Chapter 23 Enzo
ENZO
Ipulled the trigger, not giving a fuck what this piece of shit had to say to me. Dante let me deal with my shit on my own, but if the person owed the underground, I swore to bring them in.
This was a low-level Russian piece of shit that the Bratva had sent. I was sure of it. Getting caught trying to break into my warehouse was a very bad fucking idea. They’d been trying to regain their footing for ages now, but we kept knocking them back down.
It was a death sentence as he quickly found out.
Their new management was shit.
“You know,” Cole said, pushing off the wall he was leaning against as I walked past, wiping the blood from my face. “You could keep these fucks around for a bit before ending them.”
“What’s the point?” I muttered. “I have better shit to do tonight than to listen to some cunt beg me to spare him while swearing he didn’t know it was my warehouse.”
“Whatever. Can we go home?”
“Yeah.” I led us outside as my men did cleanup. I’d just purchased a crematory, so things were looking good in the disposal aspect of my career.
We got into my SUV and let Dmitri drive us back to the house. Neither of us spoke until we got inside.
“I’ll be back. Going to shower,” I said.
Cole grunted a reply, which I assumed meant he was going to shower too.
I went to my bathroom and turned on the water before stripping out of my clothes. I groaned beneath the warm spray, the water soothing my troubled soul.
Not wanting to stay in too long, I quickly washed, got out, and put on a pair of pajama bottoms, skipping the shirt.
I went downstairs and found Cole in the kitchen, wet-haired and eating cold pizza. He pushed the box at me, and I grabbed a few slices before we went to the living room and turned on the TV. We ate way too fucking much pizza.
Most of our nights were spent this way. E did a lot of work with sugar during the day while Riot played around on the piano or scribbled his funny little pictures in the book we’d picked up for him. When Riot slept, E would take photos or play the piano before heading off to bed.
He sometimes joined us when his parents would take Riot on short vacations, and, to be honest, he was a scary guy these days when it came to handling things. Quiet violence. That was E.
Tonight, he wandered in and sank onto a couch cushion, his phone in his hand. I noticed that over the last few days, he had spent a lot of time on it and had been needed at Mayfair more for work on a research project.
Cole had been struggling with E talking to some girl named Emily.
It had been a hot topic lately, but if E was happy, then so was I.
The fact that he wanted a house, yard, and even a new girl meant he really was moving forward with his life.
He didn’t seem to be pissed about the contract, which I thought he might punch me in the face over.
Instead, he took it in stride and agreed without calling me out for being a shitty friend back then.
It hurt like a bitch, though, but I knew we’d entered a new era in our lives when I’d walked out the door on Rosalie. I accepted that. Now, she was married. Life had to move forward.
“How was your night?” I asked, looking over at him.
“It was good,” he said. “Laz went to sleep early, which means he will be hell tomorrow, but I needed a little break.”
I nodded. Sounded about right.
“How many dead tonight?” E continued.
“Two. Enzo put a bullet in both of them. The third one got away. Lucky prick, I’d say,” Cole said, biting into his pizza. “You still texting that bitch?”
E shook his head as a report came on. “Man, stop.”
“CHAT has some juicy new gossip for you tonight!” The host said, her too-white teeth the forefront of her damn face. “Footage was captured last night of pop queen Bishop having a wild night with none other than Riley Parker from Fatal Promise! Is there trouble in paradise?”
We watched as a video of Rosalie sitting with this rocker guy we’d seen before came on the screen.
Rosalie laughed as they sat close to one another.
The guy was good-looking. The sort I was sure had screaming fans all over the damn place.
Why the fuck did he need Rosalie? I was still seething over him kissing her on stage.
I schooled the thought, my chest tight.
“Bishop was recently wed to her manager, Anson Beyers, but CHAT has the exclusive video of Anson crashing the cozy pair.”
An image I’d seen way too many times of Rosalie and Anson kissing showed up, her wedding ring on as she cradled his face, before another video flashed on the screen.
This one was tough to see, but it looked like Anson led her away from Riley, his hand gripping her bicep tightly as he dragged her through the crowd.
“CHAT also has information about the stalker Bishop has. The police have been searching for him after he attempted to set her tour bus on fire tonight. Rumor has it, he left a severed head in her dressing room only weeks ago. Security has been tightened around the superstar, and it looks like her husband isn’t even letting her very close friends near her.
” The host put quotes around “friends” and winked.
“CHAT is working on getting details, so stay tuned for all the juicy news!”
I turned off the TV, not wanting to see any more of it. It was bad enough she was on every fucking billboard from here to California, but she was also on TV. On the radio. Her face was on every damn magazine cover in every fucking store. I’d been to Paris and seen her on the side of a damn bus.
She was a ghost haunting me.
She was killing me with it.
I knew it wasn’t her fault, but fuck, it gutted me.
And the knowledge of her having a stalker was driving me insane.
Every guy I sent out to find this prick came up empty-handed.
No one had any idea who it was or what he wanted—he seemed just to be a crazed fan, which worried me even more.
He or she was erratic, which made them even more dangerous.
I didn’t like this shit, but there wasn’t fuck-all I could do about it but keep trying to find the fuck who was messing with her.
