Chapter 36 Enzo
The priest leaves without a word, escorted by my men. The door shuts, and the penthouse falls into silence, only the crackle of the fireplace breaking it.
Zara sits bound to the chair, chest rising hard beneath the torn wreckage of her wedding dress. Her eyes lock on mine, blazing with fury so sharp it could cut. Lesser men would already be ashes under that glare.
But to a man like me, she’s never looked more beautiful.
“You’re Enzo Marchetti.” Her voice shakes, equal parts rage and disbelief. “You lied to me this entire time?”
A dark chuckle slips past my lips. “Angel, you lied too.”
“I—” she stutters, breath hitching, “I had good reason.”
“So did I.”
Her eyes flash. “I can’t believe I slept with a fucking Marchetti.” The words drip venom.
I step closer, arms folding across my chest. “And I can’t believe I had my enemy’s daughter under my roof. Tell me, were you gathering information for your father?”
“Fuck you. I hate that man.”
My tone hardens. “I hope you mean that. Because you wear my name now, and in this family, betrayal isn’t forgiven.”
She spits each word like a curse. “Fuck. The. Fuck. Off. I hate my last name. I would never do a goddamn thing to benefit Lachlan.”
I study her, let the silence hang long enough to make her squirm. Then I nod once. “Good. I believe you. Just needed to hear you say it. And don’t worry about your last name any longer, you have a different one now.”
Her laugh is humorless, bitter. “So what is this, then? Did you agree to an alliance too? Because I hate to break it to you—the Emerald Brotherhood is crumbling. Lachlan has nothing left to offer you.”
Another step forward closes the space between us. I lean in the firelight throwing shadows across her face. “I don’t need anything from Lachlan Kavanagh. I didn’t marry you for power, Zara. I did it to save you.”
Her expression falters, her veil’s half-torn, hair tangled around her shoulders, lipstick smudged from the chaos.
She radiates fury, indignation—and underneath all of it, that same wild defiance that first hooked me two years ago in Detroit.
I don’t move right away. I savor the sight of her like a final exhale after too many days without air.
She jerks one foot back as soon as it’s free. I reach for the other, feeling her legs tense beneath my hands. “Untie me,” she snaps, voice sharp.
I saunter closer. “Are you planning to behave if I do?”
Her head tilts, glare full of venom. “Why the fuck should I, Enzo?”
“It sounds so good to finally hear you say my name.”
Her brows pinch. “Go to hell.”
I crouch in front of her, sliding my fingers beneath the knots at her ankles. “Already there, Angel. Been living in it since the moment I realized you were missing.” I move to release her hands. When I rise and step behind her, her shoulders draw tighter.
“Don’t pretend to be gentle now,” she mutters, yanking her arms away the second they’re free.
“Just trying to avoid the part where you throw a punch.” I step around the chair to face her.
“You should be so lucky.”
She stands abruptly, and for a second, we’re chest to chest. Her nostrils flare. Her dress is a ruined thing clinging to her curves, stained with someone else’s ceremony. I reach between us.
She slaps my hand away. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I grip her left wrist, lifting her hand between us. The engagement ring still glints on her finger—Falco’s ring. A symbol of everything I tore apart tonight.
“I’m fixing something.”
I twist the ring off with a single pull, then walk to the floor-to-ceiling doors to the balcony. I open the doors and, without hesitation, hurl the ring into the night.
Zara watches, stunned. “You’re insane.”
I shut the door. “And you’re free.”
She moves to the bar, arms crossed. I pull out a chilled bottle of champagne, pop the cork, and pour two glasses.
She doesn’t take the one I offer, so I set it back down.
“You seriously think we’re celebrating?”
I raise a brow. “If I remember correctly, champagne helped get you into my bed once.”
“Good luck with that now.” She snorts. “So we’re pretending this is normal?”
“Why not?” I sip. “We’re married. A toast seems like a good start.”
She turns her back on me, muttering under her breath. “This isn’t a goddamn honeymoon, Enzo.”
“No,” I agree, setting my glass down. “But we could have a little celebration.”
She pivots fast. “You think I want any part of this?”
“The last time you were in my home, you were ready to climb me like a tree. Well, now that I know who you really are, the offer to fuck is back on the table.”
She falters. Just slightly. Her arms drop to her sides, then lift to press her palms against her temples.
“You are impossible,” she says, voice ragged.
I move behind her again, hands moving to the zipper of her dress.
“Don’t,” she says.
I lower my mouth to her ear. “You don’t belong in this.”
She sighs and doesn’t fight me. I peel the fabric from her back. She sucks in a breath as it slips down her arms, pooling in a mess at her feet.
Standing there in black lace and nothing else, she should look vulnerable. But she doesn’t. She looks like a queen who’s been pushed to the edge of war.
Her chest rises and falls in short bursts. “This doesn’t mean anything,” she says.
I shake my head. “Never said it did. I don’t expect anything from you. Simply stripping away any evidence of that motherfucker.”
The air thickens between us, a charged, electric pull neither of us can sever. She turns halfway, and I see it—the moment her fight shifts, sharpens, transforms. Her fingers curl at her sides.
“Why did you do this?” Her question cuts through the air, raw and trembling.
I lean in, close enough that my breath ghosts across her bare shoulder, but I don’t touch her.
Not yet. “Because you’re mine,” I say, voice absolute.
“You were mine the second you walked into that bar in Detroit. From the second you looked at me like you weren’t afraid.
When you gave me one night and you never left my mind, my skin, my thoughts. ”
Her lips part, a soft intake of breath she doesn’t mean to give me.
“I’ve waited two years for the chance to put you where you belong,” I continue, “not as some pawn between men. Not as a prize for your father or Falco to wave around. But by my side, as mine. My wife. My queen.”
I let the silence stretch, heavy, before I finally let my hand trace the curve of her arm, light enough to feel her shiver.
“No one will hurt you again. You will be respected and cared for. Even if you hate me for this, you will never be unprotected. You will never be unwanted. You will never be alone.”
Her body wavers, a battle between the fire she shows me and the flicker of something softer underneath. I see it in her eyes—the weakness she doesn’t want to admit, the way her heart betrays her even as her jaw stays locked.
And I know at this moment that I’ve won something deeper than a war.