Chapter 32 Need To Know You’re Alive
Need To Know You’re Alive
I got asked to the end of year dance by Anthonio. He gives me the creeps though. I’ve decided to go by myself. —Iz
Enzo
Mamma throws her arms around me, shaking me back and forth with surprising strength.
“Ahi12,” I grunt. I always forget how strong she is.
She pulls back and finally notices Izzy at my side. “Isolde! Sei più bella che mai13,” she exclaims.
She moves in for a hug, but I stop her with a hand on her shoulder. “No bear hugs, Mamma. She’s hurt.”
Mamma frowns, immediately shifting into full-on fussing mode as she ushers Izzy inside, leaving me like yesterday’s leftovers.
“I’ll get the bags then!” I call after them, rolling my eyes. Not that there’s much. One of my guys grabbed clothes and essentials from the apartment while we were at the hospital—that’s all we’ve got.
Inside, Mamma’s home is exactly how I remember it—terracotta walls, oversized potted plants, and her eclectic collection of vintage furniture. It’s home.
I used to visit every couple of months. But it’s been a while. I’ve missed her.
“Are you here for business?” Mamma asks, lips pursed in disapproval. She’s always hated my role—hated that Papa pulled me into it.
“No, Mamma. No business this time.”
The relief on her face is palpable. Normally, I time my visits around meetings or deals—kill two birds with one stone. Over the years, I’ve spent more time back here in Italy than in New York. Mostly because my uncle—on Papa’s side—refuses to deal with anyone but me.
There’s a reason the Russo name is feared. It’s not just my father’s organization—my organization.
Salvatore Russo. Il capo dei capi della Cosa Nostra. The boss of bosses. Feared. Revered. Anyone who’s anyone in the underworld knows our name.
While we don’t operate under the same banner, there’s an alliance. One that requires my presence more often than not. In fact, it was during one of my longer stays here that Carina found me, needing a new identity.
After that, I came back every couple of months. I’d visit Mamma, handle business with Salvatore, and spend the rest of my time training Carina—shaping her into the lethal weapon she is now.
“You need to rest my darling girl, let’s get you settled in. I’ll whip up some ragu for dinner.”
Mamma’s fussing over Izzy brings a smile to my lips. She’s not even questioning why I’ve suddenly brought her with me, as if she somehow knew that this was inevitable.
Izzy gets ushered onto the couch; a blanket draped over her shoulders. She just lets Mamma do what she needs to.
I take a seat next to her, placing my palm on her thigh. Her hand covers mine, so I flip it, interlacing our fingers. She smiles shyly.
“Do you know who it was that broke in?” Izzy whispers after a while.
My body deflates, sinking into the seat. “It wasn’t them, but they were definitely sent by them.”
I don’t need to say who I mean by them. We both know.
She blows out a breath. “I just want this to be over. This operation has taken longer than expected already.”
“Will you tell me about it? About Phoenix?” My voice is hushed, not wanting Mamma to hear our conversation.
Izzy glances around, frowning, then nods. “Later.”
Good enough. For now.
Izzy
“This was delicious Signora Giuliana,” I say, twirling the last strands of spaghetti around my fork.
She waves a hand at me. “Call me, Mamma. You’ve known me long enough.”
A lump forms in my throat. Growing up, Enzo’s mamma always felt like home. My mamma died while giving birth to me; I never knew her. Giuliana always acted like I was a second child whenever I was at her house.
It hasn’t changed at all.
“How long will you both be staying?” she asks, her warm, sun-wrinkled face swinging between Enzo and me.
Enzo gets most of his looks from his father—the dark hair, the green eyes.
Giuliana, on the other hand, has blonde hair and dark brown eyes.
But the way she expresses herself—that quiet confidence—is exactly the same as Enzo.
It’s clear where he gets his mannerisms from.
“A few days—a week at most,” Enzo answers.
She nods. “Alright. Your bedroom is made up already, I’ll get the spare one ready for Izzy.”
“Mamma,” Enzo sighs, picking my hand up and pressing a kiss to my fingers. “Izzy and I are together, she can sleep in my room.”
Giuliana’s face scrunches. “I’m not blind, Lorenzo. But you are not married, so there will be no funny business under my roof.” She mutters, “Condividere il letto fuori dal matrimonio14,” while shuddering.
“Mamma,” Enzo argues but she cuts him off.
“No buts, Tesoro mio15. I won’t be having it.”
I squeeze his hand. “That’s fine, Mamma Giuliana. Thank you for letting us stay.”
Mamma Giuliana's face scrunches into a smile. “Sei sempre il benvenuto qui16.”
After dinner, Giuliana shuffles around, clearing up the table—she doesn’t let me help but does have Enzo on drying duty—then she disappears to make my room up for me.
Enzo appears from the kitchen, finding me on the couch, my eyelids drooping. He smiles sadly. “Sor—”
I wave him off. “It’s fine. We don’t need to share a bed.”
He grumbles, the couch dipping with his weight as he settles next to me. “Maybe you don’t. I need my cuddles.”
I really try to stifle my laugh, but a small snigger escapes.
His head whips round, eyes narrowing. “What’s so funny?”
“Sorry,” I laugh, unable to contain it. A stray tear leaks from my eye. “I’m just picturing your enemies hearing you say you ‘need your cuddles’.”
He launches toward me, caging me against the sofa. One of his hands holds my waist, the other holds his weight off me. My shoulder aches from the strain of movement, but I don’t let my face show it.
Our chests heave as we stare into each other's eyes.
Whatever words he was going to say die.
Lips descend on mine, and the pain fades, replaced by carnal lust. God, I could kiss him forever. His tongue swipes at my lips, and I part them on a moan, dragging his head closer, tangling my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.
A throat clearing has him springing off me, backing away from the couch.
“Ragazzi arrapati17,” Giuliana mutters, shaking her head and pointing a disapproving finger at Enzo.
She turns to me, fixing a smile on her face. “Let me show you to your room.”
Standing, I pass Enzo—his fingers brushing lightly against mine—then follow his mamma down the faded yellow hallway into a bedroom wrapped in nostalgia.
Pink floral wallpaper softens the walls, and a grand four-poster bed anchors the space, its mahogany frame matching the chest of drawers, closet, and nightstands that fill the room with a warm, old-world charm.
“You remember the bathroom is down the hall? Second door on your left.”
“Grazie18,” I tell her, wrapping my good arm around her before she leaves me alone to explore.
Fatigue presses down on me. My bag is already placed on the bed, so I open it, finding one of Enzo’s shirts neatly folded inside. I smile, bringing it to my nose and inhaling his scent—this is what home is. Him.
It’s a little struggle to strip off without hurting my newly re-stitched shoulder, but I manage, then slip the shirt on, letting it fall to my knees. The sheets are cool when I slide under the comforter.
The past day’s events ring through my mind, but exhaustion wins out. I drift to sleep, content, safe, comfortable.
The bed dips beside me.
I freeze. But then I feel the familiar comfort of Enzo as his arms wrap around my middle.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper.
“Shh,” he murmurs, kissing my temple. “Go back to sleep.”
“But your mamma—”
“Let me hold you, please, Cuore mio. I’ll sneak out before morning.” The plea in his voice is almost heartbreaking. “I need to feel you with me. Need to know you’re alive.”
I love him with every fiber of my being.
I don’t speak, just curl deeper into his embrace, soaking in his warmth, his safety.
The next time I wake, I’m alone, but the sheets are still warm, and I can still smell him on me.
If only the peace would last.