Chapter 24 When Enzo Feels Unworthy #2
Enzo’s stomach twisted. He wanted to tell her that the confession had been staged, that the mastermind had used her phone proximity to the resin cradle case as the trigger, that the microphone was hidden where it shouldn’t have been.
He wanted to tell her what he’d heard through the hidden device, the way the audio had been shaped to sound like her own voice while she was trapped.
But he couldn’t say any of it without also admitting something that would make her feel worse: he’d failed to stop it. Again. Even when he’d been close.
Even when he’d believed he had it.
He pushed the paper back into his pocket. “I’m not chasing. I’m correcting.”
Valentina’s laugh was softer this time. Dangerous. “Correction is what people say right before they do the thing that makes it worse.”
That hit him harder than anger. Because it was the way his mind had been working since the campaign raid: identify the damage, fix it, move faster before it got worse.
He’d been treating trust like a problem to solve with speed.
But trust wasn’t a lock you could pick. It was a bridge you built plank by plank.
And he’d started laying boards while she was still standing on the gap.
He reached for her again, slower. This time he held out his hand, palm open, not grabbing. “Come with me.”
Valentina stared at his hand like it was a threat. Then her eyes flicked to his face, to the line of his jaw, to the effort he was making not to look like a man begging.
“I can’t,” she said. “Not now.”
“Not now?” Enzo’s voice sharpened. “Or not ever?”
Valentina’s throat bobbed. She looked away, toward the concrete wall. The overhead lights hummed. Somewhere deeper in the garage, water dripped at uneven intervals - an impatient sound.
“I don’t know what you are anymore,” she admitted, voice low enough that it felt like it scraped her throat on the way out. “And I don’t know what you’ve done to keep me alive.”
Enzo’s chest tightened until his ribs ached. He had done everything he could to keep her alive. He’d killed for her. He’d risked everything for her. He’d taken hits that weren’t meant for him. He’d placed himself between her and men in dark suits with guns that didn’t hesitate.
But if the only thing that mattered to her right now was the question in her eyes - what have you done - then all his actions were just background noise.
He stepped closer, careful. “I haven’t touched the sealed pact. I haven’t manipulated it to trigger anything.”
Valentina’s gaze snapped back to his. “Then explain why the page - ” She stopped herself. Her eyes darted to his pocket, then to his face again. “Explain why my evidence points to you.”
“Because they want it to,” he said, and the words came out raw. “They want you to believe I’m the mastermind’s tool.”
Valentina’s eyes filled, and she blinked hard like she could force the moisture back. “And what if you are?”
The question wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even loud. It was quiet enough to be lethal.
Enzo felt something inside him collapse - not with a bang, but with a slow, grinding surrender. Like the part of him that had believed he could earn her trust through loyalty finally realized loyalty wasn’t a currency that mattered if the other side controlled the narrative.
He opened his mouth, ready to argue, ready to insist, ready to lay out the logic again.
But his mind kept circling the same bitter possibility: that his independence hadn’t protected him.
That his vigilance hadn’t mattered. That his voice could be stolen and twisted so convincingly the woman he loved would look at him like he was poison.
He couldn’t bear to say, They used my voice recordings and my protectors obeyed. Not because it wasn’t true, but because it made him sound like he’d been outmaneuvered by the same tools he’d relied on.
Because it made him sound like he’d failed at the one thing he’d promised himself he’d never fail at.
“I don’t know how to make you believe me,” he said, and hated how small it sounded.
Valentina’s shoulders lifted, then fell. “You shouldn’t have to ‘make’ me. You should’ve prevented the trap.”
Enzo flinched at the word trap. It was accurate. It was also a verdict.
He stared at her, searching for something - anything - that would let him pull her back from this edge. “I prevented what I could,” he said. “I disabled part of the elevator rig. I found the hidden microphone. I identified where the insiders slipped. I - ”
Valentina held up a hand. Not to stop his speech. To stop herself from breaking. “Stop listing what you did.” Her voice went tight. “I need to know what you’re hiding.”
Enzo’s fingers curled against his thigh. He wanted to tell her about the chain-of-custody binder, about the forged witness line, about how the tampering was linked to the alliance’s legal arm. He wanted to tell her that the mastermind was testing her trust like it was a lock pick.
