Chapter 44 Enzo
She’s perched on the counter when I walk in, bare legs swinging. Grease-stained pizza box at her side, crust dangling from her fingers. She takes a bite, moans like it’s the best thing she’s tasted in her life.
My cock twitches. Not because of the food. Because that sound should be mine. Always mine.
“Careful, Angel,” I rasp, stepping between her knees. “Keep making noises like that, and I’ll fuck you on top of the damn pizza box.”
Her lips curve around a wicked little smile as she chews, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. “You’d ruin dinner.”
“Dinner doesn’t matter,” I murmur, gripping her thigh, sliding my hand higher until her breath catches. “The only thing worth eating in this room is sitting right in front of me.”
She smirks, wipes a smear of sauce from the corner of her mouth with her thumb, and licks it clean. My restraint fractures. I lean in, steal her lips with mine, tasting the faint salt of tomato, the heat of her mouth, all of it dizzying.
Instead of pulling me deeper, she twists in my arms and presses her palms flat against my chest, grinning up at me. “Are you really that easy, husband?”
I slide my hand lower, fingers brushing beneath the hem of the shirt that isn’t hers. “Only for you, Mrs. Marchetti.”
She laughs, tossing a napkin at me. For a beat, it’s soft. Easy. The kind of moment I didn’t know I could have. Her hair’s a wild mess. Her cheeks flushed pink from our earlier wreckage. She smells like sex and spice and mine.
My hand settles at the small of her back, slipping under the fabric to find bare skin—warm, soft, addictive.
For one stolen heartbeat, nothing else exists.
Just her. The way her body leans into mine.
The smile that says she has no idea how fucking dangerous this peace is—how I’d kill anyone who tried to take it from me.
Then something shifts.
A flicker—barely a breath of movement—slides past the glass doors. Too fast. Too quiet. My spine locks, instinct flooding in like a tidal wave before my brain has a chance to form thought. It’s the kind of danger you don’t question. You feel it in your blood.
“Zara,” I rasp, already moving.
And then the world detonates.
A deafening boom splits the air as the balcony door explodes inward. Shards of glass rain down like knives, catching the light as they cut through the room. The thunder of gunfire follows—controlled bursts, crisp, merciless. Not random. Professional.
I don’t think.
I move.
“Down!” My roar shakes the walls as I slam my arm around her waist and hurl us both behind the kitchen island. Bullets chew through the cabinets above, splintering wood into shrapnel. A plate shatters above us. Her scream vibrates against my chest, swallowed by the storm of violence.
Her body quakes under me, fragile in a way I can’t stand, so I cover her completely, shielding every fucking inch.
I wrench open the drawer above our heads with one hand, grip closing around cold steel.
Safety off. Finger on the trigger. My pulse doesn’t spike—I’ve lived too many years in fire to waste adrenaline.
No, I calculate. Angles. Cover. Sightlines.
“Stay down,” I growl against her hair, voice sharp as broken glass. “Stay fucking down.”
Another round punches through the backsplash above the sink, splintering tile, showering us in dust. I pivot my shoulder just enough, one eye on the line of sight. I keep my weight over Zara, keeping her pressed flat beneath me, but my arm extends—gun in hand.
The instant I catch movement past the wreckage of the balcony, I squeeze the trigger.
One. Two. Three sharp pops. Controlled. The recoil thrums up my arm, but my body doesn’t budge. Sheathed around Zara, I fire.
Her hands fist in my shirt, clutching, but I can’t look at her yet. My focus is out there—on shadows moving. They thought they’d catch me soft. They thought wrong.
“Enzo—” Her voice cracks beneath me, high with fear.
“I’ve got you, Angel,” I grit out, never taking my eyes from the breach. I fire again.
Then I hear it.
That loud whir. Fast. Heavy. My blood runs cold, a warning older than memory.
“Helicopter,” I snarl, voice rough and lethal. “They’re shooting from the goddamn air.”
Zara’s fingers claw at my shirt, nails digging deep into muscle, eyes wide and terrified.
