10. Elena
Elena
The aggressive, crimson glare of the laptop monitor paints the peeling walls of the safehouse in a sickly hue, the flashing warning banners casting a damning verdict over my existence in Palermo.
Twenty million Euros. The number burns into my retinas, a staggering, astronomical figure that my uncle just authorized to ensure my immediate eradication.
Standing flush against Enzo’s chest, surrounded by the intoxicating scent of gunpowder and the expensive scotch he poured earlier, the suffocating reality of my uncle’s broadcast finally begins to take root in my mind.
By slapping that outrageous price tag on my corpse, he guarantees that the men I trusted, the informants I paid, and the soldiers who once pledged their allegiance to my father will not hesitate to put a bullet between my eyes to secure their own comfortable retirements.
I am officially a hunted exile roaming the dangerous streets of my own city, stripped of the Vitiello name and the syndicate protections that shielded me since birth.
The bitter irony tastes like bile in my mouth.
I spent years manipulating the treacherous politics of the Sicilian underworld, carefully positioning myself as the diplomatic savior of my bloodline, only to realize I am now surviving exclusively because the ruthless Consigliere of a rival family decided to wrap his hands around me.
"He wants me completely cornered," I murmur, my fingers mindlessly tracing the ruined, uneven landscape of scars traversing Enzo's chest. "For twenty million, every fucking rat crawling through the gutters of Sicily will be looking for a payday, from the street corner dealers to the corrupt politicians I bribe on a weekly basis.
The men I commanded yesterday will gladly slit my throat tonight just to buy a sprawling villa in Tuscany. "
Enzo does not offer useless comfort or attempt to sugarcoat the precarious nature of our situation, and I respect him immensely for not treating me like a fragile, hysterical woman.
He keeps one massive hand tangled in the messy strands of my hair, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind my ear with an owning, claiming friction that sends a rush of heat straight to my core.
"They can search every alleyway and tear through every warehouse on this miserable island," Enzo replies.
"They will only find their own fucking graves, Elena.
Your Uncle is playing a desperate hand because he knows you possess the intelligence to dismantle his illegitimate throne.
He wants you to panic, to make a stupid, impulsive mistake so his mercenaries can collect you, but he forgets who you are standing next to. "
I pull back just enough to look up into his face, studying the icy, calculating brilliance illuminating his eyes.
He is a terrifying creature, a man who conceals an ocean of malice behind perfectly tailored suits, masking a street-level cruelty that I am just beginning to understand.
I do not know the exact details of the horrors that forged him, but the evidence is carved into his flesh
I step out of his embrace, the sudden loss of his body heat leaving my skin cold, and begin to pace the short expanse of the living room. The oversized dress shirt flutters around my thighs as I wrap my arms around my waist, my mind spinning through the endless, branching paths of our retaliation.
"I spent my entire adult life trying to preserve the dignity of this syndicate," I admit, my voice tinged with a bitter, exhausted frustration.
"My grandfather built the Vitiello empire on a foundation of respect, loyalty, and strict adherence to the code, establishing our family as the undisputed sovereigns of Palermo.
My uncle dragged that legacy through the fucking mud the second he sold his soul to the Volkovs, turning our soldiers into common thugs and our business into a sloppy, disorganized mess.
I tried to fix it from the inside, attempting to manipulate the board and steer the family back to honor, but look where that got me.
I have to wonder if the only way to actually save my house is to burn the whole fucking thing to the ground. "
Enzo moves away from the desk, picks up the half-empty bottle of scotch, pours a small measure into a clean glass, and takes a slow sip of the amber liquid.
"You are looking at this execution order like it is a tragedy, mia bella," Enzo states, setting the glass down onto the wooden table with a resounding clack.
"You are mourning a family that stopped existing the moment your uncle decided his greed was more important than your blood.
He did you a favor tonight. He stripped away the rules, the obligations, and the pathetic, restrictive chains of diplomacy you forced yourself to wear.
You do not have to smile at corrupt men anymore.
You do not have to negotiate with traitors. "
He crosses the room with purposeful strides, backing me up until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the mattress. He invades my personal space, his imposing stature forcing me to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.
"You are not a victim of circumstance, Elena, and neither am I," he murmurs, his hands coming up to cup my face, his calloused thumbs brushing across my cheekbones.
"We are architects of power. We decide who lives and who dies, who rules and who begs in the dirt.
