Chapter 45 Jenna #2
Enzo tries to smile. On his ravaged face, it looks grotesque, but Amauri doesn't flinch away. He shakes Enzo's hand like a pro. Then Enzo shakes mine. "Good to see you again, Jenna."
"Enzo," I nod, smiling. I like him. I like his quiet demeanor filled with confidence. I have a feeling there is no deceit in the man. You'll know if you get on his bad side. Fast.
Behind him, another man enters. I've seen him before, at the Oven when Carter, Sean, and Marianne were… laid to rest. But I never caught his name.
"Jenna, this is Damiano Ferrante. Damiano, Jenna." Massimo introduces.
"Nice to meet you." We shake hands, his is strong, and his dark eyes bore questioningly into mine.
"The woman of steel, I'm told," Damiano winks. "And after meeting you, I can confirm the rumors."
"What rumors?" Massimo demands.
Damiano laughs, "Easy, boss. Nothing bad, only that the men are in complete awe of her and already intimidated."
Blood rushes to my face. It was never my intention to make some kind of impression on Massimo's men. "I…" The word hangs there, fragile and utterly useless.
Massimo's hand slides to the small of my back. Not possessive. Not restraining. Anchoring. I straighten my shoulders instead of shrinking.
"What exactly did you hear?" Massimo asks again, but there's less edge in it now. More curiosity than warning.
"That she walked into our world," Enzo answers smoothly as he pours himself a drink, "and didn't flinch."
"That she stood by the Oven," Damiano adds quietly, "and didn't break."
The air shifts. Not heavy. Just aware.
Blood still warms my cheeks, but I refuse to let it feel like embarrassment.
"I broke," I correct softly. "I just didn't fall."
Silence for half a breath. Then Damiano nods once. Slow. Respectful.
"Steel," he repeats.
Amauri looks between us, frowning thoughtfully. "Mummy doesn't break," he announces with the absolute certainty only children possess. "She bends. Like in karate."
A laugh ripples through the men. Massimo crouches slightly toward him. "Your mother is more dangerous than karate."
I nudge him with my elbow. "Careful. I might start believing you."
He leans closer, voice low enough for only me. "You should."
Thankfully, the arrival of Gabe with another man I don't know ends the awkward situation. Gabe seems taller than I remembered. Broad. Quiet. The kind of man who looks like he'd rather be underestimated.
The other man nods at me, "So this is the woman who's been rearranging our Don's priorities," he says warmly.
"And improving them," I answer without missing a beat.
His laugh is genuine. Massimo introduces him, "Alessio, Jenna."
He's different from the others. I can't quite put my finger on it. But his edges seem sharper. His eyes seem to calculate before they blink. If Damiano is brute strength and Enzo is strategy carved in stone, Alessio is precision.
Then it's Gabe's and my turn to shake hands. "Nice to see you again, Jenna. You look," he throws a look at Massimo, "better."
Massimo pulls me against his chest. "Let's get some drinks."
Amauri bounces from one man to the other like he's known them all his life.
Chatting and, for some reason, really latching on to Enzo, peppering him with questions.
Before the food arrives from the kitchen, Enzo leans back in his chair and looks over Gabe's shoulder at the phone in his hands.
"Did the suburbs survive the drive over? "
Gabe doesn't look up. "Traffic was light."
Alessio lifts a brow. "Because you already know the traffic patterns."
Damiano pours wine. "Cameras help."
I glance at Gabe. "Cameras?"
He finally looks at me. Calm. Unbothered.
"Monitoring," he corrects.
"For what?" I ask curiously, I wouldn't have pegged him for the suburban type. He studies me like I'm testing him.
"Stability."
Enzo smirks. "In someone else's marriage?"
Massimo says nothing, but I feel the amusement vibrating under his skin. Gabe's jaw tightens just slightly.
"She's happy," he says quietly.
There's something in the way he says it. Not envy. Not resentment. Restraint. I'm still confused, "And you're… observing? What? Whom?"
"For now." Enzo's words hang in the air. Amauri looks between them all, confused but fascinated.
"Is he a spy?" he whispers loudly.
Damiano coughs into his drink. Gabe actually smiles. "Something like that."
Dinner is brought up, interrupting the confusing conversation.
Plates are set down. Steak. Potatoes. Wine for the adults.
Sparkling water for Amauri, who insists on clinking glasses like he's part of a secret council.
The stories shift. No details. Just pieces of shared history meant to entertain—even though they are somewhat questionable for the ears of a ten-year-old.
"The night we took the north side," Damiano starts.
Massimo arches a brow. "You mean the night you got stuck on a fence?"
