Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
Blair
Sliding back into Enzo’s car, I was undecided if chasing him in the tunnels had been the best decision.
In one sense, I had met his mom and sister. Just as much as he was trying to put my pieces together, I wanted to do the same with him.
In the other, I was entering an entirely new, dangerous world with him.
Will I even be able to leave when this ends?
Or will they make sure I disappear because I now know too much?
I sat in the passenger seat as Enzo sped out of the hospital’s parking garage. Again, I wished I’d grabbed my purse so I had my phone. I seemed to be constantly without it lately.
I wanted to text Daphne about the president’s assassination attempt. The news playing in the hospital had provided no updates on the president’s condition or who the suspected shooter was.
The seat belt dug into my neck as I shifted in my seat to look over at Enzo.
“Can you tell me what happened?” I asked. I held back telling him that I knew his father had been shot because I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to know. It might’ve slipped from Gigi’s lips by accident.
From where I had come from, I knew that accidentally telling secrets could get people in trouble. Or killed.
The odds of Enzo being honest with me were slim, but a girl had to try.
Under a streetlight while he waited to turn, I noticed him working his jaw. It was so tight that I was surprised it hadn’t snapped.
“My father was shot,” he said, shocking me that he’d told me the truth.
I lost a breath before saying, “I’m so sorry, Enzo.” Reaching out, I ran my hand along his arm. I wanted to take his hand but was worried about his reaction.
He didn’t wince at my touch, though I’d expected him to. Some of his tension eased.
“Do you know who did it?” I was pushing it with another question I wasn’t sure would get answered.
He shook his head, taking the turn, and we entered the heavy New York City traffic. It was night, but it was still bumper-to-bumper with other vehicles. I noticed a cab driver stick his hand out the window and scream at another cab.
Enzo hesitated, as if unsure if he could trust me. “Whoever it was, they won’t be alive much longer.” His jaw tension returned.
“What about your dad? Will he be okay?”
“He’ll survive,” he said with absolute certainty, like the man had a thousand lives. “He’s strong.”
I nodded, hopeful that was the truth.
How wild.
Hoping a homicidal Mafia boss wouldn’t die was a new character trait for me, but it seemed Enzo was rubbing off on me.
“Are we going back to the university?” I asked him.
“No, I’m taking you to my home.”
His home?
Holy freaking shit.
I slammed my mouth shut.
Worry and intrigue sank deep inside me.
He took phone calls back-to-back as he drove out of the city and through the suburbs, until we reached denser land. Most of his words were almost in code, so I didn’t know what he was speaking about.
When I did get the hint that he was speaking with Brooks, I inched closer, not being subtle whatsoever, and tried to eavesdrop.
Enzo shot me a look and switched the phone to the other ear.
Well, that’s rude.
While waiting for him to end the call, I made a mental list of all the questions I had for him. I wanted to know when we’d be back at the university so I could get my phone, but I didn’t want to be rude.
He definitely wasn’t worried about little ol’ me not having a phone. His father had just been shot.
Plus, from the intense expression on Enzo’s face, I was sure murdering whoever had shot his father was high on his priority list. Standing between that might not be the smartest choice for me.
When he ended the call and tossed his phone into the cupholder, I cleared my throat. “Is the president dead?”
His head turned slightly as he looked at me. “Why do you ask?”
I threw my arms up. “Uh, I don’t know. He is also my president.”
“Did you vote for him?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Actually, I did.” I gave a how about that sneer. “Did you?”
He chose not to answer me. After making a right, he drove down a long road shaded by large pine trees, then stopped at a wrought-iron gate.
Four armed men stood there, weapons slung over their shoulders, and chills vibrated against my skin. The entrance reminded me so much of the entrance to Saint Vale.
I tore my gaze as different memories swarmed my thoughts. Not of the university gates, but of the ones I had grown up around.
My father hadn’t had Marchetti money. He barely scraped by half the time—his only means of income was taking what his followers had—but near the end, he also had armed men at his entrance.
I hadn’t been sure if it was to control who got in or who got out.
A guard approached us, and Enzo rolled down his window.
The guard dipped his head to speak to Enzo through the opening while hitching his gun farther down his back. “How’s Boss doing?”
“Surgery went well,” he said dryly. “He’s in recovery.”
The guard made the sign of the cross before tapping the car door. “Good to hear, Zo. Good to fucking hear.”
The loyalty and concern on his face were also different from what I’d seen from my father’s followers. This man truly liked and respected Monster Marchetti. He was genuinely relieved Cristian was alive and healthy.
While people had blindly followed my father, I saw that devotion start to crack, day by day, the longer they were with us. Those were the ones who disappeared.
