven grumbled, then wrapped his arms and legs around him like a koala, refusing to let go.
“It’s cute that you think you can hold me down,” Enzo said, rising to his palms. Seven clung tighter, and Enzo took him with him until he was on his feet.
Still wrapped around him, Seven buried his face in Enzo’s neck.
“Not gonna lie,” he murmured, breath hot against his skin. “That was really hot. You’re really strong.”
Enzo shook his head. “You’re really horny.”
“I’m always horny when you’re around.”
“That sounds like a medical condition,” Enzo muttered, carrying him across the room. “We should probably get you seen by a professional.”
“I am seeing a professional,” Seven said into his neck. “You’re a lawyer. That’s a profession.”
“Pretty sure that’s not how that works,” Enzo replied as he hit the bathroom light.
Seven laughed. The sound was loose. Easy.
And Enzo couldn’t think of a better way to start the day.
Enzo had barely had his first sip of coffee when his brothers let themselves in without knocking. Typical.
They crossed the kitchen like they owned the place, and Ansel—always the dramatic one—tossed a stack of papers onto the island in front of him. Pages fanned out across the counter, rustling against his plate. Enzo frowned at the sheer volume, fork suspended halfway to his mouth.
“What is this?” he asked, voice flat, irritated.
“The smoking gun,” Elio declared, hopping his ass onto the island and sitting cross-legged like it was his personal throne. At least he’d had the decency to take his shoes off.
Enzo watched in disbelief as Elio snagged one of his pancakes and started tearing it into little rabbit-sized bites. Beside him, Seven eyed one of the Conti twins with a mix of anxiety and suspicion, clearly wondering if this circus was normal.
“Well?” Enzo snapped when the silence stretched too long. “Are you going to explain, or do we need to guess?”
Ansel, cheeks bulging with an entire waffle like some overgrown chipmunk, just jerked his chin toward Elio, eyes wide as if to say, Your turn, genius.