Chapter 17
Ienter the dining room, my heels clicking against the marble floor before being quieted by the large rug. My eyes find Enzo immediately, and a smile spreads across my face before I can stop it. His reaction is instantaneous—his eyes widen, lips parting slightly as he takes me in.
He's dressed impeccably, as always, in a dark suit and tie, but there's something different about him tonight, a subtle softness in his expression as his eyes land on me.
I can practically see the gears turning in his head, processing this new side of me. "Livia," he says, his voice low and smooth. "You look stunning."
I feel a warmth spread through me at his words. "Thank you," I say, my voice soft. "I found it in the closet upstairs."
Enzo's eyebrows raise. "And heels? Wow. I'm impressed." He walks toward me, his movements fluid. My heart rate picks up as he gets closer.
Before I can respond, he reaches out and gently cups my cheek, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone. The casual, intimate gesture sends fire through me. "You look beautiful, cara mia," he whispers, then leans in and places a soft kiss on my cheek, “But then again, you always do.”
I'm caught off guard by the gesture, my skin tingling where his lips touched me, and I stare at him, my heart pounding.
We stare at each other for a moment, and I feel the looks in his eyes. Antonio enters the room and alters the energy.
"Shall we sit?" Enzo asks, pointing to my chair.
I nod, and he helps push my chair in and then takes his seat to my left. We're in silence for a few moments until Antonio leaves.
"So," I say, taking a sip of water, "how was your day?"
He waves his hand in the air. "My day? Boring. Full of meetings and making sure people do their jobs. Sometimes," he says and takes a sip of his wine, "I feel like a damn babysitter."
I offer up a genuine laugh for the first time.
"I want to hear about your day. What Victorian wonders did Livia uncover today?"
I lean over and feel as if I'm about to pour myself into his question, but then I stop.
No, this is what I always do, and what always happens.
He deflects, asks about me, and dammit, I like talking about me and my research, so he wins.
Never having to share anything about himself, all the while learning more about me.
"No. Look, Enzo. Can I just be upfront and honest with you?"
His face morphs into something resembling confusion and surprise. "Livia, I'm shocked. Did you just ask if you can unleash your fiery spirit on me?"
I smile.
Shit, I guess I did.
I take that as a yes.
"Okay, here's the thing. I don't understand you. One minute you're all stoic, man of few words, then the next you're relaxed, seductive, flat-out sexy. You go from cold to leaving a poetry book on my nightstand. I just don't get it."
Enzo laughs, "Wait, you think I'm sexy?"
"That. That is what I'm talking about. I either get that Enzo or the," I stiffen up in a poor attempt to act macho, "I'm Enzo. Fire hot. Ice cold."
Enzo sighs and relaxes in his chair. I can see I've struck something.
"When I first got here, I hated you, the situation, everything, but as time's gone on, what you've done for me, getting to know you, it's scrambled my brain. I don't know which way is up or down right now."
"It has been an adjustment."
"Good, yes. That's the kind of shit I want to know.
Want to talk about. If you want this to work.
And I don't know if it will or what will happen between us, but if this—you and me—is supposed to be, then we have to do it as one.
It can't be you knowing everything about me, and I know fuck all about you.
Look, I know you're in the mob. I know some of the shit you've done—my brother's Gabriel, remember?
I don't need you to tell me what crazy illegal crap you're doing, but when I ask about you, your family, your past—you need to fucking tell me. "
I stop to breathe and notice my hands are trembling on the table. I take a sip of water and spill some on the table. Enzo quickly takes his napkin and wipes it.
"You know," he says and takes a pause before speaking again, "I don't think anyone has ever spoken to me the way you just have, outside of maybe my brothers."
"Well, I'm not like anyone, I'm me. And all this—the fancy house, the cars, servants, money, blah blah blah—I don't care about any of it if when it comes time for dinner, the one I'm sitting next to, I barely know," I say and take a drink of water, my mouth feeling dry.
"I may be able to reason with the circumstances of how I got here, shit, maybe it's fate, I don't know, but I will not, will not, be involved in a loveless marriage with a stranger. "
"Christ, Livia," Enzo says and loosens his tie, "you sure know how to put the squeeze on someone."