“I’ve got you,” I assure her, flattening her to the ground as I cage her body with mine. “You’re okay. You hear me? I swear to God, I’ve got you.”
Above us, the lights flicker—once, twice—then steady again, casting jagged shadows over the wreckage. The staccato thunder of rotors fades into the night, leaving a silence that presses down like a weight. My ears ring with the echo of gunfire, with the ghost of what could have been.
I lift my head just enough to scan the shattered kitchen. No muzzle flash. No movement. No second wave. They hit fast and left faster. A warning.
I seize Zara’s face in my hands, forcing her gaze to mine. “Look at me. Are you hurt?”
Her head shakes quickly, tears trembling on her lashes. “No. Are you?”
“Not a scratch,” I grind out, brushing my thumb over her cheek before pressing a hard, grounding kiss to her forehead. I linger there, breathing her in, a prayer of thanks searing through every vein. “Stay right here. Don’t move until I tell you.”
She nods, trembling, and I push off the floor in a crouch, gun steady in my grip. Glass crunches beneath my slippers as I sweep toward the balcony, every shadow a potential threat. The air tastes like smoke, sharp and metallic, crawling against the back of my throat.
The elevator opens, and the thundering of boots pounds across the floor. My men flood in, weapons raised, dark suits and grim faces cutting through the destruction.
“Boss!” Luca’s voice slices through the chaos. He’s first through the door, followed by Rafe and three more soldiers. Their formation is perfect, every angle covered, every barrel trained on the breach.
“Clear the perimeter!” I bark, my voice a whip-crack. “I want eyes in the sky, I want every camera pulled, every second of footage locked. Whoever the fuck thought they could do this to us is not walking away.”
“Yes, Don!” echoes around me as they scatter, efficient, lethal, the way I trained them to be.
Still crouched, I pivot back, gun never lowering until I’m beside Zara again.
She hasn’t moved, her body curled small against the wreckage, eyes fixed on me like I’m the only tether she has left.
I lay the gun beside me on the floor, pulling her into me, shielding her again as my men secure the house.
Our world has been turned upside down, but as long as she’s in my arms, no one touches her.
The chaos fades into a fragile silence—broken glass settling, boots crunching across the floor, the distant bark of orders as my men sweep the perimeter. I breathe her in once, grounding myself, but then something catches at the edge of my vision. A glint, sharp against the debris.
Lying in the middle of the floor, just past the jagged remains of the doorframe, half-buried in shards of glass and wood splinters—something small. Not a weapon. Not debris. It’s…a velvet box.
My stomach tightens. “Stay back,” I tell Zara, my voice sharp. She nods again, still crouched behind the island, shaken but alert. I kneel cautiously and reach for the box, turning it over.
When I open it, I already know it won’t be good.
Inside, nestled in black satin, is a delicate gold band.
Not just any ring—her ring. The wedding band Falco’s father commissioned. I recognize the design. I’d seen it once in an intel photo, buried in the details of a dossier I’d skimmed and ignored. Because back then, I didn’t know I’d ever need to remember.
Beneath it is a folded slip of paper, off-white and lined like it came from an overpriced stationery set.
I unfold it with careful fingers.
In neat, slanted handwriting, the words stare back at me.
Enjoy her while you can.
The rage that surges through my blood is instant. Blinding.
Falco.
Only he would be arrogant enough to throw a fucking wedding band into our home. My hand clenches the note until it crumples, and I look over at Zara—still in the same spot, arms wrapped around herself, eyes locked on me like she already knows what I’ve found.
“He’s staking a claim,” I say, voice like gravel. “Sending a message.”
Her lips part, her voice hoarse. “Falco?”
I nod once, sharp and cold. “That wasn’t just a warning shot. That was him marking territory.”
I don’t say what I’m thinking, but she sees it on my face. He thinks he still owns her. He thinks he can shake me with theatrics and sniper fire. But what he doesn’t know—what he’s about to learn—is that bringing this to our home was the wrong move.
He will die for this.
My hands are still shaking when I reach for my phone. Glass crunches beneath my shoes as I step over the wreckage, jaw clenched so tight it aches. The penthouse, my goddamn home, smells like gunpowder and violence.
