Chapter 16
Enzo
The mansion loomed, a cold testament to my mother’s past. Carina had described it often enough: perfect symmetry, manicured lawns, an air of suffocating wealth.
Her childhood home, the place they’d banished her for daring to love my father.
Now here we were, returning after so many years to attend a lavish party for my uncle, the new don of the Calafiore mafia.
My stomach twisted. Bringing Gemma here felt like a betrayal, not just to her, but to myself.
This wasn’t her world, and despite Carina’s relentless pushing, it wasn’t mine, either.
The humid night air did little to ease the tension knotting my shoulders.
Unbuttoning my collar, I tried loosening both the physical and emotional knot.
I opened the passenger door and held out my hand.
Gemma took it, her skin soft against my calloused palm.
I let my thumb graze her knuckles, a small, selfish touch I couldn’t resist.
She peered at the ground, hiding the slight hue coloring her cheeks. “Your uncle’s house?” Releasing my hand, she stepped forward.
I followed her roaming gaze over the climbing vines on the old stucco, settling on the fountain spewing water in the driveway’s immaculate yard.
“You told me you didn’t associate with this crowd.”
I waited for her to add the inevitable. Gotcha, liar . My hand settled on the curve of her back, her warm flesh a precarious anchor against the storm brewing inside me. I guided her toward the stone stairs.
Her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat.
She assumed she ruled the upper hand with her smart-mouth jab, but I disarmed her with a single touch. “Believe it or not, I’ve managed to dodge this particular circle of hell until now.”
Her pink lips parted in a way I recognized from experience. The hunger in her gaze had me almost ditching the party to take her back home.
Earlier, when she’d stepped out into the hallway, every instinct screamed to grab her and taste the kiss haunting my fantasies since the moment I laid eyes on her.
The pale blue dress should have been demure considering it bared no more than her shoulders and arms. But the satin skimming her figure was anything but.
As she’d descended the stairs, the whisper of fabric ended high above the curve of her behind, and I gripped the rail tight, preventing myself from toppling after her.
Around me, and me alone, it would have been a pleasure, but headed as we were into a viper’s nest teeming with mafiosi men, a protest sat on the tip of my tongue.
Every man inside would be looking at what was mine .
My hands tightened into fists, still itching to haul her back to the house and demand she wear another gown.
What stopped me was the progress we’d made these last few days. Another argument would unravel it all.
Gemma quirked her brow. “Wait, you’ve never met your uncle?”
My mother’s limo rolled onto the driveway, its wheels crunching over the pebbles.
“Never.” And oh, how I wished it would stay that way. The Calafiores thrived on misery, peddling poison to kids not even old enough to shave. They lined their pockets while claiming to do good, laundering money through phony charities.
Carina’s driver parked in the driveway, and we waited for her to emerge.
She stepped out onto the path, her gaze sweeping the huge house.
No nostalgia livened her gaze, just hard assessment.
She stuck her nose in the air, breathing in a sharp breath, a tell she dredged up memories she’d rather leave buried.
As she stomped her way up the stairs, her gaze flickered over me, her smile forced.
“At least you bothered to show.” Her tone dripped with the same venom she spat earlier when she’d learned Lucio had skipped this little reunion for Lombardy.
She’d forbidden him from leaving, so he’d done what he always did: gone behind her back, boarding the company jet before dawn.
My father’s company could burn to the ground for all Carina cared. When he died, his father ran the company, but as his sole heirs, the old man signed his business over to us.
At least Lucio had gotten his wish—dodging this charade. Like me, he knew the word family didn’t apply to any of the people inside.
Carina paused before ringing the doorbell, her gaze flashing on Gemma’s neck.
Aware of her scrutiny, Gemma assessed the front of her dress. “What, is there a stain?”
“The pendant?” She cocked a brow, missing Gemma’s concern.
She clutched the jewelry around her neck. “You mean my tracking device?” Bitterness laced her tone. Her gaze narrowed, revealing exactly how she felt about the constant surveillance.
The corner of my lip tugged down. I hadn’t intended it to feel like a cage, but wanted her safe from De Luca.
Hence the reason for the necklace and banning her from seeing or speaking to her father.
I couldn’t let them continue seeing each other, or even talk on the phone.
If De Luca hovered around the hospital and got wind of Gino’s calls to Gemma, he’d piece everything together, leaving Gino at risk.
