Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
ENZO
As the food touches my lips, an involuntary moan escapes, deep and resonant. “ Mmm .”
“Right?” Kennedy eagerly prepares another bite. “You look exhausted,” she adds softly.
“You look beautiful,” I say because it’s true. From her tantalizing overbite to the heart shaped freckle on her neck, I’ve never seen a woman more beautiful in my life. But I mostly say it to avoid the conversation about why I look as beat down as I do.
She tipped toes further in the deep end of this conversation. “Are you going to tell me how you got the bruises on your face?”
This is the point at which I sit back and eat my own pasta. “Defending your honor, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
Her giggle flutters lightly, a fragile butterfly’s wing against the stillness of my heart. I swiftly drown the stirring emotions with booze.
Pouring a glass for her and then for myself, I gulp down the 1982 Chateau Lafite with haste. As I refill my glass, she quips, “Thirsty?”
I glance at her, my gaze lingering on her breasts. “You have no idea.”
For the next few hours, we eat, talk, and laugh, our conversations flowing alongside the steady pour of wine—glass after glass.
She points to my chest, her lips grazing that tempting lower lip. “Be honest with me,” she requests.
“Always,” I assure her, a vow I intend to keep with Bella . But the truth and the whole truth —two entirely different beasts.
“How did you know my sister was in Italy? Or where she lived?” Her eyes glint with a knowing that she’s pieced together most of the puzzle. Instead of my usual evasion and a round of twenty questions, I choose to fill in the gaps of the picture for her.
For a price.
“Kiss me, and I’ll tell you.”
Her smile turns puzzled, a flicker of curiosity lighting up her eyes. “We’ve kissed before. Plenty of times. Why are you making a deal over a kiss?”
“Because right now, out of everything in the world I could have, it’s the only thing I want.”
I set down my glass and lean back, a smirk playing on my lips. She finishes off her third—no, fourth glass of wine, before trailing her finger along the table as she slowly makes her way to my chair.
Her body sways hypnotically as she moves, each step deliberate yet teasingly slow. The curve of her hips catches the soft light, accentuating every subtle shift as she closes the distance .
Her dress clings in all the right places, a blend of elegance and allure that commands attention without needing to ask for it.
I don’t need to instruct her. Braver than she would be sober, she takes a seat on my lap, her eyes widening as the round curve of her ass nestles softly on my hard cock.
And when her lips meet mine, there’s no hesitation. No restraint. No barriers left standing. A collision of heat and need—her lips, her breath, her tongue entwined with mine in a seductive dance.
For one fleeting moment, the world falls away. We are a heartbeat of connection—her shivering in my hold. Me, breathing in pure oxygen.
When she finally pulls away, the air crackles with electricity, and so much sexual tension you could cut it with a knife. Kennedy shifts on my lap, a move that’s literal torture, and an awkward silence lingers between us.
I want her. And I’m pretty sure by the way she’s squirming on my lap, she wants me to. Why we’re not already fucking like bunnies is beyond me.
Her eyes meet the intensity of my gaze briefly before looking away. “Your turn,” she whispers.
My turn? Right. How I knew about her sister.
I blink away the lust fog, clearing my throat. “I promised you I’d protect your sister, just as if she were my own. And, I did.”
She shakes her head incredulously. “By sending her halfway around the world to Italy? And you fabricated an entire internship? With a salary and an extravagant place to stay?”
“Yes. ”
Her gentle fingers run through my hair, her eyes searching mine. “Why?”
“You wanted her safe. With my connections and my family ties to the region, nowhere in the world is safer than here. You and I made a deal, Bella . Remember?”
The faint blush tinting her cheeks tells me she definitely remembers me devouring her sweet pussy.
Sure, the bill to ensure her sister’s safety in Italy skyrocketing towards six figures in just a few weeks, the price tag is staggering.
But in exchange for Kennedy willingly offering herself to me on a platter, legs spread and telling me to eat her out?
Fucking priceless.
“I always keep my word,” I remind her, brushing a few strands of hair from her face.
Normally, my words would be cold, distant, and transactional—neither warm nor personal. But now they spill out oddly tender, infused with a depth of genuine care that even I don’t recognize.
Fuck. Who am I?
My phone pings, giving the control freak in me the chance to step in.
It’s a desperate attempt to detach myself from obsessing over Kennedy for even a minute more. A lifeline to reality I instantly seize.
