Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
ENZO
Sal corners me after the sit-down.
I’m halfway to my car, already thinking about Stevie, wondering if she’s okay, if she’s doing something stupid, when his hand clamps on my shoulder.
Heavy. The kind of grip that’s meant to remind you who’s in charge.
“Walk with me,” he says.
My gut goes cold. But I follow. That’s what you do with Sal. You follow, you listen, you don’t ask questions unless you want to lose teeth.
We walk to the back of the lot. Away from the others. Away from ears.
Sal’s old school. Been in the family since before my father was made, back when things were bloodier and nobody pretended otherwise. He’s got a body count I don’t want to know and a memory that never lets anything go.
He lights a cigarette. Offers me one.
I shake my head. Can’t smoke right now. Can barely breathe.
“That witness,” he says, exhaling. “The one who testified against Dario.”
Everything in me goes still.
“What about her?”
“She was spotted. In town.” He takes another drag. Slow. Making me wait. “Three separate times in the past two weeks.”
Fuck.
I keep my face blank. Years of practice. Don’t react. Don’t flinch. Don’t give them anything.
“Could be mistaken identity,” I say. “She’s in witness protection. New city, new life. Why would she come back?”
“That’s what I want to know.” Sal’s eyes are flat. “Maybe she’s got unfinished business. Maybe she’s working with the feds still. Gathering evidence.”
“Case was dismissed. What evidence?”
“I don’t know, Enzo.” His voice goes hard. “That’s why I’m telling you to find out.”
He turns to face me fully. And I see the thing underneath the casual conversation. The order he’s about to give.
“Find her. Find out what she knows. And if she’s a problem.”
He makes a gesture. Hand across throat. Quick. Final. Handle it.
My stomach turns over.
“You want me to.”
“I want you to do your fucking job.” He drops the cigarette. Grinds it under his heel. “She testified against this family. Against Dario. If she’s sniffing around causing trouble, shut it down.”
He steps closer. Gets in my space.
“Quietly. Dario doesn’t need to know. Kid’s soft about this shit. This is family business.” His hand clamps my shoulder again. Squeezes until it hurts. “You handle it.”
He walks away. I stand there.
Parking lot. Sunset. The smell of cigarette smoke and my own fear. Orders to hurt the woman I’ve been protecting for weeks. The woman who offered me cookies when I showed up to threaten her.
Who laughs at my stupid jokes. Who looks at me like I’m a person instead of a weapon.
Fuck.
I get in my car. Grip the steering wheel until my knuckles crack.
If I don’t do this, Sal sends someone else. Someone who won’t hesitate. Someone who’ll enjoy it.
I’ve seen what happens to people who become problems for the family. I’ve made it happen.
I can’t let that be her.
I drive to her apartment the long way.
Double back twice. Check mirrors constantly. Make sure nobody’s following, nobody’s watching, nobody knows where I’m going.
The family can’t know I’ve been protecting her. Can’t know Dario asked me to keep her safe.
If Sal finds out…
I don’t finish the thought.
Three blocks from her place, I park. Walk the rest. Dusk is good cover. Just another guy heading home from work.
I’m almost to her building when I see the car.
Two spaces from hers. Silver sedan. Government plates.
I know that car.
Her Marshal. Saul fucking Bennett.
Something twists in my chest. Not jealousy, I don’t have the right to be jealous, but something. Awareness. The knowledge that he’s in there with her, in her space, being steady and kind and all the things I don’t know how to be.
I find a spot in the shadows between buildings. Watch her window.
Lights on inside. Two figures moving. Her and him.
Then she passes by the window and my whole body goes tight.
She’s wearing a grey shirt. Too big. Falling off one shoulder. Men’s shirt. Dario’s shirt. She’s wearing Dario’s fucking shirt while her U.S. Marshal sits in her living room.
My hands curl into fists.
What is she thinking?
I watch them. Can’t hear anything but I can see, easy body language, comfortable, domestic. He’s on the couch. She brings him something. Coffee probably.
They’re just talking. Normal.
And she’s wearing evidence of fucking a crime boss she’s supposed to be hiding from visible through the goddamn window.
I need to get in there. Need to warn her about Sal.
So I wait.
Twenty minutes feels like twenty hours.
Finally, he stands. Heads to the door. She walks him out. They talk on the threshold. Too long, too close.
I don’t like the way he looks at her.
Not your business. Not your place.
He leaves. She closes the door.
I count to thirty. Make sure he’s gone.
Then I climb the stairs, cross to her door and knock. Hard.
She opens it. Hair messy. Face soft. Looking comfortable and warm and completely unaware that her world is about to collapse.
