Chapter Ten
ENZO
Guilt rips into me.
The last few days, Lola hasn't even fought with me, and even Lyndall's giving me the cold fucking shoulder. Though, when I question my sister, I'm not met with the wall of stone silence or monosyllabic answers that I get with Lola.
I'm met with wild lectures, fiery words, and petulance. Once I even got the, "If you don't know, then I won't tell you," which is as helpful and informative as a kick in the balls.
I have spent the afternoon in the office, and I'm waiting for Lyndall to come home from violin next door.
"You need a secret tunnel." She collapses on the sofa in a fit of sudden and apparent exhaustion.
I contemplate a drink. "You came from next door. It's a three-minute walk if you crawl."
"That's not the point. I have to come up with conversation to have with Con, and he's scary and silent."
"You're very friendly with Dad's men." And I could bite my fucking tongue.
She gives me a look that could break stone into a million tiny, fragile pieces.
She plays with her hands. "I have to know the names of those who get assigned to me. And he spends a lot of time up at the school."
I wince. "Not the right phrasing."
He doesn't do anything. At least, nothing I could find. I doubt he'd still be breathing. Besides, he's married. Two kids.
Still. "It is the wrong phrasing, isn't it?"
"You're the cyber stalker, you tell me."
Ouch. "Nothing I could find, but that just means he doesn't post about it."
The problem with a lot of fucking organized crime.
Give me the billionaire class any day. They get into trouble, are criminals because they don't think laws apply to them, but they're not good at hiding it.
They think their small cabal of post-money fools means they can say what they want, when they want.
They post all over the place on all sorts of dark and questionable sites.
But when one falls, they're like dominoes.
"Have you seen anything...?"
She rolls her eyes. "Con's pretty decent for a murderous, scary, silent man. He watches out for me."
She makes it sound like he's in the wrong when he's doing his job.
Which is how I see my role of molding, guiding, paying for, and keeping an eye on Lola.
Doing my fucking job.
It's just one that isn't any kind of chore.
She stands up, picking up her violin case. "Speaking of captured women, when are you letting Lola out of that room? It's inhumane."
"That suite's bigger than her postage stamp apartment."
"What's a postage stamp? Is that what old people call the tagline on emails?"
She makes it sound like she's past email, which she probably is. She's more messenger-based, but she still has to use it.
"No. It's what old people call stamps to send mail. Actual mail. Packages."
Then she grins and grabs her bag. "I'm just kidding. We studied them in history."
She needs grounding.
Then again, that's what this house arrest basically is.
"Speaking of...I have some music theory, and I need to see what work I have to do for the torturers."
"The tutors?"
"That's what I said. I'll be in the kitchen. Can we have Indian tonight?"
"Sure. I'll have some sent. Let Con get it."
She swishes out of the room, and I pick up the laptop I got yesterday from the stupid startup I temporarily bought.
I head up the stairs, letting myself into the suite.
"Lola?"
She's in the little living room off the bedroom that can be used as a study, TV room, or exercise room. I've got a Peloton in there. And considering how much space there is, the room has a whole sitting area, too.
Lola's holding a book, but unfortunately, it doesn't look smutty, and I remind myself to hide the one I bought to peek at what she's into in case we ever reach the point she's in my room.
I don't know what this is in me for her. But I don't want to let her go, and not just because it's my own self-appointed job to watch over her.
Yeah, she's in my heart, but—
I can't go there right now.
"What are you reading?" I ask.
She peeks at the spine. "William Gibson. Neuromancer. You really like hacking stuff."
"One of my trades." This is going better than I thought, so I take a step closer. "Can we talk?"
"No. I don't want to talk. I don't want to be locked up either. Even if this is the fanciest prison I've ever seen, it's still a prison."
"Protection."
"Potato, potahto," she mutters. "I want to do something other than sit on my ass. I'm—"
"You're what?" I zero in on that because there's something in her tone that pricks against my skin.
"Bored."
Then I take her in.
She's in her work clothes. They're a little crumpled because, last night, Lyndall did laundry. I have a top-line washer and dryer, and I almost never use it. Usually, I have my shit picked up, washed, folded, and brought back.
I put down the laptop.
It's the work one, so I figured she could use it to build a CV or something. It's not online. I can't have her using the internet in here. Not yet. Not at her skill level.
She would never get through any firewalls I've got set up, and the server down in the basement is its own beast. But stranger things could happen.
"If you want to dress for work, then work."
I set up the computer and make sure she can reach the work server only. The internet beyond is still cut off.
Then, using my phone, I send work through to her.
The ding of her getting mail makes Lola's head rise, and her eyes narrow as they spark.
The top two buttons of her shirt are undone, and she's wearing the red lacy underwear set. Bra, at least.
I stare at her cleavage until the color under her skin burns pink and spreads. Then I slide my gaze to her shoeless feet.
Going to her, I take the book and toss it on the sofa, and I pull her up so she's way too close to me.
Fuck, how does she always smell good?
I breathe her in, feathering my hand against her waist. I murmur against her ear, "Consider nine-to-five work hours. You'll get your breaks. There are snacks, along with tea, booze, coffee, and water up here. In here, actually."
And in the living room.
"I'll get you shoes tonight."
"Shoes?"
