Chapter 28 Enzo
The meeting room smells like old leather and fresh espresso.
The table is long, dark mahogany, marked by years of strategy and spilled blood. Around it sit the men who’ve run this city at my side—capos and trusted enforcers. Each of them deadly in their own right. Each of them here because they know what’s at stake when I call them in without warning.
Lars sits to my right, arms crossed, shoulders loose. But I know him too well to mistake that posture for ease. He’s ready to move. He always is when there’s blood in the water.
Gio, my security chief, is thumbing a lighter beside his coffee. Marco, who oversees the port runs, is already impatiently tapping the table. The others shift in their seats before I stand, and silence takes the room.
“We’ve had eyes on the Kavanagh family for months. You’ve all been briefed on the hits. The alliances they’ve been building south of the city. They’re trying to expand. Take what isn’t theirs. And until now, we’ve been making small moves to let them know we see it and we won’t allow it.”
I pause, letting the gravity settle before I continue.
“Those gentle warnings? They end tonight.”
Chairs creak as bodies lean forward.
“Two weeks ago, a woman surfaced at the Monarch. An entertainer. Called herself Bianca. The thing is, I met her two years ago, and I knew her as Lilly.” I scan the room, measuring every expression. “But her real name is Zara Kavanagh.”
That gets their attention.
All talking dies. Eyes sharpen. Gio drops his lighter.
“She’s Lachlan’s daughter,” Lars says, filling in the silence with just enough fire to keep them listening. “Been off-grid for years. Reappeared when Declan went down. Hospital staff confirmed she was at his bedside. Then she vanished.”
“Taken,” I say. “And not by us.”
Marco clears his throat, breaking the tension with a scoff that doesn’t quite hide the edge in his voice. “So what? She’s Irish blood. Let them sort it out. Doesn’t sound like our problem.”
I shift forward, both palms flat on the table. My voice drops. “It became our problem the second I met her.”
The room stills.
“She’s not just Lachlan Kavanagh’s daughter.” I let the words settle before finishing. “She’s going to be my wife.”
Chairs creak as a few men lean in, expressions shifting from confusion to calculation. Lars lifts his glass, unbothered.
“She’s the future Madrina of this family,” I say, and this time, there’s no mistaking the steel in my voice. “That makes her one of us.”
A few heads turn. The silence is loaded. Because this changes everything.
A beat passes before Lucio leans forward, elbows braced on the table. “You’re talking about marrying the daughter of your enemy,” he says, voice cool. “Are you sure this isn’t personal?”
I don’t falter. “It is personal.”
That earns a ripple of tension. The men shift, glancing at one another. I let them.
“She fooled you once, didn’t she?” Marco presses, testing the edge. “You didn’t even know who she was. What makes you so sure she isn’t still playing you?”
I smile. “She had every chance to gut me. Every chance to hand me over. She didn’t.”
“Just because she didn’t take you down in the time you’ve known her doesn’t mean they aren’t setting a trap,” someone else mutters.
“She came back,” I counter, gaze narrowing. “Right when her brother was dying. She showed up alone after being off grid for almost seven years. No entourage, no warning, no protection.”
Gio lifts a brow. “And that makes you trust her enough to put a ring on her finger and bring her into your family? Into your business?”
“No,” I say evenly. “That’s not why.”
He waits, but I don’t give him more. Just hold his stare until he looks away.
Lars leans forward now, voice casual but aimed. “Then what is it, Enzo? You want to make a statement? Send a message to Lachlan? Or is this about something else?”
I take a breath, my fingers tapping once against the table.
“She risked her life leaving that family when she did. She built a life in hiding. Didn’t ask for help. Didn’t look for favors.”
The room is quiet now.
I lean back in my chair, eyes cutting across the men who sit before me.
“I’ve seen beauty. I own a club full of it. But her?” I pause. “She’s something else entirely.”
Another silence, heavier this time.
“With what I know, I’m assuming she’s in enemy hands,” I continue.
“And we’re going to bring her home. But not by kicking in the front door.
We’re going to dismantle the Kavanaghs from the inside.
Quietly. Precisely. Weaken their structure.
Isolate their leadership. Break their power without breaking the alliance web. ”
Gio leans forward. “Which pieces do you want removed first?”
“Start with their arms dealers. I want the import lines severed. Lars, you’ll take their East Side crews—anyone laundering out of Englewood. Marco, sweep the port contacts. Cut every name on this list.” I tap the folder in front of me. “But leave enough to keep them scrambling.”
“And Lachlan?” someone asks from the far end.
I meet their eyes one by one.
“No one touches Lachlan.”
The room shifts.
They don’t understand at first. Some might think I’m holding back out of sentiment. But they’re wrong.
Lars already knows. He gives a quiet nod and doesn’t question me.
“I will deal with Lachlan myself,” I say. “He’s the root of the evil. He’ll bleed for it.”
Marco shakes his head. “I hope this is all worth it, Enzo.”
“I expect your full loyalty and resources, Marco. Now if we’re done with questions, I want eyes all over this city. And when we find her…”
I pause, voice dropping into something darker.
“She comes home. Under my protection. Under my name.”
“Understood,” Lars says. And just like that, the others fall in line.
Silence hangs thick for a beat longer before the men start to move.
Chairs scrape against the floor as they’re pushed back.
Folders are opened, pages flipped, assignments scribbled down in shorthand only the Syndicate understands.
The shift is immediate—steel-edged focus cutting through the haze of disbelief.