But he hadn’t told her everything. Not because he wanted to keep secrets for power. Because he’d feared the secrets would make her feel complicit.
He’d feared she would look at the sealed pact and see a binding that reached into her political life and her family’s past. He’d feared she would feel trapped by the same agreement she’d once believed was only a weapon against criminals.
And now that fear had become a weapon in someone else’s hands.
Enzo exhaled through his nose. “There’s something I didn’t tell you.”
Valentina’s face sharpened. “What?”
He took a step closer, enough that the warmth of her body cut through the garage chill. Enough that she could feel the steadiness he was trying to maintain.
“I didn’t tell you everything about the trapdoor clause,” he said.
“Not because I wanted to control you. Because I didn’t want you to carry it alone.
” His throat tightened. “Because when I saw how it could be activated - how it could be forced through a public filing - it felt like a countdown tied to your name.”
Valentina’s eyes flicked, quick and suspicious. “My name.”
Enzo nodded once, slow. “They’re using legal language to make your life bleed into their plan. And they’re using my voice to make it look like I’m the one holding the knife.”
Valentina’s breath shuddered. “So you admit you knew.”
“I knew it could be used.” His jaw clenched. “I didn’t know they’d already compromised the alliance’s oldest protection. I didn’t know one signature could be forged in a way that would survive scrutiny.”
Valentina stared at him, and the silence between them filled with the sound of distant traffic and the hum of the lights. Her anger had nowhere to go; it only had him.
“You’re saying you didn’t know,” she said finally. “But you still didn’t stop it.”
Enzo’s throat tightened. He could feel his own heartbeat under his skin like a threat. “I tried.”
Valentina’s expression went blank for a second - like she’d shut the part of herself that could feel. Then it cracked again. “Enzo, I can’t keep trying to trust you when every attempt lands me in a deeper hole.”
His lips parted, but no words came that didn’t sound like defense. And defense was what she was accusing him of being.
The stairwell door behind them rattled once - someone checking the handle on the other side or shifting their weight. Enzo’s head snapped toward the sound. The garage felt suddenly too quiet.
Valentina followed his gaze, eyes narrowing. “Do you hear that?”
Enzo listened. The rattle came again, softer. A footstep, then the muffled scrape of fabric against concrete.
His body moved before his mind fully caught up. He stepped in front of Valentina, angling his body to shield her from the door’s line. His hand slid into his jacket, fingers finding the edge of the firearm he’d kept close since the raid. Not for show. For survival.
“Stay behind me,” he said.
Valentina’s voice sharpened. “No.”
He glanced at her. “Valentina - ”
She shoved past him, posture straight, chin lifted. “If you start ordering me now, you’ll prove exactly what they want me to think.”
Enzo’s jaw tightened. He could argue. He could fight. But the truth was, he couldn’t win an argument against her fear with more control. Not when control had already become the accusation.
He let her move. His eyes tracked the door anyway.
The rattle stopped. A pause stretched, then came a different sound - lighter, like someone pressing something against the metal.
A click. Not a lock opening. Something else. Like a latch engaging from the outside.
Enzo’s stomach dropped. “They’re sealing this.”
Valentina’s gaze flashed to his. “Who?”
Enzo didn’t answer fast enough. The door shuddered, and the gap around it tightened. The metal settled with a heavy finality.
Valentina stepped closer, hand slamming against the door. “Open it!”
No response. Only the thick silence of concrete and the distant echo of a vehicle somewhere above.
Enzo turned back to her. He could see her trying to keep her breath even, trying not to shake. She was furious - furious at him for being there, furious at the men who’d staged the confession, furious at herself for still believing there was a way out if she stayed calm.
He hated that he couldn’t offer safety right now. Hated it with a specific, brutal clarity.
He pulled the burner phone from his pocket.
The screen lit at his touch, the battery low and the case scuffed from too many close calls.
Earlier, he’d used it to call Donato and ask about insiders in Lattanzi’s compliance unit.
Now the screen showed no new messages, only a missed call from an unknown number.
He didn’t have time to decipher it. He only had time to see the date stamp on a voicemail that had arrived moments ago.
Valentina’s gaze locked on the phone. “Don’t tell me they’re calling again.”