Chapter Twenty-Three
LOLA
I pause on top of the stairs, near the kitchen, hand pressed hard to my stomach as I listen to the loud conversation coming from the room between Lyndall and Enzo.
My throat closes tight, and swallowing is an insurmountable chore.
For a moment, I can't move.
I know I should turn and go upstairs because this isn't my business.
This is family business, and just because I'm knocked up doesn't mean I'm family.
Enzo and I aren't anywhere close to even being in a relationship or figuring out what we want beyond lust.
Shit.
I grip the handrail with my free hand.
I have no idea how I feel.
Before all this, I might have said I was fall-in-love material.
Before all this, I might have said I was in a conundrum, as I could fall for both handsome, hot, sexy Enzo, someone I've known forever, and the mysterious stranger who'd become my closest confidant and knew my inner self, knew all my secrets, even the ones with urges and desires, and though I'd never seen him, he was special. ..
So... no flipping idea now since everything is twisted around and upside down.
I shake my head. "Walk away. This is a family argument, nothing more."
The only thing is, it doesn't feel like something normal.
It's different, but as someone who never fought with her father, how the hell would I know what a family fight should sound like?
Not this.
But I don't move. I can't.
It's not shouting level, just loud and urgent enough to stop me in my tracks and make my insides keep twisting.
All I can think is that something is wrong. Something big.
For once, I wish it was something happening at top volume.
While Enzo's place is fairly open, it is very well insulated, and voices don't tend to carry well.
There's no word said in one room that you can usually hear from another, if it's a room, that is, as a lot of his place is modern and open plan.
I keep standing there, right at the top of the stairs on the ground floor, where the foyer is. I know I should turn and go back to my room and come back down later.
What the hell? Do I think he's going to do something to her? Hurt her?
That's so laughable I do almost turn.
Enzo isn't violent. At least, if he is, it's not to me or his sister or anyone he cares about, because deep inside, I know he just might kill to keep us safe.
Might?
He has.
Those men who broke in. He killed them right there and then.
I swallow down the sudden rush of bile in my mouth.
Shit, I'm only standing here because the thought of that soup appealed, and the craving for those saltines got too much.
The soup is something I know settles, and with Enzo, it'd be from a good place. I like matzo balls. The saltines are ordinarily something I don't tend to eat, too bland, too dry, but now they appeal, probably for that reason.
Or did appeal.
But I have to eat. It's not just me that needs nutrition. And I know that.
Even through the nausea that the fighting brings on, the hunger buzzes like pins and needles.
Not hunger, exactly, but the knowledge that I need to eat.
Hells.
What I should do is just keep going.
Or get in the elevator and take it to the kitchen floor. That way, it'll open and announce me at the same time.
After all, it's easy enough to cool the heat in the kitchen just by me walking in. And I've dithered up here long enough to know I'm not going to turn and walk away.
He won't hurt her.
Yet, I'm protective, anyway.
He loves her, but she needs more than one person.
Whatever they're arguing about is big enough to make the conversation urgent, harsh, almost brutal.
And I can't hear what it is.
But all the emotions sting the air, and the urgency in her tone wraps around me.
His anger rubs against my skin and psyche.
Maybe it's the urgency that I've never heard like this between them before that makes me take another step, then another, down.
"...don't you think, Lyndall?"
There it is, that abrasive, furious tone, now dripping with sarcasm.
It's ripping strips off me.
God knows what it's doing to a kid.
I try to think, but there's nothing she could have done to warrant this.
She's been through an ordeal, and now we're locked up.
What did she do? Break his favorite mug?
Maybe he really is a monster, after all.
She says something back, clearly very upset, and I take one more step.
"For fuck's sake. You're a kid! I'm starting to fucking see why Dad sent you to boarding school. I'd have you locked in your room until you turned fucking forty."
I flinch as something boils up in me.
How dare he talk to his sister like that? How dare he use the fact that her father shipped her off like that?
"...and I'm sorry." Lyndall sounds close to tears.
It rips into me, hard.
"It's too late for sorry. You should have told me!"
She says something else, but I can't hear it.
My heart is hammering.
Then a different kind of horror strikes me, streaking heat and ice through me.
What if Lyndall told him about my pregnancy?
I know she'd never just blurt it out or spill any secrets I might have. Or better yet, Lyndall wouldn't ever spill the secret I have. She isn't that kind of girl.
I frown, biting my lip.
No, she's not that kind of girl.
However, I think that Enzo is the type of man to do what it takes to get information from someone.
His own sister, though?
Lyndall's either a second away from crying, or she has been crying already. The upset in her voice tears shreds of flesh from my bones.
"Enzo?" Lyndall's voice is suddenly clearer, and I quickly back up the stairs, stumbling back into the great room as his voice thunders up along with the thud of his feet.
"Go to your fucking room, Lyndall. Now!"
Lyndall crashes up the stairs, pausing to cast me a tear-stained glance. "Sorry!"
Then she runs to the next set of stairs and crashes up those, too. Disappearing.
And terror has me firm in its grip. Fear, too.
I can't move as he stops and looks at me.
The daggers wanting blood in his gaze are real.
And guilt over my secret crashes down.
Then he narrows his eyes like he can sniff guilt. "Did you—?"
"Wh..." That's all I get out.
I can't form the rest of the word what. I can't make my thoughts cohesive enough to complete a sentence, and I don't think he's listening. I look to the stairs to see if Lyndall is coming down. But she doesn't appear, and I can barely breathe.