“Enzo?” She blinks. “What are you?”
I push past her. Into the apartment. Close the door.
“What the fuck are you thinking?”
She steps back. Startled. “What?”
“That.” I gesture at the shirt. At her bare legs underneath it. At all of her standing there in another man’s clothes. “Wearing his shirt. With your Marshal right here. Visible through the window.”
“Saul didn’t notice.”
“Anyone could have noticed!” My voice is too loud. I know it’s too loud. I can’t stop. “Anyone walking by. Anyone watching. You’re wearing evidence, Stevie. Evidence you’ve been doing shit you shouldn’t.”
“It’s just a shirt. Women wear men’s shirt. Buy them. They’re comfy.”
“It’s a trail!” I’m pacing now. Can’t stand still. The fear’s turning into anger because anger’s easier, anger’s what I know. “You want to explain to the family why you’re wearing Dario Marchetti’s clothes? Want to explain what you’ve been doing at his house?”
“You’re overreacting.”
“You were spotted.”
She goes pale.
Good. She should be scared. She should be fucking terrified.
“In town. Three times. Someone saw you. Reported back.” I stop pacing. Face her. “Sal gave me orders tonight. Find you. Find out what you’re doing. And.”
I can’t make my mouth form the words.
Her eyes are wide. She looks small suddenly. Small and soft and nothing like a problem that needs handling.
“How am I supposed to protect you,” I snarl, “if you’re leaving breadcrumbs everywhere you go?”
“I didn’t know.”
“You should have known! You testified against a crime family and you thought you could just waltz back whenever you wanted? Thought nobody would notice?”
“Stop yelling at me!” Her voice cracks. Breaks. “You’re being cruel!”
I’ve been called a lot of things. Violent. Dangerous. A blunt instrument. A weapon.
But cruel, from her, with tears in her eyes, when all I’ve been trying to do is keep her alive.
That one cuts deep.
I stop. Just stop.
Stand there in the middle of her apartment, breathing hard, watching her cry, and I want to put my fist through a wall because I did this. I made her cry. I’m supposed to protect her and instead I’m standing here being exactly what everyone thinks I am.
A monster.
“I’m sorry.” The words feel wrong in my mouth. Unfamiliar. “I didn’t mean… fuck. I don’t know how to do this.”
She wipes her eyes. Doesn’t say anything.
“I don’t know how to be...” I search for words I don’t have. “Soft. I don’t know how to tell you you’re in danger without making it sound like a threat. I just…”
I’m terrified.
That’s what I can’t say. That I’ve been watching her for weeks and somewhere along the way it stopped being a job. That I think about her when I should be thinking about work.
That I can’t imagine a world where someone hurts her and I didn’t stop it.
“Sal wants me to hurt you,” I say quietly.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t.” I step closer. Can’t help it. “But if I don’t, he sends someone else. Someone who’ll enjoy it.”
She’s still crying. Silent tears tracking down her face.
I hate it.
I hate that I made her cry and I hate that I don’t know how to fix it and I hate that the only language I speak is violence and she deserves so much better than someone like me.
“You have to stop,” I say. “Coming back. Visiting. At least until this blows over. Until I know Sal’s not watching.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“And Dario? We just fucked. He’ll think it was that.”
“I’ll tell him. He’ll understand.”
She nods. Wipes her face again.
She’s still wearing his shirt. It hangs off her shoulder, exposing skin I shouldn’t be looking at. The collar is too wide. I can see her collarbone, the curve of her neck.
She’s beautiful.
She’s always been beautiful but right now, crying in another man’s shirt, looking at me like I might have answers, she’s devastating.
“I’m sorry I yelled,” I manage. The words feel like gravel. “I don’t, that’s not, I was scared. I’m not good at scared. It comes out wrong.”
“As yelling.”
“As everything.” I run a hand through my hair. “I’m a hammer, Stevie. That’s all I’ve ever been. Point me at a problem and I hit it until it stops being a problem. But you.” I stop.
She’s watching me.
“You’re not a problem I can hit,” I finish quietly. “You’re a problem who makes me cookies and looks at me like I’m not just knuckles and bad decisions. And I don’t know how to fix that.”
“You could try talking.”
“I’m shit at talking.”
“You’re doing okay right now.”
The panic backs off, just enough to breathe.
She moves closer. Close enough that I can smell her, vanilla and something floral and underneath it, cedar. Dario’s cologne on her skin.
She’s wearing his shirt. His scent. And she’s standing in front of me looking like maybe she wants me to kiss her.
“Stevie.”
