Chapter Twenty-Two
ENZO
No one questions me to my face why Lola is there when I am.
No one, that is, apart from nosy Ruby.
All I've said is she's working mostly remotely with me. I have other interests, other businesses, and Lola is bored. Lola needs more stimulation. And yes, I am paying her for it all.
Which, of course, I am.
There's a part of me that knows that as much as I'm not planning on ever letting Lola go, I might have to. She might want to go. She might run after all this shit with Dom is over.
And if Lola does...I want her with enough money to be comfortable.
But I'm not letting it come to that.
No fucking way.
Ruby, of course, nods and then eyes me with what could only be called suspicion.
I have to give it to the stacked blonde. She cares for her friend, and I can see it's good for Lola to have someone in her corner.
So much so that, on Friday, I almost stop Ruby and ask if Lola's okay.
But I don't. It might be going too far.
Lola, though, worries me.
She's still sick at different times and looks tired, which worries me too. Lola's still gorgeous, still revs my engine, but I go into denial mode with the game.
Denial mode with full-on sex.
To make her crazy, I tell her and order her to bend to my will.
That's my excuse for not touching her, for making her sleep in my arms naked on the nights she crawls into my bed, which is more and more.
I've eaten her out once to orgasm, and another time, I fingered her to orgasm. But that's it. Two. She gets two.
Instead, I content myself with denial and teasing.
I've suckled her breasts and kissed her until she's begged for more.
But...that's not happening until she visits a doctor. It's not happening until I'm satisfied she's fine.
I'm not fucking afraid of catching something. I'm fucking afraid of hurting her somehow.
And that's the last thing in this world I want to do.
"Sir?"
She stands just inside my door at work, looking glorious. Looking like someone I want on her knees with my cock shoved down her throat, up her ass, her cunt.
Her outfit is a deep violet silk, the kind that shows some of her lavender lace bra when she moves.
I make a note to ban anyone from coming up here and keep the guard posted with horse blinders on. And earplugs.
Yes, she has a guard now. I had to get him because Dad's been wanting me to work for him more and more. One of the projects falls into line with what the Syndicate is doing for a client.
I wouldn't go and double-cross my father, he's family, and you don't do that. But it's something I can manipulate and work my way.
He wanted someone to inherit the family business. He really didn't have me and how I am in mind.
Mainly because the old man has no idea of what I really am.
But yeah, I've had to spend fucking time doing what I've been doing, so it's not feasible to be in the office every second Lola is.
That, however, works for me. Makes me better in her eyes. Because I'm giving her more freedom. At least, that's how she sees it.
She's still tightly watched and protected, but to her, it feels like freedom.
I know that.
I'm reaping those benefits.
Just having her pant and throw me fiery looks gets me hard, makes me beat off in the office executive bathroom, at home in the shower, and once on her.
"Look at me like that, Lola, and I might bend you over my desk or force you to crawl to me and worship my cock."
She starts to lower herself, but I shake my head. "Stop."
"But you said—"
"It was a hypothetical. I want it. We're not doing it."
She blinks rapidly. "Sir—Enzo, why don't you want to fuck me anymore?"
I get up and cross to her. Taking her hand, I put it on my erection. "That feel like I don't want to fuck you?"
"No."
"The reason I'm not is this is a lesson in denial. A proper one. You get to come into work, and some days I don't even touch you. No matter how much you and I want it," I say, lying. Sort of. "When we do it, you're going to explode."
"You've made me come twice."
"No more until I say so. You can't touch yourself, either."
"I'm not going to, Sir."
I step back and check my watch. "The day isn't over for us. Go back and do some work."
"Yes, Sir."
And I have the pleasure-agony of watching her fine ass sway as she walks out of the office.
By the time we head home, it's late, and I've received five texts from Lyndall wanting dinner. She's gone from Thai to pizza to a burger.
I know what she likes, so I order three of them, heaps of fries, and then from another place, matzo ball soup and a salad, just in case soup is all Lola wants.
And I'm hoping that Lyndall will want some salad.
Honestly, the way that kid eats, I'm going to have to hit my home gym extra hard because I've been eating that shit along with both her and Lola.
"I don't have anything on Dom." Lola leans back in the car as the driver battles New York traffic.
I do prefer the subway for these times, but there's no fucking way she's going near the MTA and crushing crowds. Too easy to grab her or hurt her.
"Neither do I. And we've been working on it for a while."
"What are you looking for?"
I shrug and pull her hand to my thigh, liking the heat it spreads through me. "I want to know where he's hiding."
She tries to pull her hand free. "You could have told me that."
"Anything you find, anything at all, could be useful, okay? I didn't put any restrictions on it because—"
"You wanted to humor me."
"No. I figured a fresh take without perimeters might be better."
When we get home, she takes her computer as we head upstairs.
"Food's here!" Lyndall shouts from the kitchen. "And hi! If you want some, you better hurry! Growing girl and all that!"
"Do not eat it all!" I shout back.
"Don't dawdle."
"Fuck, that kid..." I mutter.
And Lola laughs. "If there's anything left, I'll come down and eat it."
I somehow manage not to order her to eat now. All I say is, "I got fries and burgers deluxe—no cheese, nice and medium, and fries. And, in case you didn't want that, a vat of Jewish penicillin. Matzo ball soup. And a salad."
"A salad?"
"I'll eat it if you two won't."
"Well, Lyndall won't eat the soup. I'll have that later. I'm going to do some work."
I strip out of my suit and pull on jeans and a T-shirt, then grab the black hoodie I like wearing at home.
It smells a little like Lola, and I like that. She must put it on when I'm not here.
The thought warms something inside me.