Sorry.
She said sorry.
He knows.
Does he?
Enzo storms up to me and grabs my arms.
It doesn't hurt, the pressure is firm, but I don't recognize the murderous storm in his face.
Right then, I'm taken back to Dad and his father, to...not words, I don't remember words, just some shouting, and his father had the same expression as he glared at Dad.
And when he saw me, just a kid, the man had looked at me with this murderous storm, cold, violent, deadly. And it hit me so hard it felt like all his bad feelings were just for me.
I burst into tears and ran.
Back then, I think this man, then a boy, comforted me.
And now...he is looking at me with that same expression on his face that once lived on his father's. And it makes me cold inside, and my toes curl in my shoes.
He shakes his head. "Shit, Lola. Did you fucking know?"
I stare at him.
Know what?
But he keeps going.
"I'm going to fucking kill him. She's a fucking child. And she can barely take care of herself, let alone a fucking baby. All the things she wants to do with her life, all of that. Ruined. No Juilliard, nothing. Fuck. Death is too good for him."
Oh. Shit.
The realization hits me hard in the face.
He thinks Lyndall's pregnant?
Really?
How?
When?
Because I took the test ages ago.
But how is it still here?
Did she keep it, ready to throw it out at a later date to make sure he wouldn't see it?
Is trash day tomorrow? It'd be a good time, after the cleaner has been. Refresh the fresh trash can by taking out the trash.
To me, it doesn't make the best sense, but to a teen, it might.
Or she put it in her room and forgot it.
Or she was trying to work out the right time to coincide with both trash day and the cleaner.
Who knows what a fifteen-year-old might be thinking?
Suddenly, I swallow.
I threw it in the bathroom trash, didn't I?
What if she's—
The moment the thought comes, I dismiss it.
No way is she pregnant. I don't even think she's had sex yet. She certainly spoke to me like an innocent.
And I think Lyndall would tell me.
So, is she taking the heat for me?
Did she sneak it out of the trash and keep hold of it?
Or worse, she forgot it completely, and the cleaner threw it out.
A good cleaner doesn't ever comment on what they find or anything inside the house. They clean, throw out, put away, and keep their mouths shut. Even I know that.
And in the end, it doesn't matter.
Enzo knows about the test.
That's what matters.
I drag in a shaky breath. "Calm down, Enzo."
The anger takes on a vicious hue. "You knew?"
"What?"
"About the fucking test."
"Yes, but—"
"You fucking knew my sister was knocked up, and you didn't tell me?"
I try to stay calm. Try to keep the shake from my voice. "Lyndall's not pregnant. Think about it."
The rage is infused in his tone. "There's nothing to fucking think about.
Fuck this noise about me saving that no-good, little prick, Luke.
I'm going to kill him, rip him apart with my bare hands, stomp him into nothing.
If he thinks he can put his dick near her and get away with it, then he can eat that dick once I rip it from his no-good body. "
I try to reach for him, but he pulls away and opens what looks like a drawer to reveal a safe. He punches in numbers and presses his thumb against it.
It opens.
Then he pulls out a gun. Sleek, black, big.
He shoves a clip into it.
"Enzo." My heart skips a beat.
I'm not sure why.
Of course, he has guns. His father is a mobster. Those men...
I gulp in air.
I've just never—
The fury he has right now might put a Berserker to shame, and it scares me.
"Yep, going to kill the little fuck. And guess what? I know where he is."
"Enzo, calm down. Please. And tell me what's going on."
I want to say I'm confused, but while I might be on details, I really don't think I am about what he's thinking regarding Lyndall.
But I try to buy time. Because while I don't think he'd ever harm me or his sister, I think he's more than capable of murder. More than capable of beating the shit out of an eighteen-year-old who big-talked himself as twenty to a fifteen-year-old I'm beginning to see he might like back.
More than capable of murdering him.
And if he does, his hands aren't the only ones left bloody. Mine are too.
Worse, it'd be all my fault.
"Enzo, I don't understand. Please tell me what's going on?"
He stops. Tucks the gun away. "You don't understand? Let me spell this out for you."
"Spell out what?"
"Lyndall is pregnant. And I think you fucking know that."
"No—"
"No? Wrong answer. It's yes. She confirmed it herself. I found the fucking test in the trash."
Fuck.
I start to shake, and I can't feel my fingers.
"Enzo? Sit down." My voice sounds a million miles away.
"I don't have time for that. I have an asshole to fucking kill."
I make myself meet his eyes. "No, you don't. Sit. Down."
"Fuck that. The prick needs to suffer before I put a bullet between his eyes. He defiled my little sister, a kid. And I think I'm going to cut his dick off. After I put electrodes in it. I'll let him bleed out, I'll—"
"Enzo. STOP."
He does, but he's gathering his self-righteous, rage-filled steam once more.
I have to tell him. I have to.
Now.
This isn't how I ever envisioned it.
But I take a breath.
"Enzo, Lyndall isn't pregnant."
"Of course, she fucking is. She told me. I saw the test."
"Yes, I know. I got that."
He's not looking at me.
"Enzo!"
"What is it? Lies won't save the prick. And she's grounded until she's ready for retirement." He leans in. "I. Found. The. Fucking. Test."
I stand my ground.
I look at him. "You did find a test. Mine. I'm pregnant, not Lyndall."
He frowns, missing the important part. "What do you mean, it's not hers?"
"That test you found? It was mine."