I stare at him, not giving him anything. Letting him sit in my words.
He takes a deep breath and leans forward, nodding for a few seconds before speaking.
"You're right. Everything you said. When I'm not with you, I think about you and how I should act and what I should do, but then when you're here, in front of me, old Enzo takes over.
The truth is," he says and leans back, "I don't know how to be vulnerable.
That was never taught in my family. So in turn, I don't know how to be vulnerable with you. "
"Well," I say, followed by a long pause. "I did not expect you to say that."
We both break out laughing.
"Let's make a deal. I will continue to try as long as you continue to try. We take one step together. So, since I've worn this and talked about nothing but myself for the past however many weeks, you answer some of the questions I have about you." I say with a warm and gentle voice.
"Okay. It's a deal," Enzo says with a smile, “Remember I may answer questions but if you get a little too out of line, you might need to be punished."
I blush and raise my glass for Enzo to cheers it. He does, and we both take a drink.
"What do you want to know?" he asks as Antonio brings our dinner plates to the table. Out of courtesy, I want to wait until we're alone again.
As I do, I think back to the diary. I need to find out who the hell M is and why R potentially killed him.
When it's just the two of us, I ask my first question, "In your family, who is someone you admire?"
He doesn't even hesitate. "My grandfather."
"Why?"
"Because of what he did. He came here with my grandmother, who was pregnant with my father, by the way, from Italy with nothing. He worked and worked to build our empire. People only know of the Bonventi name because of him. He's the reason I have all this, and he's the reason you will, too."
"And what about your parents?"
"My mother," he says and swallows his food, "God rest her soul. She died when I was 20. Cancer."
"Oh gosh, Enzo, I'm sorry," I say, feeling a weight in my chest. "I know it's hard. My parents are dead, too."
He nods. "Yes, I remember first meeting Gabriel when you two were in that foster home.”
"Yeah," I say and take a drink, “I don't like to think about all that."
"Don't blame you, and no need to be sorry about my mother. It was some time ago. She would have liked your fiery spirit. She had that, too."
"I would have loved to have met her. What was her name?"
"Teresa."
"Beautiful name," I say with a smile. His eyes tell me that he loved her dearly. Losing her must have been hard.
We eat for a few moments in silence as a servant comes in to clear some plates. Once they are gone, I continue. "And your father? What about him?"
Enzo stops eating and runs his tongue along his teeth.
"Not much to tell. He was difficult. Never satisfied. Power hungry," he says, and then his jaw becomes tense.
There's something there.
"You didn't have a good relationship with him?"
"Would I still be trying if I asked to move on?"
"Oh, um, yes, absolutely. Your grandparents then? Do you remember much of them?"
Enzo smiles. "Yes, they passed when I was in my late 20s, so I had a good amount of time with them, not as much as I'd want—but does anyone ever have enough time with loved ones?"
"Wow. I know that's a rhetorical question, but a powerful one nonetheless," I say and smile, pondering it.
"Well, I try," Enzo says and winks at me.
I finally feel like he's breaking down, losing the whole stiff Don persona.
I think back to the diary. It belonged to V. Bonventi.
"Your grandfather, what was his name?"
Enzo sits up, almost prideful. "Marcello Rocco Bonventi."
"Very nice. Very Italian," I say, and we laugh, but then I stop.
Wait. Who's V. Bonventi? Does the diary not belong to Enzo's grandfather?
"And, since I assume you'll ask, my grandmother's name was Valentina Isabella Bonventi."
"That's…that's a beautiful name," I say.
Holy shit, that means the diary belongs to Enzo's grandmother. Valentina. V. Bonventi.
My eyes widen as it all comes flooding into my mind. M was Marcello. It's his death I read about, and Valentina thought R was behind it. So who was R?
I rack my brain, going over the diary, what Enzo told me, and then back to the diary. I go to ask another question when someone bursts into the room behind me.
"My dear brother, so sorry to interrupt things," the man says.
Enzo looks at him and then at me. "My brother, Marco," and then stands and looks back at him, "one who's never truly sorry for interrupting and taking over a room."
"Oh brother, your words are too kind," Marco says with a smile.
