Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
ENZO
“ Cazzo! ” I spew through gritted teeth.
“What does that mean?” the little girl asks, her accent thick, her brown eyes wide as I clench my jaw so hard, I damn near crack three teeth.
Bruno pours more antiseptic onto my wound like acid cleaning a rusty blade. The pain is instant and fierce, and so blinding that I nearly throw up.
But, I don’t.
Instead I suck in a breath and simply hand a little girl back my cigar to hold while I exchange it for my scotch. I take a sip, the liquid burning down my throat, offering enough of a distraction from the fire in my arm I can answer her.
“It means ‘ow’ ,” I say, managing a strained smile. Technically, it means dick , and as an expletive translates to fuck , but considering this little girl is five at the oldest, I try to keep it PG.
The hum of the jet’s engines is a lull, almost comforting noise, but it doesn’t mask the chaos we just left.
My arm aches like a mother, the pain so intense that Bruno’s semi-gentle touch as he crisscrosses my skin back together is almost numb in comparison. Each stitch he makes is methodical, a necessary evil, but all I can focus on is the other little girl—the sister—dabbing the blood so Bruno can see better where to jab.
“What the hell?” Dante asks, judgmental as shit.
“What?” I ask, pretending that I don’t have a five-year-old holding a cigar like a pro, or a six- or seven-year-old deputized as a combat nurse.
“Dante, meet Sofia”—I point to the older one—“and Lili.”
“Hi, Sofia. Lili,” Dante says tenderly, his voice a gentle balm against the raw edge of their emotions.
He offers a warm smile to Sofia, who pointedly ignores him, then tries to coax little Lili into meeting his eyes with a small wave. She remains transfixed by the long ribbon of smoke curling from the cigar, her silence a fortress.
“I heard they weren’t talking,” he says, his brows knotting tight with concern.
“I have ways of making people talk. Ask anyone,” I quip, a wry smile tugging at my lips. “Girls, this is my brother Dante, the man who saved your lives.”
I know they understand but they still don’t speak. Whatever horrific shit these kids have been through is evident in the shadows in their eyes.
Little Lili clams up, retreating into herself, while Sofia’s silence is defiant, her need to hyper-focus on a task her only lifeline in the storm.
I point to Sofia. “This one started thrashing her fists at Bruno when he began,” I say, taking another sip of Scotch before handing it back to Lili to hold. “Her tiny frame trembled with so much fury, Bruno actually took a step back.”
“In my defense,” Bruno adds, “the kid is stronger than she looks and came at me like she was possessed.” He winks. Her eyes dart to the floor.
“Why would she do that?” Dante whispers, though we can all hear him.
I shrug, instantly regretting it as pain shoots from my arm to my neck.
Bruno smirks. “I think she thought I was hurting the big guy.”
“ Cazzo? ” Lili asks, pronouncing the profanity with such cuteness that I can’t help but pat her head.
“You’re teaching them to swear?” Dante scolds, his eyebrows shooting to the sky.
“Yes, cazzo. That’s right, angioletta ,” I say. She looks at me, curiosity shining in her eyes. “It means little angel.”
Dante rolls his eyes as I simply nod and grin. Her tiny hand wriggles into mine as she repeats the word. “ Angioletta .” Then, concerned, she points to her sister. “Sofia, too.”
“Yes, Sofia too,” I assure her, giving Sofia a gentle nod.
Sofia’s hardened expression doesn’t change, but some part of me knows she doesn’t want to be left out. Just like I know she’s swallowing so many emotions inside her, she’s suffocating.
It’s what happens when you have no control over a situation. When things are done to you, and you’re defenseless to stop it. Becoming my combat nurse was the only thing that calmed her down.
It’s a tragic irony that such a young life knows the rituals of survival so intimately .
Now, she stands resolute, her eyes hardened by experiences no child should endure. She presses my wound just a little too hard, waiting for my response.
“Easy, diavoletta ,” I seethe through a smile.
She barely peeks at me through the corners of her eyes, curiosity brimming to the surface.
“It means little devil.” When she frowns and presses agonizingly harder, I add, “The devil has strength. And determination. It’s a compliment,” I wrench out, my voice strained.
Her eyes flicker to mine, giving me a small, almost imperceptible nod of approval. She needs this, a tether in the chaos.
And maybe, in some twisted way, so do I.
With barely a nod, the pressure finally eases up before I pass out.
