8. Enzo
“Queen of hearts,”Mateo utters, surprised at the card Sin just dealt me.
It’s as if he’s never played poker with me before.
Pissed, his cards go flying onto the pile. Followed by Dillon’s and Dante’s as they bitch below their breaths.
I sit there, smiling. Not because I’m about to win this hand, with only Smoke left in the game, but because they’re all here. In one room. My brothers.
And I know the dangers. After our father’s disappearance, we made a pact to never be in one spot—not all of us. But the truth is, despite the risks, I’m too drained to care and too relieved to put up a fight.
And with them surrounding me, their protective presence and animal warmth all around, it’s obvious that they’re all here for me.
It’s also obvious that Father Malone’s gossip game is stronger than TMZ’s.
Which means I owe him a whole case of cigars because I’ve missed them. So much so that most days, the ache in my chest is hard and intense, and it feels like it’s crushing me from the inside out.
With a consoling pat on Mateo’s back, Smoke grins. “Don’t worry. He may have won the hand, but he lost the war with”—he motions to my face—“a frying pan? Or was it your little lady friend?”
“Apparently, he likes it rough,” Dillon winks.
And just like that, Bella comes to mind, instantly consuming my thoughts.
Would she like it fast and rough? Or torturously slow? I’ve had sex so many ways and with so many women, the act has become bland and emotionless. To the point where pleasing them has become an afterthought.
Sad, but true.
And yes, I’m a total asshole. So sue me.
Many women have.
But Kennedy stirs something in me I can’t quite put my finger on. Or carve out. It’s odd because I’m well acquainted with lust, and that’s not it. Even obsession somehow falls short.
It’s not about her luscious ass or gorgeous, fuckable tits though the glorious thought of riding either of them has me adjusting in my seat. And don’t even get me started on the intoxicating scent of her cunt.
It’s her lips.
So full, so inviting, begging to be kissed.
And her eyes, deep and mysterious, like two pools of temptation I want to drown in.
And that damn freckle—a taunting little heart-shaped mark stamped on her neck—teasing me, tempting me to touch it every chance I get.
Facts are facts. I want her.
Even now, I’m crawling out of my skin, starved for one touch—one taste. It’s like the damned woman has somehow managed to rewire my desires at their most basic, primal level.
I breathe through the strain in my pants. So, this is what a voodoo hex feels like.
Another flash of her legs spread eagle and my tongue licking up her flesh sends a surge of need through me so strong I grit my teeth.
Out of nowhere, a poker chip flicks me in the nose.
I blink out of my sex-fogged mind to find my brothers and Sin all staring at me.
I straighten up. “What?”
“It’s your turn,” Sin says.
Dillon leans into him. “Maybe he has a concussion.”
Smoke angles his gaze, piercing his crystal-blue eyes at my head as he assesses me. Considering he’s got more medical knowledge than anyone would ever suspect, when his brow pinches to a knot, for a moment, a flicker of concern crosses my mind.
Then, with a hint of amusement, he clears his throat. “I’m pretty sure it’s nothing. Just his head shoved up his ass,” he says, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
I smirk back, ignoring his comment because the jerk is about to pay. Fifty grand should be more than enough to wipe that smug D’Angelo grin off his face.
I push my stack of chips to the center of the table. “Call.”
“Damn it,” Smoke grumbles, flicking his cards down with a frustrated sigh. I gather my chips, feeling a rush of triumph.
But the satisfaction of winning is short-lived as Smoke takes a leisurely sip of his scotch, pointing a glass in my direction. “You gonna talk, or do we have to pound it out of you?”
All eyes are on me as Dillon crosses his arms, Mateo pounds his fist, and Dante reaches for a baseball bat. Seriously?
And, as usual, Sin simply stands by and watches, likely recording the whole thing for hours of endless amusement. And to make Trinity laugh.
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t give us that shit,” Smoke says, refilling my glass. “You’re hurt. So, we’re here. Something we agreed never to do unless it was urgent. And”—he holds up his glass—“we’re all drinking scotch, which we hate, for you, prick. Now talk.”