Carina snapped to me, and something shifted. A flash of understanding lit her eyes, of dawning awareness. Her gaze strayed back to the pendant; not simply looking at it, but through it. “A moon, Enzo?” The question hung in the air, laced with a history only we shared.
My jaw tightened. Carina and her sharp perception. I met her gaze, a silent warning passing between us. This wasn’t something to be discussed, not here, not now. Especially not in front of Gemma. I forced a casual shrug. “It was the only thing I could find on short notice.”
Her lips curved into a small, knowing smile, one that sent a shiver of unease down my spine. “Oh, I bet,” she echoed, the word dripping with irony. She turned back to the door, reaching for the bell.
A lady with a prominent streak of white in her hair received us, her gaze locking on Carina with undisguised emotion. “Carina, is it really you? After all these years…” her voice cracked and she kissed my mother on both cheeks.
“Contessina.” My mother gripped the woman’s hands. “So good to see you.” She straightened her shoulders. Pride radiated in her gaze. “This is my oldest son, Enzo.” Then her gaze spanned Gemma and a sour glower overtook her face. “…and his wife, Gemma.”
Contessina, either feigning ignorance or immune to Carina’s icy demeanor, kissed our cheeks and ushered us inside.
A sea of people flowed through the villa, most of them gravitating toward the grand marquee in the yard.
Women bantered with smiles sharp as knives, and the men huddled together, nursing their glasses of scotch.
The air hung thick with cigar smoke, a haze doing little to soften the hard faces surrounding us.
A low murmur of Italian, punctuated by sharp laughter, created a soundtrack of unspoken deals and veiled threats.
Gemma stood out from the crowd, her gentle gaze searching the open area. Calculating stares surrounded her. The sudden worry in her brow betrayed her feelings. She hated every second of this.
Men in dark suits, their souls even darker, watched her with predatory stares, lingering on her curves as though appraising livestock.
Their eyes were cold, empty, bottomless pits where souls went to die.
I ran my tongue over my teeth, imagining ways I could rearrange their faces.
These men, these criminals , shouldn’t have gotten under my skin.
But they did. Their families preached about omertà , about honor.
But from what I’d heard, no honor reflected their way of life.
Gemma edged closer to my side, her lips pursed tight. “Is it me?” The column of her throat bobbed. “Or is this party unsettling?”
I nudged my head toward the bar outside the marquee, a silent invitation to make an escape. “Let’s get a much needed drink.”
“Enzo!” Carina’s voice cut through the crowd, beckoning us from the alfresco. The older man flanking her side bore a semblance to her, but his silver hair and wrinkles clearly showed he was older.
I steered Gemma toward the duo, steeling myself for whatever was coming.
“Enzo, this is your Zio Tommaso.” Carina hadn’t smiled in years, and yet, here in the company of lowlives, she glowed. “Tommaso, finally you get to meet my Enzo.”
Tommaso embraced me, his grip surprisingly strong for a man of his age.
He kept a hand on my shoulder, his gaze roaming my face as if searching for something familiar.
“You must take after the Cammaratas.” He glanced at Carina, a flicker of humor passing his face.
“What a shame he doesn’t look more like his handsome uncle. ”
The statement almost made me laugh… mockingly. I didn’t care for this man seeing me as some younger version of himself, or for us to associate outside this event. Carina obviously hadn’t shared how her sons detested every single one of them.
He turned to my wife, his smile widening. “And you must be Gemma. Welcome, welcome.” He kissed her cheeks.
Gemma, no stranger to the custom, graced him with her genuine politeness.
About to escape the fake pleasantries and guide her to the bar, Tommaso crooked a finger at someone in the crowd, his smile turning… colder. “You must meet your cousins. They’ve heard so much about you.”
Twin teenage boys approached, and a third, older man hooked his arm with a tall blonde as they made their way over to join us.
“Franco.” Tommaso nudged the man. “Meet your Zia Carina, her son, Enzo and his wife, Gemma.”
Franco’s gaze barely flickered in my direction before focusing on my mother. “Zia Carina. My father speaks of you constantly.”
I almost snickered. Had he forgotten his grandfather exiled her from this house? Franco made it sound as though my mother was a humanitarian hero.
Carina smothered a sneer. “I’m sure he does.”
Franco then extended his hand to me.