Bruno’s handiwork is pretty good, considering he’s sweating from his own pain from two pieces of metal lodged in his leg. But he refused to tend to himself before taking care of me—an action both stupid and gracious.
And as much as I want to tear him a new one for doing this, I sure as hell wasn’t doing it in front of the kids.
When he completes the last stitch, he announces, “Done,” and holds out his hand for a high-five from Sofia. Bruno has four children—two his own and two adopted after fostering them for years. He knows how to break through, though Dante and I anxiously wait with bated breath to see if he will.
Nothing.
“C’mon, kid,” Bruno coaxes. “Don’t leave me hanging.” When she still doesn’t bite, he sweetens the offer. “Give me a high five, and I’ll teach you how to stitch up my leg.”
“Is that wise?” Dante asks, nervously.
Bruno doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m betting toughy here has seen worse than this. Besides, we all crave control, don’t we?”
No one can argue with that logic. Least of all me.
Sofia’s eyes flicker with something—maybe curiosity, maybe the need for some semblance of power. Or maybe our little devil just relishes the idea of jabbing a man repeatedly like a sewing machine.
He holds up his hand again. “In or out, kid?”
She hesitates only for a second. Then, instead of a smack, she channels all her power into a punch straight to his palm. With an Oscar-worthy performance, Bruno staggers back, shaking out his hand. “You got a mean right hook on you there, kid.”
The smallest smile crosses her lips.
Bruno grins, a glimmer of relief in his eyes, and Dante and I release the breaths we didn’t realize we were holding. It feels like the first time Trinity did something normal after her attack, like smiling after a compliment, or laughing at one of our stupid jokes.
Small acts of normalcy aren’t just moments. They’re everything.
“‘Atta girl,” Bruno says, his voice filled with quiet pride. “Now, let’s get to work.”
Bruno nudges her away gently, and she looks long and hard at me. “I’ll be right here, diavoletta ,” I assure her.
My eyes fall to Lili, who lingers behind.
“You too, angioletta .” Fear and uncertainty flicker across her face. I lean in and whisper, “Bruno needs someone brave to hold his hand too.”
It takes a moment before she finally pries her hand from mine, but no one rushes her. Slowly, she steps away. But before Dante and I can say a word, she backtracks. My impatience nearly seeps through when she hands me back my drink.
Just what I needed. “ Grazie, angioletta ,” I say with a grin. I’m trying not to play favorites, but bribing me with booze definitely tips the scales in her favor.
Dante takes a seat beside me, and as soon as they’re out of earshot, I exhale a weary breath and slam back the rest of the scotch. “Since when did I become kid Velcro?” I murmur, genuinely perplexed.
“Probably since they managed to witness you flatten their assailant’s brain like human scaloppine.”
I glance at Sofia and Lili, their small frames almost swallowed by the oversized leather seats. Their eyes are still wide with adrenaline and fear, but there’s a resilience there too, a strength that makes me feel both proud and guilty.
I dump my cigar in the glass and hang my head. “They shouldn’t have seen that.” I shake my head. “You nearly died while I wasted who knows how long smashing a man’s brain in while two innocent children watched.”
“Hey,” Dante says, blowing out a breath. “If you hadn’t grabbed him, those two girls would be s’more marshmallows. We had no idea they were in there. At all. What made you grab him?”
I don’t tell him that I thought the guy was Jimmy. For the same reason I don’t tell him that I’m constantly hearing the haunted voice of a dead Scotsman. “Instinct,” is all I say.
He pats me on the back, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. “Glad to know those feral, psychotic instincts of yours are good for something.” He points to the girls. “Your girlfriend is going to love this side of you.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Oh, don’t give me that shit. You’re clearly seeing the woman at the villa. Kennedy,” he sings, his smile turning dreamy. “Her name sounds like sunshine and spring.” He bats his eyes, mocking me.
I need to keep Kennedy out of this mess. The fewer people that know we’re connected, the better. Whoever shot me knows I was there. And if I’m wearing a target on my back, I’m wearing it alone.
“A convenience,” I assure him. “She’s here for the week, and then she’s gone,” I state, though the words taste like cigarette ash on my tongue.
“Lie to all the people you want, Enzo. Even to yourself. But I’ve seen the way you look at her. And that look means only one thing . . .”
“That your vision is worse than your poker face?”
“That you’re speeding headfirst into the L-word, whether you like it or not.”