"Bellissima," he says with arms outstretched, making eye contact with me. "Is this Livia? Christ, Zo, you said she was pretty but," he says and walks over and takes my hand, gently kissing the back of it, "your words didn't do justice."
“You’re too kind brother but if you ever touch my soon to be wife again you’ll regret it,” Enzo says with a smile.
"Nice to meet you, Marco," I say hoping to clear any tension between them.
Like Enzo, he's dressed in a tailored suit. He's tall, not quite as tall as Enzo, but close. He's lean with an athletic build. He seems very charismatic. His dark brown hair is meticulously styled, and his brown eyes give off both charm and a hint of something else.
"Always the politician, playing to the room," Enzo says. "When are you ever not working the room?"
Marco lets go of my hand and straightens up to look at Enzo. "Ah, I stop working when you do. Anyway," he says and takes a seat.
"Yes, please sit," Enzo says with a sigh and sits down.
Antonio appears, and Marco turns to him and waves, "No, nothing for me. I'm not staying long. Thank you, though."
He turns to look at the table. "Wow, Zo, an '83, huh," he says and picks up the bottle. "Sparing no expense, I see. You know, Livia, this here is 8k a bottle landed in the States."
"I didn't know that," I say.
"Ignore him," Enzo says.
"Of course, your beauty warrants it. I—"
"Marco, why are you here?" Enzo asks.
"Yes, yes, sorry. The mayor, he's sick," Marco says with a subtle smile.
Enzo leans forward, and I can tell he's a bit uncomfortable.
"Let's not talk about business at this table," Enzo says.
Marco puts his hands up. "Zo, I'm not talking about business. I wouldn't want to bore beautiful Livia here. I'm just saying, the mayor is sick."
Enzo rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his wine.
"Marco, what do you do?" I ask.
"Don't encourage him," Enzo says.
"Oh, don't be that way, Zo. By day, I'm the Vice Mayor here in Chicago. By night, I come to torture my brother," he says, smiling at Enzo.
I think for a moment and nod.
"Got it, that's why you seem a little happy about the mayor," I say.
Both Enzo and Marco start to smirk.
"Ohh, interesting. Why?" Marco asks.
"If he has to step aside in a non-election year, you'd become mayor."
Marco laughs and smacks his hand on the table. "Ha, Zo, you'd better be careful. You've got a smart lady on your hands."
"I'm sure she doesn't want to hear about these kinds of things," Enzo says.
"Well, what were you two talking about before I came in?" Marco asks.
I lean forward, "I was trying to crack through your brother's walls. Get to know him, more about his life and family."
Marco nods. "We've been trying to get my brother to loosen up for years. Good luck with that," he says, laughing. "But I'm here—what can I tell you about us?"
"Oh, well, we were just going over names of grandparents, parents, things like that," I say.
"Well, I don't know if he's already told you this, but there's three of us. Zo, me, and Gio—have you met Gio yet?"
I shake my head.
"Ha, he's boring, too. I'm the youngest, but the best brother," he says.
I laugh.
"It's true. Best thing Rocco and Teresa, our parents if you haven't gotten that far, ever did. God rest their souls."
I smile and take a sip of my water.
Wait. R. Rocco. Enzo's dad?
"Don't ask him any more questions. He'll never leave," Enzo says.
Marco stands. "Okay, okay. Well, Livia, enjoy your dinner and try to enjoy this guy, and I'm sure I'll see you again. Zo," he says and nods, "there is something I might as well discuss while I'm here. I'll wait in your office."
Enzo nods.
"Please, take your time. I've got some calls to make. Have a good night, Livia."
"We're done eating," I say and turn to Enzo, "No need to make him wait. You can go now."
"Are you sure?" he asks.
I smile. "Yes, of course," I say, trying to hide the gears turning in my head.
Enzo stands, leans in, and gives me a kiss on the cheek.
"Oh wow, affection? From Enzo? Now I've seen it all," Marco says with a smile and walks out of the room.
Enzo follows, and I let out a breath.
"Holy shit," I say low to myself.
Did Enzo's dad kill his father?
And E has to be Enzo. So…
Fucking hell.
Then did Enzo kill his father?