Chapter 9 Livia #2
A sudden movement outside a window catches my eye, “Jesus Christ,” I call out and I freeze. For a split second, panic grips me, but then I realize it's just a guard on patrol, his silhouette barely visible in the moonlight.
As I continue down the hallway, I now can't shake the unsettling feeling of being watched. Guards everywhere. 24/7.
I know Enzo presents these men as being here to protect me, but I haven't accepted it yet. Their presence only reminds me of my captivity. I'm safe from outside threats, sure, but it's not like I was in danger before arriving.
I round a corner and spot the suite at the end of the hall. Two guards stand at attention on either side of the door, their faces stern and bodies rigid.
As I approach, one of them shifts to open the door for me. "Good evening, Miss Falcone," he says, his voice dry and emotionless.
I don't know what to say, so I simply nod as I pass them, stepping into the suite. A dimly lit hallway leads into the bedroom, and I follow it, trying to make as little noise as possible. The door closes behind me so silently I do a double take just to make sure it's even closed.
When I come into the main bedroom area, it's dark, and my eyes are slow to adjust. I don't hear anything, and the lump of darkness I see on the bed I assume to be Enzo sleeping. I breathe a sigh of relief. The last thing I need right now is another confrontation.
I make my way towards the en-suite bathroom. My hand reaches for the doorknob, but before I can turn it, the door swings open.
"Oh, fuck!" I call out, stumbling back, the words exit my mouth before I can stop them.
Enzo stands there, shirtless, water droplets clinging to his skin. He's just stepped out of the shower, a towel slung low on his hips.
Our eyes lock, and for a moment, neither of us moves.
I should look away. I should turn around and leave. But I can't. My eyes are drawn to him, taking in every detail against my will.
His chest is chiseled, broad, and muscular - tapering down to his rippled six-pack abs and narrow waist. His arms are thick, his biceps tense, and his skin marked by a few faint scars that hint at a rough past. There's an undeniable power and raw physicality to him that makes my body start to tingle.
And then there are the tattoos.
Over his heart, there's an intricate family crest, the lines sharp and bold against his skin.
On his upper right arm, a lion wearing a crown stares out fiercely, as if challenging anyone who dares to look upon it.
Along his collarbone, elegant Italian script reads "Onore e lealtà"—honor and loyalty.
But it's the raven on the left side of his chest that truly captures my attention. Its wings are spread in flight, the detail so fine I can almost see each individual feather. There's something haunting about it.
I realize I'm staring, my eyes tracing the lines of his body with an intensity that shocks me. My heart is pounding in my chest so loudly I'm sure he must be able to hear it. I feel the flush creeping up my neck, and my mouth suddenly feels dry.
I have to swallow hard before I can speak.
"I... I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were in here," I stammer, averting my gaze.
Enzo's lips curl into a smirk. "Clearly," he says, his voice low and deep.
I should leave.
I know I should, but my feet seem rooted to the spot, my body betraying me in the worst possible way.
Enzo takes a step toward me. He's close now, so close I can smell the clean scent of his soap.
"See something you like, cara mia?" he asks, his voice a low.
I open my mouth to retort, but no words come out. I shouldn't be reacting this way—he's the enemy, but his raw masculinity, his undeniable allure, it's overpowering.
"I... I thought you were asleep," I finally manage to say, hating how weak my voice sounds, how rattled my thoughts are.
"You know," he says, leaning in close, his breath hot against my ear, "if you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was ask."
That snaps me out of my daze.
"Please," I say with a scoff. "I was just going to wash my face and change."
Enzo steps aside. "I'll dress out here, you can have it all to yourself."
I don’t hesitate and all but flee into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I lean against it, my heart still racing, my skin still flushed.
Get it together, Livia, I think to myself. Don't let him get to you. Sure, he may make Jake look like a scrawny little man, but Jake isn't a mobster.
I take a few deep breaths and then ready myself for bed.
I step out of the bathroom, my body still tingling from our earlier encounter. Enzo sits on the edge of the bed, looking at his phone. He glances up at me, our eyes meeting for a split second before I look away.
I glance at the chaise lounge where I napped earlier. I feel it's best to sleep there, putting some distance between Enzo and myself.
But before I can even take two steps, Enzo's deep voice calls out. "And where do you think you're going?"
I pause, my back to him. "I'm sleeping on the chaise," I answer, trying to keep my voice neutral.
He laughs. "I don't think so, cara mia. You'll sleep in our bed."
His tone leaves no room for argument, but I try anyway. I turn to face him. "I'd rather not," I say, defiance rising in my tone.
"It wasn't a request," he says. "This is our room, our bed. You will sleep here, with me."
I know it's futile to fight him on this. Despite my protests, he's made it clear that he's calling the shots.
The thought of being in such close proximity to him is—I'm not sure how to explain it.
I remind myself of the effort he's putting into my studies and realize it's not worth the fight.
With a resigned sigh, I nod slightly and make my way to the bed. Enzo watches as I gather a few pillows and start building a makeshift wall between us. It’s a flimsy barrier, but it gives me a sense of control.
"What are you doing now?" he asks, eyebrow raised.
"Making sure we stay on our own sides," I reply, not looking up at him.
He chuckles but doesn't stop me. I finish my barrier and climb into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin and turning away from him.
The mattress dips as Enzo settles in on his side. I feel him shift closer, almost on purpose, and suddenly his arm brushes against my pillow wall. A jolt of electricity shoots through me at the brief contact.
"You know," he growls close to my ear, "these pillows will have to come down eventually."
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my body not to react to his proximity. "Not tonight, they won't."
"For now, Livia, for now."
The room falls into silence, broken only by our breaths.
I lay there, staring into the dark, unable to shake the image of Enzo’s chiseled body from my mind.
I try to think of anything other than the man lying next to me, but it's useless. The way his skin glistened with water droplets, the tattoos etched into him. I can almost feel the heat of his skin, the firmness of his muscles, and then there’s the way the towel hung low on his hips, leaving little to the imagination.
It’s infuriating how much this affects me.
I quickly lean into my analytical side. I tell myself that it's just biology, a natural response to an attractive member of the opposite sex. I tell myself that it doesn't mean anything, that it doesn't have to change anything.
But a rush of heat floods through me, throwing anything analytical out the window. I press my face into the pillow, confused with myself. How can my body betray me like this? I shouldn't be attracted to him.
But I am.
God help me, I am.
I shift restlessly, trying to find a comfortable position. But no matter how I lie, I can't escape the awareness of Enzo's body just inches away from mine.
I hate this, I think to myself. I hate the way he makes me feel.
I lie awake for hours, torn between desire and indecision, unable to silence the war raging inside me. When sleep finally comes, it's filled with dreams of tattooed skin and dark blue eyes, chipping away at my defenses, whether I like it or not.