I don’t make excuses or provide an explanation. I just grab it.
Striker
Followed your uncle and Rocco all day. Photos attached.
Rocco . The bastard who attacked Kennedy. Just the mention of his name has my jaw clenching so hard, I’m liable to crack a tooth.
I imagine his torture session starting with him dangling from a meathook and me etching “ Thou Shalt Not Rape ” twenty times into the flesh of his back with a soldering iron.
Rest assured, vengeance will be mine. It’s just won’t be today.
In the first image, my asshole uncle hands the local prete —or priest—an envelope, likely stuffed with cash. The moron still believes he can buy his way into heaven. Last I checked, St. Peter doesn’t do pay-to-play.
I flip through a few more images of him, barely registering Kennedy’s question of whether she should leave.
Random shots capture Andre and Rocco maneuvering around town, conferring with his army of Capos and his trusted Consigliere.
Hmm . The bastard is up to something. But what?
Kennedy is already on her feet, moving toward the door. “Savannah and I had an interesting chat on the plane.”
That grabs my attention, though I continue to focus on another cluster of images that pop up on my phone as I make my way to the sofa. “Did you?” I ask, distracted.
By this point, I’m so absorbed in the image on the screen that I only half hear what Bella says. “She told me you were handing me back to Andre the moment we return to the States.” A beat later, her timid voice asks, “Is that true?”
But her words don’t register above the rage pounding in my ears.
I’m staring at an image of Uncle Andre at a restaurant, flanked by Rocco and his useless entourage, and lo and behold, there’s Jimmy fucking Luciano among them.
He’s the reason Kennedy is in debt to begin with. “Debts will be honored,” I mutter under my breath, white-hot anger simmering just below the surface.
I wipe my face and tamp down my overwhelming need to get in a car, drive into town, and hunt down that man like it’s opening day in the Hunger Games .
Then, I try zooming in on the blurry image. Seriously, did Striker take this photo from space?
My pulse pounds out of my chest, a needle of doubt prodding at my gut. Douchebag Jimmy is the one who owes my uncle a hundred grand. His disappearance is the entire reason why Kennedy’s in debt in the first place.
What’s Uncle Andre up to?
Could he be up to something at all? I mean, Kennedy and I met by chance.
I scrutinize the image once more. Those brooding, shadowed eyes, the lean figure, that exaggerated mustache. If I’m right, and I’m damn near certain I am, then Kennedy’s off the hook.
I start to speak, ready to spill the beans to Kennedy. Uncle Andre’s been pulling the wool over her eyes—and mine—all this time. Which means I don’t have to settle her debt after all.
But what if I’m wrong ?
What if this is just my shattered, desperate mind grasping at the faintest glimmer of hope, the one elusive miracle that might release Kennedy from Uncle Andre’s ironclad grasp.
But, then what?
If she has no debt, there’s no reason for her to stay.
If she believes she’s free, I know exactly what she’ll do. She’ll run.
And my Bella can’t run.
I’m not done with her yet.
I slide my phone into my pocket, my thoughts spinning in every direction until they land on what I must do next. When I lift my gaze, the silence in the room is suffocating. Too quiet.
It’s then that the control freak in me goes ballistic. Kennedy is gone.
In three quick strides, I cross the room and rush down the hall. The soft rustling from behind the bedroom door tells me she’s inside. But when my hand grips the handle, it’s locked.
My fist slams against the door. “Let. Me. In,” I demand.
“No!” Her refusal is a bonfire of raw heat and defiance. My cock instantly responds.
“She deserves the truth ,” the Scottish voice urges.
“The truth?” I scoff bitterly to no one. “No. What Bella deserves is to be punished.”
“You said you were giving her back to Andre ,” the voice warns.
I did?
I mentally replay the conversation and shake my head in disgust. Goddamnit, he’s right. I roll my eyes. The son of a bitch is always right .
Exhaling deeply, I straighten my cuff and knock once more, my voice firm yet controlled. “Open the door, Kennedy.”
“The only way you’re getting through that door is if you break it down,” comes her defiant response.
What?
All the instincts I’ve kept suppressed suddenly surge to the surface, full force.
Stepping back, I gather all my pent-up frustration into one forceful kick.
With a resounding crash, the door flies open, and I stride inside.