I drink, hoping glass number three will quell the dull ache suddenly attacking my head. Then, I talk. “Unless I become Uncle Andre’s puppet, he’ll petition the court to declare our father dead.”
Smoke’s words come out tense. Strained. “Tell me he can’t do it, Sin.”
Sin removes his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose, determined to rein in the frustration bleeding from every line of his face. “The laws of Illinois say anyone can petition the court. But without evidence or a body—” He cuts himself off.
Our father is alive. He has to be.
Dillon’s fury explodes as his fist slams into the pile of chips, sending them flying across the room. “It’s bad enough that our father’s missing. But if he’s declared dead—without a body—we’ll lose every ally we have.”
“We own half of Chicago,” Smoke argues. “And our international footprint covers most of the globe. They can’t just pick us off, one by one.”
“You mean unless we all become spineless, ball-less doormats,” Dante spits out, swinging the bat through the air with a sharp whoosh. “Like Enzo.”
“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about since I’m pretty sure you’ve been ball-less since birth.” I press the cool crystal glass to my head, praying it quells the throbbing.
Sin’s patience wears thin. “Yes. That’s it. Laugh it up as Andre imagines the next dozen ways he’ll demolish this family.” His stern gaze falls on me. “None of this explains the condition of your face. With Andre’s manicure, I doubt he did that.”
I hate what I’m about to say. Mostly because they’ll never let me live it down. “It was Rocco.”
Dillon’s hand flies up. “Hang on. Rocco? The man is slow as dirt. Not to mention you shot him in the hand.” Dillon sniffs the air around me. “Someone smells like a big, fat liar. Which means it’s about a woman.”
Mateo shakes his head. “I distinctly remember Enzo saying we weren’t going to war over a girl, and yet, look at him. The battered face of war.”
I clench my jaw, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “It’s a complication I’m dealing with,” I insist, my voice edged with stay out of my fucking business. “I just need a week.”
“This girl has an expiration date, does she?” Smoke asks, unconvinced.
“Something like that.” When all eyes fix on me, I add, “I’m taking care of it.” My features harden enough that this is the point in the conversation they know not to pry further.
Well, everyone knows that but Dillon because he lives to poke the bear. He pats me on the shoulder. “Gonna fuck her and forget her?” He nods in agreement. “That’s what I would do.”
I glare up at him. “Considering you’d only be pounding two inches of man meat into her, I’m sure it would be easy for both of you to forget.”
Smoke raises a brow, suddenly suspicious. “Tell me you’re not leaving town.”
Leaving town... hmm. Maybe that’s exactly what I need. A little breathing space.
I’ve been pushing myself to the brink for months, running on fumes. I can’t remember the last time I had sex.
I mean, before Kennedy.
Fingering still counts as sex, right?
Assuming it does, that makes exactly twice in the past several months. Twice!
Once in my car as Kennedy’s tight little cunt came like Niagara Falls all over my hand. And once when her delectably tight pussy came right on my tongue.
Before I spent my days building empires and my nights taking down the sworn enemies of my father, twice an hour sex was more like it.
I let out a breath, resentment boiling in my veins. I could be having round-the-clock sex with Bella right this very minute if Andre hadn’t fucked it all up for me.
He called her a gift?
More like a curse.
Kennedy was his way of twisting the knife that much more. And a blaring reminder that whenever his path crossed mine, there were only two ways out...
Death or destruction.
And frankly, destruction was ranking lower and lower each time I had to look at his face.
Which left death.
My uncle has slipped through death’s fingers so many times the bastard seems indestructible.
But if I make a move and fail, retribution will be swift and merciless, spelling death for at least one of my brothers, if not more.
I can’t afford to lose them.
I study their faces and sip my drink. They’re already poised to breathe down my neck and scrutinize my every move. If I stay, they’ll hound my every move because they’re overprotective and nosy as fuck.
Which means leaving town is sounding better by the minute.
Plus, getting away from Kennedy is less of a bad idea and more like common sense. Everything about her is a distraction.
Doe eyes.
Lush lips.
Juicy fucking tits.
Gah...
I need to create some distance between us, and I need to do it now. For good. “As a matter of fact, I am leaving town,” I say, decidedly.