Orders are absorbed. Strategy clicks into place.
And still, beneath all the movement, I feel it. The ripple of something unspoken. Shock, maybe. Disbelief, definitely. It clings to the walls, unsettled and dense.
Because Enzo Marchetti doesn’t fall for women. He doesn’t name Madrinas. He doesn’t summon the full force of the Marchetti Syndicate over a woman who once disappeared without a trace—someone no one else would have dared claim.
Until now.
As the last of the men file out, Lars steps up beside me, his expression sharp, but his stride sure. Together, we watch the room empty. Watch plans unfurl into motion. Watch the machine we built begin to turn with new direction.
The empire’s moving. And this time, it’s moving for her.
The city blinks against the glass like a thousand dying stars. From up here, the world feels quiet. Distant. Like all the noise I wade through every day can't reach me on the top floor of Marchetti Tower.
Lars moves through the kitchen with ease.
He knows exactly where everything is, stocks the spice rack and makes sure the knives in the block stay sharp.
His sleeves are rolled up, tattoos on full display, a gold ring glinting as he flips steaks in a cast iron skillet.
The man boxes in the morning, stands beside me in dangerous spaces, and cooks like he could run a Michelin-starred restaurant.
He's the closest thing I have to a brother, and he feeds me because he knows I won't remember to feed myself.
The scent of garlic and lemon wafts through the kitchen. Jazz music drifts from the speakers overhead, and for a rare moment, the city outside doesn’t feel like it’s pressing in on all sides.
“You eat like shit when I’m not around,” Lars says, plating food without looking at me.
“And yet, I’m still alive.”
“Barely.”
He sets a dish in front of me. Perfectly cooked steak, charred broccolini, and rice with some kind of glaze. I don’t ask what it is; if he made it, it’ll be delicious.
We eat in silence for a few minutes. It’s not uncomfortable. We’ve lived in each other’s shadows too long for that. I’m just waiting for the questions.
He finally leans back, wipes his hands on a towel, and narrows his eyes at me. “Tell me about her.”
I glance up from my plate.
“Zara,” he says. “The girl from the club. The one who has you moving men like chess pieces and calling her Madrina. I was with you that night in Detroit. I thought you moved on after you couldn’t find her two years ago.”
I glance down at my plate, but I’m not seeing the food anymore. The fork feels heavy in my hand, the memory sinking deeper than I meant to let it.
“She was dancing at Sparks that night in Detroit,” I say quietly.
“You probably didn’t notice her. She ignored my request to join us.
” Lars laughs at that. “Sure she’s gorgeous, but Christ, Lars.
..there’s something about her. The way she carries herself.
The way she never seemed to fear me, like she could see right through me.
Fire, stubbornness, the kind of defiance that brands itself into your skin. ”
I set the fork down, my hand curling into a fist beside it. “She wasn’t just another dancer. I knew it then, even before I knew her name. She burned herself into me that night, Lars, and I haven’t been free of her since.”
I pause, letting the edges of that night come back with clarity.
“When we went back to the hotel and I went to the bar, she walked in. Black dress. Eyes like a challenge. It was her birthday. We drank, I ordered cake for her like an idiot, and then...she came back to my room.”
Lars grins, shaking his head. “Cake?”
I shoot him a look, leaning back in my chair. “It was her birthday. It felt like the least I could do.”
He laughs under his breath, propping his arm on the counter. “You gonna tell me what happened after that?”
“No,” I say, voice flat. “You don’t need the details.”
He grins. “So it was one night, Enzo. I’ve had plenty of one-night stands and I wasn’t ready to burn down half of Chicago to get them back.”
“Lars, when it comes down to it, she did what no other woman has ever done. She made me forget who I was for a night,” I say, my voice rough around the edges.
“I wasn’t the Don. I wasn’t a Marchetti.
I was just…a man. No expectations. No power games.
She didn’t want a damn thing from me. Didn’t try to charm me or win anything.
She just was. And for the first time in a long time, I wanted to be lost in the moment. Lost with her.”
I drag a hand down my face, fingers pressing hard against the pressure building behind my eyes. “Then she walks into my club, like the universe decided to throw her in my path again just to see what I’d do with a second chance.”
Lars huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “Shit, Enzo…you believe in that shit now?”
I scoff, though the sound carries no real bite. “When it comes to her? I might even believe in God.”
He leans back, shaking his head. “You’re fucked. You know that, right?”
I lift my glass in a mock toast, the liquor catching the city lights. “Fully aware.”
“Just one question, what happens if she doesn’t want to be found?”
“I need her to tell me that herself,” I say. “Knowing she could be out there, locked in with the very people who’d use her, who’d hurt her...” My jaw tightens as I shake my head. “I can’t let that stand. I won’t be able to rest until I know she’s okay.”
Lars studies me for a long beat, then nods once. “Then we find her.”
I glance up, searching his eyes, and find no hesitation there.
“So you’re with me?” I ask.
He drains the last of his drink, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “I’m with you. Whatever it takes, wherever she is, whoever we have to go through—we’ll find her.”
For a moment, the words hang between us, heavy with everything unspoken. Then Lars leans back, nodding toward my plate. “Now finish your food. I didn’t cook for it to go cold while you brood about some woman.”
I huff out a laugh and pick up my fork again. Loyalty and brotherhood don’t always sound like vows or speeches. Sometimes, it’s just a man making sure you eat while you plot the next war.