I run down the stairs and to the kitchen first, grabbing a burger and some fries.
"That's for Lola." I point at the soup and crackers.
"And how's your girlfriend? Things seem cozy. Are you having S-E-X?"
"Shut up."
"Make me." And she picks up the second burger and licks the top of it, even though her half-eaten one is in front of her.
"Gross, Lyndall. And if you don't watch your tongue in all the ways, the next order? Gruel."
With that, I saunter off with my food.
"What's gruel?" she shouts.
I don't answer.
Mainly because I don't fucking know.
In my study, I do more of the work Dad gave me because I enjoy this side of it. I like shifting money, reinforcing the system I set up for him to keep it up with modern times. And I fucking love hacking.
But the thing I'm loathe even to admit to myself is that now he's making me help him for the bullshit payback for getting Lyndall free using his men, I'm not under pressure from Dad. And I like it.
When I don't agree with something, I say it. I offer solutions that are better, work better in a changing world, and he listens. Mainly because he thinks he has me, but also because he's smart and can see I can expand his empire, make him more money.
Dad loves that. Obviously.
When he tries to give me shit, I shut him down.
It's liberating, and something I should have done a long time ago.
I sit back and take a bite of my burger, washing it down with some whiskey.
Fuck, if I hadn't spent so much time fighting him and the legacy forced on me, I could have been using it and shaping it to my advantage.
Dad doesn't want anyone taking over. Not until he's dead and gone, and I've got a feeling that's a long, long way away.
But he likes control.
He thinks he has it over me.
I know differently.
And I'm in a position here that can fit right into the Syndicate's needs.
I'll be making the rules that matter, not Dad.
As I go over some things, I see a name, one that's been connected to Dom.
The man is an enemy of my father's, but deals are always there to be made if you do it the right way. Plus, it will piss Dad off.
I broker a deal with the man in exchange for intel on Dom.
He wants stakes in a piece of Dad's territory. There's nothing there, and he wants to expand his gentlemen's clubs, girls who strip and serve businessmen during the day and service the men who play high-stakes games at night.
He'll pay Dad a reduced amount, but it's a plus as we're not making a thing in that part of Queens.
Then I sit back and finish the complex hacking job I've been hired to do.
My phone rings, and I hit speaker.
"What the actual fuck, Enzo? I just heard from Ferez's lawyer. You know I hate that man. He's wanted to have a business there for ages, and I've said no. You know why I've said no?"
"Yes, but I don't care. It's time for the old men to step aside with organized crime. None of this bullshit. He knows the score. I'll finish him if he double-crosses me, and it's a good deal for him on a site he's coveted, and us earning money for nothing."
"No. And you know why? I'm the one in fucking charge, Enzo. Not you."
"Maybe that's the problem."
"You're reckless. You don't know what you're doing."
I look at the numbers on the screen. "I made you a hundred mil today doing above-board shit. I can make more, too. And the other stuff? Tack on fifty mil. Not bad."
"It's not your decision, Enzo."
I get up, drain my glass, and refill it.
"Way I see it, Dad, is you wanted me to step up. This is me stepping up."
"And this is my family. I'm the head. I'm in charge, and you answer to me. You run shit like this by me."
"Well, maybe it's time that changed."
There's silence.
Then Dad explodes. "What the fuck are you talking about, Enzo?"
"I'm talking about me, running things. Time for new blood, old man. Either you step down and give me full control, or I walk away for good."
My father laughs. "You've hardly proven yourself capable of keeping Lourdes Mancini out of trouble, though fuck knows why you'd want to help her, let alone be capable of running a mafia empire."
I really don't want to run it. I don't want to be my father. I don't want all the things that truly go with this. But I'll take it if I have to and strip it for spare parts.
If I wanted to.
"You and I both know there's a reason you refuse to give up on the idea of me continuing your legacy, Dad."
My father barks out another laugh. "And what's that?"
"You already know I'm more than capable. And what's more, I'm capable in ways you aren't. I'm flexible, of the age. You're a dinosaur." And because it's a major flex, I keep going. "Think about it, old man, and then get back to me."
"Like hell—"
"But don't take too long, or I'll make that decision for you. And I don't think you'll like it."
I disconnect the call and down my next drink.
Shit, that felt fucking good.
I do some more work, and then, everything in me still buzzing, I take my garbage down to the kitchen.
Lyndall's not in there, but she's also not finished with her food as it's still out, mostly gone, but there's also a half-drunk glass of soda.
With a sigh, I step on the pedal to open the garbage can, and I mourn my once clean counters.
I know I'll have to clean up later, after her. But I don't care. I'm fucking flying on giving it to my father.
Damn, if I knew it'd be that good, standing up to him, I'd—
What. The. Fuck.
Someone has thrown some stuff out. And I vaguely remember, it's garbage day tomorrow.
My mood goes flat, heavy, sinking down.
I reach into the bin and pull the stick out.
I know what it is.
Though I've never had a chick check before, mostly because I don't tend to go bareback.
Except with Lola. And I probably need to rectify that. Because...
This isn't the cleaner's.
Shit.
There's a strangled noise at the door, and it takes me a good few breaths to get my fury back in a box. Mostly.
Then I turn, and all my nightmares come crashing down around me.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The expression on her face tells me all I need to know.
But...I ask anyway, holding up the pregnancy test.
The positive pregnancy test.
I know it's positive because the box, flattened beneath it, shows the positive and the negative on it, and this one...it's fucking goddamn positive.
"Is this yours, Lyndall?"
Her eyes go wider. "I was going to take out the trash. I just..."
"Is it?"
My fifteen-year-old sister swallows. "Yes. I'm pregnant."