If the Vitiello empire is rotting from the inside, then you must be the fire that purges the infection.
" He leans in, his breath brushing against my lips, sending a cascading shiver down my spine.
"You are La mia Fenice. My beautiful, destructive phoenix.
You have to reduce this corrupt city to ash before you can be reborn as the undisputed queen they should have bowed to from the start. "
The Italian word rolls off his tongue with a mesmerizing, worshipful reverence, slicing through the doubts cluttering my mind. Fenice. A creature born from destruction, rising triumphant from the ruins of her enemies.
A breathless, wicked smile curves my lips as I reach up, threading my fingers through his dark hair, pulling his face down toward mine. "If I am burning Palermo to the ground, Consigliere, I am going to need someone to help me scatter the ashes."
"I will personally hand you the matches," Enzo promises, right before his mouth crashes down onto mine.
There is nothing polite or restrained about the kiss.
His tongue sweeps past my parted lips, mapping my mouth with a masterful precision that makes my knees buckle.
I clutch at his shoulders, grounding myself against his solid form as he walks me backward, forcing me to tumble onto the pristine white sheets of the bed.
He follows me down instantly, his muscular frame blanketing me and pinning me to the mattress.
He does not bother to unbutton the oversized dress shirt I am wearing, he simply grabs the front panels and rips them apart, the sound of tearing cotton and popping buttons loud in the enclosed room.
The violent display of impatience sends a jolt of intoxicating pleasure straight to my clit, completely addicting me to the way he commands my response.
"You belong to me now," Enzo growls against my skin. "Your uncle can broadcast whatever fucking price he wants to the underworld. Let them come. Let them try to take you."
He dips his head, his mouth latching onto the sensitive curve of my neck, right over my pulse point.
He bites down, his teeth scraping against the delicate flesh with a punishing, beautiful pressure that forces a gasp from my lips.
He sucks hard, bruising the collarbone, intentionally leaving a dark mark that brands me as his.
The pain is a magnificent sting that instantly morphs into a pooling, throbbing ache between my thighs, confirming that I am completely and utterly captivated by his brand of darkness.
"Mark me," I urge, my fingernails digging into his back, arching my spine to offer him better access. "Show them exactly who I belong to, Enzo."
He grants my request with enthusiasm, his mouth trailing down the column of my throat to feast on the swell of my breasts.
He nips and laves at my skin, leaving a trail of blooming bruises across my chest, branding me in the most carnal, primitive way imaginable.
His large hands roam over my body, gripping my hips, parting my thighs with an insistence that brooks no argument.
He sheds the remainder of his clothing with an efficiency, freeing his rigid, hot cock before gently rubbing it at my slick entrance. He looks down at me, his eyes burning with a starving, possessive fire, taking in the sight of my ruined shirt and the dark marks blossoming across my pale skin.
“Enzo, please,” I whimper.
Enzo aligns our bodies, wrapping his hands around my thighs to hold me in place, and drives himself inside me with a powerful, singular thrust. The invasion stretches my walls and drags a loud moan from the back of my throat.
Fuck.
I wrap my legs around his waist, locking him flush against me, desperate to absorb every piece of his pleasure.
He holds me down, and start to thrust like a breeding bull, fucking me without abandon, meeting the incline of my hips with the wracking slam of his.
The bedframes groans in protest against the violent motion.
My hands scramble for purchase, gripping his broad shoulders, my nails leaving crescent moon indentations against his flesh, marking him just as fiercely as he marked me.
"Look at me, Elena," Enzo commands in a strained voice.
I force my eyes open, meeting his intense, consuming gaze, allowing him to see the pleasure and ecstasy swimming in my gaze.
"You are La mia Fenice," he breathes, his hips snapping forward, hitting a sensitive cluster of nerves that sends stars exploding across my vision. "And I am going to watch you take this fucking island for everything it has."
The dirty, encouraging words are the final push I require.
I shatter around him, my inner muscles clamping down with a crushing force, sobbing his name as a blinding climax rips through my body.
Enzo groans, his jaw clenching as he chases my release, driving into me three more times before emptying himself completely.
He collapses against my chest, his heart hammering against mine, his breath hot and ragged against the newly formed bruises decorating my neck.
I realize I am not afraid of the fire my dear uncle has started, because I am going to use it to burn him alive.