The ones, by the time I got older, he’d made me help him with.
Unless you saw it up close, it was hard to grasp the power that words possessed. How easily they could manipulate and compel people. Sometimes, it didn’t take violence, just bullshit lectures where someone used complicated wording to make others believe it was wisdom.
Words were what he’d started with. Violence had come later.
Enzo jerked his thumb toward me. “This is Blair. She’s staying in the mansion. Keep an eye on her.”
I chewed on my lip, not liking that instruction.
The guard’s brows scrunched together as he stuck his head through the window to get a better look at me. “Benny okay with that?”
“Yeah,” Enzo replied, not bothered by the guard’s question, like I’d expected him to be. “As long as she doesn’t leave, she’s good. She has no phone, nothing to be traced back here.”
“Do I need to pat her down?” The guard’s eyes traveled back to me as if I was already distrustful in his eyes.
His boss had just been shot. I didn’t blame him.
“Already did,” Enzo said. “She’s clean.”
“All right, man.” The guard stuck two fingers in his mouth, whistled loudly, and motioned to open the gates.
“Tell the boss man we’re praying for him,” he said before taking a step back.
Enzo nodded, giving a quick salute, and drove past him.
Since it was dark, I couldn’t make out much as he drove down the long path, blocked by more massive trees. We passed a large home on the property, its porch and flood lights shining.
When we grew closer to a rounded driveway, lights swarmed around another house. No, it was insulting to call it a house.
Enzo parked in the horseshoe driveway as I gawked at it in awe. It reminded me of a castle you’d find in the UK, where royals had once resided, with a Gothic influence.
When the trees cleared, I noticed a stone perimeter wall, this one taller than the one at Saint Vale’s.
I craned my neck to get a better look, noticing men standing along that wall every few feet.
Enzo didn’t give me much time to admire the home before parking, killing the engine, and sliding out of the car. My butt immediately missed the heated seat when I did the same.
He met me at the door, walking beside me up the wide stone steps. He took my hand as soon as we entered the foyer, practically dragging me up the steps like he didn’t want me to notice anything.
When we reached the top of the stairs, he yanked me right toward the end of a hallway, landing us right in a small space that resembled a living room.
“You’ll hang out here until I return,” Enzo said, then went on to almost sound like he was reading an instruction manual.
“There’s a mini fridge over there, stocked with plenty of drinks.
I’ll have the house manager check on you in case you get hungry.
She’ll make whatever you’re in the mood for.
If you get tired, that door”—he paused to point at the only other door—“leads to my bedroom. There’s also a bathroom through there.
Be good. Don’t make me or my family regret allowing you to come here.
” He shot me a humorless look, spun on his heel, and left.
I heard the door lock behind him.
Being ditched here didn’t sound like too much of a problem. I could snoop through his things. I rubbed my hands together almost villain-style at having the opportunity to find out more about him.
I eyed the living room, taking in signs of Enzo’s personality through every inch of it. This must be his wing here.
As I walked past the cognac leather couch, I ran my hand over a black leather pillow. A Fender record player sat in the corner with a stack of vinyl records beside it.
I brushed my fingers over them next before flipping through the records, reading names of bands I’d never heard of.
Arctic Monkeys, Three Days Grace, Breaking Benjamin. Though I was hardly an expert in the music field. Over the past few years, I’d gotten over that fear to start enjoying it.
I wandered to the bedroom, and just like everything else, I felt like I’d walked into a royal’s space. Dark wood spanned the entire room—from the molding on the walls to his massive bed with thick, ornate posts on each corner. The bedding was a deep black.
Bookshelves in that same color lined the walls beside his bed. I drifted toward them, noticing most of them had thick leather spines. A large walnut desk sat along a wall with a MacBook settled on top.
The space described my devil perfectly.
I plopped down on his bed, wishing I had my phone again.
Not to share this experience with someone, but to cure my boredom.
I almost worked myself up to look through Enzo’s things, but the bed was too comfortable. I rested my head on his pillow, inhaling the faint scent of him, and wondered what wild turn my life with Enzo would take next.
I wasn’t sure how long I lay there before I slid off his bed and returned to the sitting room to check the news on the TV.
There were reports of the president’s shooting, but as I flipped through every news channel, both local and global, nothing was said about New York’s notorious mob boss being shot.
I was sure that was on purpose.
People like the president, like Brooks, stayed in the public light. Everything in their lives was broadcast.
Some might like that.
But I was more like Enzo.
Like a Marchetti.
I liked to hide in my darkness and secrets.
I wanted solitude.
I wanted freedom.
And I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get that.
Not only from Enzo, but from my past.