I hit Lars’s name.
He answers on the first ring, I can hear the rumble of his car engine in the background. “I’m already on my way. What the fuck happened?”
“Falco just lit up my fucking penthouse,” I bite out, pacing through what used to be my living room. “Helicopter. The balcony door’s annihilated. Zara was standing feet away from it.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
“Mobilize now. I want two SUVs at the front entrance in under five minutes. We’re heading to the estate. I want a full sweep—stairwells, garage, rooftop, windows. Every possible entry point covered. Tell the men we don’t hesitate if anyone so much as looks our way.”
“You got it,” Lars snaps. “We’ll sweep the route and lock the estate down before you get there. The perimeter will be sealed.”
“And Lars?”
“Yeah?”
“Falco came in from the sky. I want every helicopter in this city accounted for. Start with private charters. If a single pilot flew without a manifest tonight, I want them on their knees and begging for a deal.”
“Already on it.”
“Tell Rowan to pull every second of footage from a ten-block radius. I want eyes in the air, on the streets, and in the shadows. If that chopper cast a reflection in a goddamn puddle, I want it.”
“You’ll have it,” he promises. I end the call and lower the phone, fingers tightening around it as I turn toward the kitchen.
Zara’s still curled behind the island, her arms wound tight around her knees like she’s bracing to survive the next blow.
Her lips are drained of color, her eyes too wide.
The cracks in her armor are there, and I see every one of them—because I know her.
Right now, she’s running on instinct. Fight or flight.
And still, when I move to her, she chooses me.
I crouch down, sweep her into my arms, and she doesn’t resist. No protest. No sharp tongue. She just tucks her face into my neck and fists the front of my shirt like I’m the only thing holding her together.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper, tightening my hold as I carry her through the wreckage. “You’re safe.”
Her voice is barely a ghost against my skin. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere no one can touch you.” I press my mouth to her temple, breathe her in as fury claws down my spine. “The family estate. Reinforced gates. Armed men on every inch of the perimeter. If Falco wants another chance, he’ll be stepping over corpses to get it.”
She says nothing more. Just curls tighter against me, trembling in a way that guts me. She doesn’t want me to see her like this—shaken, undone. But fuck, I feel it. Every shiver. Every ounce of fear she won’t admit to.
And here’s the truth I’ll never say out loud, part of me hates this.
Hates that she’s terrified, hates that the world forced her to cling to me because it tried to break her.
But another part, the darker, hungrier part, feeds on it.
Because it means she’s mine. She turns to me when the bullets fly.
She buries herself in me when everything shatters. Even in fear, she doesn’t let go.
My jaw aches from the pressure of holding it all back. I don’t deserve her trust—not after forcing that ring on her finger, not after dragging her into my world. But she’s here, in my arms, and I will burn cities before I let another man so much as breathe her name again.
I step over the glittering wreckage of what used to be my home and understand something I never have before. This isn’t about territory or control. Not anymore.
I’ve found my weak point. And tonight, they aimed right at it.
Her. And they missed by inches.
If she’d moved a second slower, if I hadn’t pulled her down fast enough—
My grip tightens reflexively.
Zara shifts slightly, her cheek brushing my neck, her whisper so small it nearly breaks me. “I didn’t see it coming.”
“I know, Angel,” I breathe. “That’s on me. It’s my job to see the threat before it lands, and I failed.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head faintly. “You pulled me down. You covered me, protected me. You didn’t fail.”
She’s defending me. Even now. Even like this.
I inhale deep through my nose again, trying to tamp down the rage boiling under the surface. But it’s useless. The only thing I want right now is blood. Retribution. I want to bury Anthony Falco so deep his own father won’t be able to dig him out.
But first, I have to get her out of here.
I adjust my hold on her as the elevator doors open. I press the button for the garage and we descend. Lars is doing his part. The estate will be on lockdown. No one gets in. No one leaves. Zara will be safe.
And when I’m sure of that?
I’m going to burn Falco’s entire world to ash.