“I care about you,” she says softly. “You know that, right? It’s not just, I know it’s complicated. With Dario. With all of this. But I care about you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Too late.” Her hand comes up. Touches my chest. Just her palm, flat against my heart.
I stop breathing.
“You see me,” she whispers. “You showed up at my grocery store and bought pasta sauce you didn’t need just to talk to me.”
“Marinara. It was marinara.”
She laughs. Wet and shaky but real. “Enzo.”
“Yeah?”
“Stop talking.”
Suddenly her mouth is on mine and nothing else matters.
She tastes like tears and coffee and something sweet. Her hands fist in my jacket, pulling me closer, and mine find her waist, his shirt soft under my fingers, her body warm beneath it.
The kiss isn’t gentle. I don’t know how to be gentle.
It’s desperate. Hungry. Weeks of watching her, wanting her, holding myself back, all of it crashing together at once.
She makes a sound against my mouth. Small. Needy. And something in me snaps.
I walk her backward. Her back hits the wall and I crowd into her space, one hand braced beside her head, the other tangled in her hair. She arches into me, gasping, and I swallow the sound.
Fuck.
She feels perfect. Fits against me like she was made for it. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, pulling me closer, and I want… I want…
I want everything.
I want to lift her up and carry her to the bedroom and worship every inch of her until she forgets her own name.
I want to peel that shirt off her and replace every trace of Dario’s scent with mine.
I want to keep her. Hide her. Make sure no one ever touches her again. But I can’t.
I pull back. Breathing hard.
“We should stop,” I manage.
“Probably.” She doesn’t let go of my jacket. “Do you want to?”
No.
“You’re wearing his shirt.”
“I know.”
“You still want him.”
“I know.” Her eyes meet mine. Honest. Open. “But I want you too. Is that? Is that okay?”
I should say no. Should put distance between us. Should remember that she’s not mine, that she’s Dario’s, that I’m just the guy who watches her from shadows and makes sure she doesn’t get killed.
But she’s looking at me like wanting me isn’t something she’s ashamed of.
“It’s okay,” I hear myself say. “It’s… yeah. It’s okay.”
She kisses me again. Softer this time. Slower.
And I let myself sink into it.
Her hands slide inside my jacket. Find the hem of my shirt. Her fingers brush bare skin and I shudder.
“Stevie.” Her name comes out rough. Warning.
“I know.” She pulls back. Breathes. “I know. We should stop.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of us moves.
She’s pressed against the wall. I’m pressed against her. We’re breathing the same air and I can feel her heartbeat racing under my hand.
“Sal can’t find out about this,” I say quietly. “About any of this. If he knows I’m protecting you instead of hunting you.”
“I understand.”
“I’ll handle it. Keep him off your trail. But you have to stay away. No more visits. No more breaking into houses. Nothing that draws attention.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.” She touches my face. Gentle. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”
I don’t believe her. But I nod anyway.
“I should go.” I make myself step back. Put distance between us. “Lock the door after me. And Stevie?”
“Yeah?”
“Take off the shirt before you stand in front of windows.”
She laughs. “Got it. No flaunting stolen menswear.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are.” She walks me to the door. “That’s what makes it funny.”
I stop at the threshold. Turn back.
She’s standing there in Dario’s shirt with kiss-swollen lips and tangled hair and she’s never looked more beautiful.
“I’ll come back,” I say. “Check on you. Make sure you’re okay.”
“I know.”
“And I’ll tell Dario. About Sal. About all of it.”
“Thank you.”
I want to kiss her again. Want to stay. Want to curl up on her couch and hold her and make sure nothing bad ever touches her again.
Instead, I leave.
Three blocks away, I sit in my car and try to remember how to breathe.
I just kissed her.
And she kissed me back. Wanted me. Said it was okay.
She wants us both. Me and Dario. And somehow that’s not wrong. That’s just how it is.
My phone buzzes. Sal.
Any progress on the witness?
I stare at the message.
Following up on a lead, I type back. Will update soon.
I’m lying to Sal. Going against direct orders. Protecting a woman I should be hunting.
If he finds out, I’m dead.
But she kissed me like I was worth saving.
She saw through the muscle. Through the orders. Through everything I’ve done. And still touched me like I was hers.
That’s worth dying for.
I pull out my phone. Text Dario.
Sal knows she’s in town. Gave me orders to handle her. I told her to stay away until it’s safe. She’s okay. For now.
His response comes fast.
Keep her safe. Whatever it takes.
I stare at the message.
Whatever it takes.
Even lying to Sal. Even going against the family. Even risking my own neck.
Yeah.
Whatever it takes