Smoke snaps a stern finger at me. “Now, you listen to me, fucker. My wedding is just around the corner. My bride is a nervous wreck and my future in-laws are twitchy, trigger-happy, and armed to the hilt. They will literally kill me if we go to war.”
I chuckle, rubbing my scruff with an evil grin. “So, you’re demanding I go to war.”
“I mean it,” he threatens.
Mateo smacks me in the chest. “At least, don’t go to war without us.”
“Do I look suicidal?” I ask.
Dante gives me a good once-over. “More like a deranged psychopath.”
I hold out a hand his way. “A deranged psychopath who needs a car.”
Dante narrows his eyes. “Why can’t you use your car?”
“Because Uncle Andre has eyes all over Chicago, and I don’t need him stalking my every move.”
“What you need is a size fourteen Armani shoe up your ass if you so much as breathe wrong on my two-week-old Aston Martin.”
Smoke’s phone lights up, playing a music box version of “Here Comes the Bride,” and we all roll our eyes as he answers. “Give me one minute, gattina.” His voice is soft and gushy and so unlike him, I gag.
Smoke places the phone on mute and directs his next words straight at me. “Do not go to war. Do not get killed. And for fuck’s sake, don’t even think about letting Uncle Andre fist you up the ass until you’re his puppet. No pussy is worth that.”
“Says the man chasing his own golden pussy around like a whipped puppy,” I reply. Thanks for the visual, by the way.
Clearly unimpressed, he hardens his glare. “What you and your dick do with this girl or all the other women on the planet, I don’t care. If you’re late for my wedding, I’ll kill you myself.”
“Rest assured, my dick, along with the rest of me, will happily show up on time to hand your ass off,” I retort with a smirk.
Satisfied with my response, he downs the rest of his drink and takes off, apparently on call twenty-four seven for his young bride-to-be. Which I suspect is less about fucking her up a wall and more because she’s pregnant.
At least, I think she’s pregnant with how her tits have blown up like party balloons.
“I can’t believe he’s marrying her,” Dillon says, dumbfounded.
Mateo nods in agreement. “I always thought the only marriage he was heading for was with his right hand.” He mimes jerking off as we all snicker.
Sin interjects, his voice slicing through our laughter like a surgeon’s scalpel. “Now that Smoke’s gone, let’s hear more about you, Enzo. And this girl you’re fascinated with. Usually, when it comes to women, you have the attention span of a horny squirrel.”
“It must be serious,” Dante probes.
Once again, all eyes are on me, their curiosity inescapable. I know my brothers. Their questions become a relentless hydra. For each one I deflect, two spawn in its place.
They’re hungry for details about why I’m so hung up on a woman, and I’m grasping at those straws myself.
Why am I fascinated with Kennedy Luciano?
The hell if I know.
Just as Dante playfully waves the bat at me, a mock threat to talk, or else, my phone buzzes. Saved by the bell.
Relieved for a lifeline out of this hellhole before the Spanish inquisition begins, I glance at the screen.
Striker
We have him.
I smile. Thankfully for me, Smoke’s appetite for blood has waned. And I need to focus on absolutely anything but Bella and the thousand depraved ways I want to devour her.
I reply with a quick text and stand.
Enzo
On my way
I pocket my phone as my thirst for blood kicks in. “As much as I’d love to welcome you all into the dark corners of my mind, duty calls,” I say.
In a rush, I make my way to the door. I’m practically drooling like a werewolf eyeing a lone jogger after dusk. Anything to get away from this.
“Hot date?” Dante needles.
“As a matter of fact, yes. My fist has a date with a man’s skull.”
Dillon can’t resist piling on. “All torture and no sex makes Enzo a dull boy,” he tsks.
But it’s Mateo who hits me like a Mack truck with his words, stopping me in my tracks. “If she means something to you—anything at all—we’ve got your back, bro.”
He cares.
They all care, and it’s suffocating.
The thought of losing them—any of them—because I fucked up and had to have my cake and eat it, too, is too much.
I blow out a breath and say two words, hoping to convince them as much as myself. “She doesn’t.”