Alessio laughs. "He did. Tore his pants clean open."
"It was strategic," Damiano protests. "Distraction."
"You screamed," Gabe says mildly.
"I did not."
Amauri's eyes widen. "Like a girl?"
The entire table loses it. Enzo wipes his mouth with a napkin. "No one screamed. But someone definitely got chased by a dog."
"That dog was trained," Damiano mutters.
"It was a Pomeranian," Alessio corrects.
Even I laugh.
"The time Enzo nearly died," Massimo begins, but his tone is lighter now.
"I tripped," Enzo interrupts. "On a pallet. Don't let him dramatize it."
"You lost a lot of blood," Gabe corrects flatly.
"Paper cut," Enzo waves it off.
"That's a lie," Damiano says. "He passed out and hit his head on a crate."
Amauri gasps like that's the most thrilling thing he's ever heard. "Did you get stitches?"
"Four," Enzo admits grudgingly.
"Five," Massimo corrects.
They argue over the number. The tension dissolves. Alessio gets his turn.
"I once hacked a rival's entire computer system in under an hour."
Amauri leans forward. "Like in the movies?"
Alessio considers. "Less explosions. More coffee."
"And more crying," Gabe adds.
"You made someone cry?" Amauri asks, impressed.
"Only financially," Alessio bends over to my son conspiratorially.
That earns another round of laughter. The stories aren't about violence.
They're about stupidity. Luck. Loyalty. How Damiano once got so drunk he tried to climb a palm tree and fell into a decorative fountain.
How Gabe once spent three hours tracking a security breach that turned out to be a raccoon.
"It was persistent," Gabe defends.
How Massimo once miscalculated a deal and had to swallow his pride and ask Enzo for backup.
Amauri listens like they're knights around a round table.
And maybe they are. Just darker, not the kind from the storybooks.
They aren't bragging. They're remembering.
Massimo relaxes in a way I've never seen before.
Shoulders lower. Voice warmer. His hand rests on my thigh under the table, not to control me, but to anchor himself.
Amauri eats like he's at a superhero convention.
At one point, he leans toward Massimo and whispers, "Are they always this scary? "
Massimo glances around the table. "They like to think so, but they're softer than Hammie's bedding."
The men laugh. Something shifts inside me. These aren't just capos. They're the men who kept him alive when I couldn't. That gives them a place at this table. And maybe, eventually, in my life too. Gabe sits across from me. Watching. Not me. His phone. I narrow my eyes. Enzo notices.
"What's she doing now? Taking a shower?" Enzo asks casually.
That earns him a scorching look from Gabe, "I'm not some… pervert." He lowers his voice at the last word, looking at Amauri, whose ears instinctively pick up.
Damiano snorts into his drink.
"I said monitoring," Gabe mutters.
Amauri's head pops up immediately. "What's a pervert?"
Every adult at the table freezes. Massimo answers without missing a beat. "Someone who doesn't mind his own business."
Amauri nods thoughtfully. "Oh. So like when I read Mummy's messages?"
"Exactly like that," I jump in quickly.
Gabe exhales through his nose. "I mind my business."
"From a distance," Enzo adds.
"With surveillance," Alessio corrects mildly.
Gabe shoots him a look. "You hacked your ex-girlfriend's thermostat."
"That was climate control," Alessio says smoothly. "And she was wasteful."
Amauri looks between them, delighted. "You guys are weird."
"That," Damiano says solemnly, raising his glass of water toward Amauri, "is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to us."
The tension dissolves into laughter. I glance at Gabe again. He's pretending not to care, but there's a faint color high on his cheekbones now.
"She's really that happy?" I ask quietly, keeping my tone neutral.
His expression shifts, not soft, exactly. But guarded in a different way. "She has a good life."
"And you're… what? Making sure it stays that way?"
A spark flickers in his eyes. "Something like that."
Massimo leans back in his chair, studying him. "Just don't confuse protecting with hovering."
"I don't hover," Gabe replies.
"You installed cameras," Enzo reminds him.
"For security."
"In her house?"
Gabe doesn't answer.
Amauri gasps again. "You are a spy!"
Gabe looks at him seriously. "If I were a spy, you wouldn't know."
Amauri's eyes go wide with admiration. "That's so cool."
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. The banter keeps rolling after that, lighter, easier. Stories about bad haircuts in the early days. A deal that went sideways because someone wore the wrong shoes. Damiano once getting locked out on a balcony in nothing but dress pants.
"It was a tactical retreat," he insists.
"It was a sliding door," Enzo corrects.
Massimo's hand settles over mine under the table. Warm. Solid.