“I hate that motherfucker,” Cole snarled. “I knew this shit would happen. Did you see the way he was holding her? He was hurting her.”
“Relax,” I murmured, feeling the furthest thing from relaxed.
“It’s nothing,” E broke in. “With that Riley guy. It’s nothing.”
“How do you know?” Cole asked, scowling at him.
“I… just do,” E muttered.
Cole snorted. “What-the-fuck-ever. It’s about more than that rock star prick. It’s Ass Hat. Every fucking rag in this city has that goddamn image of his tongue in her mouth on the fucking cover. We need to bring her home.”
I sighed. Every few months, we had this damn conversation, and it always ended the same.
I’d say she was living her dreams, and to let her.
E would bring up how we’d even tell what happened without her hating us for all that.
His fears of her hating him. And then I’d remind myself of the deal made with Dante Church.
Lately, it had become a daily occurrence, which was why I’d told E everything about the contract.
We need to get Cole out of here before he lost his damn mind.
I’d miss the hell out of him, but he deserved to have her.
We’d never go after Rosalie.
Instead, we’d watch from afar. It sucked, but I didn’t have a chance in hell with her these days.
She didn’t need me. Hell, even after everything happened back when we split, she hadn’t needed me.
She’d plowed onward, got a job, and lived her life.
I knew for a fact the day I had her in my Escalade that she was done with me.
She’d begged me to let her go. Told me I was killing her. So I did. I let her go. Wish granted.
I knew then she’d never come back, and I was sure Church knew it too, but to ensure we never tried, he’d given us the contract.
The crushing news of her marriage confirmed she’d left me in that alley behind Merv’s diner years ago.
“The next fucking news story I’m going to hear about is her fucking pregnant by Ass Hat! He’ll take my fucking future. My baby. I’ve lost her to him, but this can be fixed! We can convince her—”
“It’s fucking over!” I shouted, getting to my feet.
“Let her go, man. Fucking hell! We don’t date.
We don’t fuck anyone. We sit around jerking one another off.
Come the fuck on! At some point, we have to realize it’s fucking over!
It’s done! We couldn’t if we wanted to. She’s married! Hell, E is talking to another girl.”
E winced at my words and looked to his lap, a sad expression on his face.
Cole got to his feet, his chest heaving. “I don’t fucking accept that. She needs us. Some motherfucker is leaving body parts in her dressing room! That’s the kind of shit we don’t just sit back and let happen. Unless you stopped loving her. Have you?”
I swallowed and looked to E, who sat forward on the couch, his green eyes locked on me. I didn’t know where E was on any of this, but because he was talking to someone new, I assumed he was done.
I sighed and stared back at Cole. “It’s over, Cole. Let her go. It’s going to make you crazy. I’m done with her. I let her go a long time ago. Maybe it’s really time to find a nice girl—”
“Fuck you.” He shoved past me and went upstairs.
I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples.
“I’m worried for her too,” E said softly.
“You know I have people looking for this prick,” I said.
“I know. But with Cole, you know how much he loves her. He always has. He doesn’t like to hear it’s over. He’s been holding on for four years, man. We all did.”
“She’s married. She married the guy who loved her endlessly. Do you think we can bring her home to us after?” I stared E down. “Do you really?”
He looked down at his hands. “No.”
His answer broke me further. Fuck. E always was the optimist, so hearing his words wasn’t what I needed to keep hope alive.
“I want her to be happy. If she is happy being married, then we should leave her to it. I just wish…” His voice trailed off. “Guess it doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t,” I said, blowing out a breath. “I accepted long ago that she was gone. I accepted this was how it would be. I-I can’t do anything about it. This is it, man. Moving on is what should happen at this point.”
E stood. “I know, but it’s hard.”
“One day at a time,” I said thickly. “And you have this Emily now. And I reached out and left a message for Church about the contract. It’s only a matter of time.”
“I… don’t. I’m just… It’s just… talking. Nothing more.”
“E, it’s OK if you like her. You deserve your happiness. Laz deserves to have some semblance of a mom in his life. If you can make it work with this girl, you should try.”
He scoffed and shook his head.
“Do you like her?” I ventured.
He gave me a sad smile. “Yeah, man. Emily is great.”
“Then go to her. Make it happen.”
He clapped me on the shoulder, looking so fucking sad it was breaking my heart.
“One day at a time, brother. I’m going to get to bed. Tomorrow will be a long day with Laz. We have that house to look at. You said you wanted a pool. This has it.” He left me and went upstairs.
I flopped back onto the couch, pulled my phone out, and stared at all the images on Rosalie’s social media, hating that I was putting myself through it. I didn’t deserve her. In fact, a fitting punishment of her being with Anson and having his kids was exactly what I should get.
It turned my stomach to think it was just around the corner. Everything I didn’t want to happen between them had happened. He married my girl. He gave her what I couldn’t. He was the one between her legs every night.
Not me.
Never me again.
It didn’t make it hurt any less, despite my deciding long ago I wasn’t worthy.
I wouldn’t burden her ever again with my bullshit. I’d vowed it to Fox at his grave one night when I’d drunk too much, and I vowed it to Dante Church when I signed the blood pact.
I was a man of my word.
Rosalie was free from me.
Forever.