"This is a work environment during those hours, a remote office job, and I require the correct dress code."
Then I let her go.
We're both breathing unevenly, and my cock's hard, straining against my pants.
She presses fingers to her cheeks. "I'll do it."
"You don't have an option. I employ you."
Lola glares, but the fire in those green depths hooks me deep. "I'm still angry."
"I'm aware."
"I haven't forgiven you."
"I don't want that. Just a job well done."
And with that, I walk out.
Because I'm a moment away from throwing her down and fucking her.
The next few days, I keep away, just dropping by with ridiculously high-heeled shoes and more outfits. She's wearing a different one each day.
And the weird thing is the air is supercharged every time I go in. Like she just might be testing me, walking around naked, masturbating, or just changing every time to try to catch me spying.
I'm not.
But I might be a fool.
Except I'm smart enough to know not to say a word.
And even my sister is getting whiny about lessons, Con, and home on repeat.
Of course, it's not always Con.
Uncle Gino sent me a man and a woman to help out.
I sent them back.
He called me and told me in no uncertain terms this had nothing to do with me, everything to do with Lyndall, and it would make both Dad and Violet happy.
But with them, Zayne, and a few others from the Syndicate monitoring, they're safe.
This is what I call the critical time.
If that asshole Dom is going to make his move, then he will do it soon.
He has to know we're looking for him.
What he needs to understand is that going away is his best option over anything else.
But between work—because I'm still the CEO until I sell it back to Louie—and my real job, Cade, Silas, and I are having a hard time finding fucking Rebecci.
Because my place is a full house, we use another, smaller hub in Queens, at Silas's place. It's fine by me, and I'm here, after work, sipping the whiskey on the table in the workroom.
I keep checking my phone to see if Lyndall has responded to my last text. I already know everything is fine. The Syndicate guy Zayne sent into the house with a food delivery has already reported back that things are good.
But my sister doesn't respond this time.
Which irks me.
Scowling, I send another text.
Me
Well?
Finally, she gets back to me.
Lyndall
All's good, just like it was twenty minutes ago.
Me
You took your time.
Lyndall
Nothing's changed.
Me
Double lessons tomorrow.
Lyndall
If you want to know how Lola is, check on her yourself. She's your girlfriend.
Me
She isn't.
Lyndall
She shouldn't be. Locking her up...
I sigh.
Me
She hasn't snuck out.
Lyndall
Just shouted have you snuck out. She says no, but you should check.
Me
Do your homework.
I put my phone down and realize Silas and Cade have stopped talking. I zero in on Cade as the heat rises up the back of my neck. "Why is Gino trying to impress your wife by offering protection for Lola?"
He laughs and shrugs. "She told him to protect his niece and Lola. It's a superpower. What can I say?"
A lot, and I could, too. But I don't.
Ever since Zayne threatened Gino, he's been on his best behavior, and he adores Vi. However, I don't ask him for favors. We're of the same family, yes, but he runs his arm his way, and future favors asked for will be collected if I know him.
I didn't ask.
"You know," Silas says, "I'd be more worried about Lola forgiving you than your mobster uncle extracting repayment."
"There won't be any repayment as I never asked for help." I pull the laptop closer and top up my drink.
Cade nods at me. "It's all good that there's extra protection, but I don't get why you're not doing more to show you're sorry."
Silas smirks. "He means to Lola, not to Gino."
I shoot him a glare. "Got that."
Silas refills his glass, then Cade's. "We're not getting anywhere here. You should be home, groveling your balls off and begging for her forgiveness."
"She's not ready to forgive," I mutter.
Cade pushes his glasses to the top of his head. "Because she's still under lock and key."
"For her own good."
He looks at Silas. "Definitely not groveling."
I growl. "If anyone should be groveling, it's Lola. After all, she's the reason Lyndall was taken in the first place. If anyone should be apologizing, it's her."
"To you?" Silas shakes his head.
I scowl. "No. To my sister."
Cade just sighs and sets his boots on the desk, holding his drink on his abs. "Thing is, Enzo, I've known you and Lyndall a long time. Lyndall for most of her life. And that girl's like you. Stubborn as fuck."
I swallow my drink. "And she's a kid, Cade."
"I'm pretty damn sure no one can make that kid do anything she doesn't want to. Seems to me like you're making excuses so you don't have to face up to the fact you royally fucked up."
"I did nothing of the sort." I open a screen on my computer but don't pay attention to it.
Silas nods. "Yeah. You did."
"I know you hate mentioning Cancun...for real, I mean. But why that girl, when there were others who were just as pretty and wild?"
I stare him down.
He raises his hand. "Okay, bad example. But you love to get into scrapes with girls, love to choose the safe ones who look risky or too hot to handle. And Lola is the antithesis. So, again, why her?"
I groan. "I like her. I didn't realize I'd like her more than what it started out as."
"You fucked up," Silas says.
I frown.
Is this how they see me? Someone who has to fuck it all up if it doesn't start fucked?
"All I wanted to do was the best thing for her. I'll be fucked if I'm going to apologize for that." I look at them both. "When I want relationship advice—and this isn't a relationship—I'll ask for it."
Silas lets out a low whistle. "Sure. But keep going like this, and you'll be making sure there's no chance of a relationship to worry about."
Fuck.