Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
ENZO
L-word?
As in . . . love?
I blink, deeply disturbed. What the fuck? I’m not in love.
Sadistic psychopaths don’t fall in love. We maim, manipulate, torment, kill. We do not fall in love.
Ever.
Am I obsessed?
Perhaps.
Possessive?
Damned straight.
But in love?
Not a goddamned chance.
“Whatever gets you through the night,” the Scottish brogue taunts.
Bite me.
Ignoring my mental snap, I jab Dante in the chest. “Listen here, asshole. Don’t make me kill you in front of the kids. Accusations have consequences.”
“Lying to my face has consequences, jackass.” He cracks his neck. “You want a piece of me? Bring it on. But I’m in a take-no-prisoners mood.”
Without warning, he flicks me right at my stitches. Pain explodes, sending stars dancing in my vision and a howl of agony echoing inside my skull. I suppress the scream, not wanting the girls to hear.
I shoot him a death glare, my eyes burning with fury.
He arches a brow, a smug grin playing on his lips, and curls his fingers toward me, Matrix style.
At this point, I give up. There’s no point in arguing with Dante. Not unless I want us in an all-out brawl on the floor like eight-year-olds. And as his behavior clearly shows, he will take zero pity on me for the fact that I’ve been shot in the arm.
“Fine.” I wave a hand in surrender, the weight of defeat settling on my shoulders. “You win. She means something to me. What, I have no idea. But this”—I motion to my arm—“was no accident. The only reason I’m still breathing is probably because of their lousy aim. So as far as anyone’s concerned, I’m not seeing anyone.”
The gravity of my words roll across Dante’s face, his expression hardening. “What about us? Family. Or the guys,” he tilts his chin toward Bruno. “We can help keep her safe.”
“If Andre is gunning for me, no one is safe,” I say, my voice a low growl.
“So, what are you going to do? Cut her loose?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, uncertainty gnawing at my gut.
“Our father would want you to follow your heart.”
“And look where it got him,” I scowl bitterly.
The familiar ache of unresolved grief tightens my chest. If he were dead, at least we would know. But he’s been missing for years, vanished without a trace.
It’s like being trapped in a relentless torture chamber. Just when the wounds begin to scab over, the mere mention of him rips them open again, another raw lash of the whip.
Dante blows out a long, slow breath. “This doesn’t feel right. You have feelings for her. I know you do.”
“And if those feelings end up getting her hurt? Or killed? Does that feel right?” I slump against my seat. “That I’m seeing anyone at all stays between us. Agreed?”
He knows I’m right. With a resigned nod, he concedes. “Fine. It stays between us.” He air quotes, “You’re not seeing anyone.” Then, with an annoyed shake of his head, he adds, “It still sucks big hairy donkey nuts.”
I manage a weak smile. “What you do in your spare time is your business.”
We stare off, watching as Sofia carefully stitches up Bruno under his guidance, while Lili has found the first aid kit and is wrapping his opposite ankle like a mummy. It’s almost surreal, seeing this enormous hulk of a man so gentle and patient.
Bruno catches us watching and mouths, “Keeping them busy.” Then, he points to Lili with a soft smile. “You missed the heel,” he instructs tender.
“Did you get a hold of Father Marc?” I ask, knowing our friendly neighborhood priest will be able to find safe haven for these girls.
“About that,” Dante grimaces. “There’s a little speed bump with him taking the girls.”
“For the six-figure donations I hand him, there shouldn’t be as much as a hiccup.”
“Nevertheless, he needs to speak with you.”
Of course, he does. Because it’s not enough that I give him truckloads of cash, he now demands my attention too.
I glance over at the girls, both seemingly content to turn Bruno into a zombie. At the rate they’re going, they could probably keep bandaging him for another half hour.
Hmm . Whatever conversation I have with Father Marc needs to be private. But if I leave, I’m certain all hell will break loose with these two girls in less than sixty seconds.
And I can’t risk them getting riled up.
I grab my cell and call, keeping it off speaker and trying to maintain a steady voice. It rings twice. Father Marc sounds frazzled from the moment he answers. “I can’t do it.”
“You. Have. To.” My voice is tight, the coil of a king cobra as I smile and wave at the girls.
“You don’t understand. Dante tells me they’ve become attached to you.”
“So?”
“As horrified as I am to admit this, they need to stay with you, Enzo.”
“What?”
My voice cuts through the room, louder than intended. Every eye swivels to me, suspicion brewing.
I force a broad smile and lower my tone.
“Hang on”—I press the phone to my chest—“I’m just going to use the bathroom.”
A furrow of worry crosses both their brows. A second later, they’re both front and center in front of me.
“I’ll be back,” I promise .
Lili bites her bottom lip, a gesture so reminiscent of Bella that I can’t think straight. Would our kids look like this?
When her lower lip starts to quiver, my heart pinches so hard it feels like it’s being lassoed by a crown of thorns. And every cell in my body chants, make it stop, make it stop .
I once considered myself a strong man. A torturer who could give as good as he got. And yet here I am, about to cower to two girls and beg for mercy just so I can go to the bathroom, talk openly with Father Marc, and hopefully not piss myself between here and there. “Five minutes,” I plead.
Dante removes his watch and holds it out for the girls to see. “Look, this is the time now. When the hand reaches here, what happens?”
“Enzo comes back,” Lili announces, her chest puffed up with pride at figuring it out. Sofia, however, remains unconvinced, her face a mask of doubt as she tightens her arms across her chest.
Dante leans in with a smirk. “Between her innate suspicion and impressive death glare, it’s like looking into a mirror for you, isn’t it?”
“Shut up.”
I kneel down, bringing us eye to eye. “I will never lie to you.”
She rolls her eyes, utterly underwhelmed.
I hold up my hand, spreading my fingers. “Five minutes. If I’m not back by then, you can punch my brother in the nuts.”
“I heard that,” he barks from behind me playfully.
A faint smile tugs at the corner of Sofia’s mouth. Finally . It’s enough of a pass, I take it.
Without a backward glance, I stand and bolt for the furthest bathroom.
“Enzo?” The voice crackles from the phone. “Are you still there?”
I slam the door behind me. “Two minutes.”
“You told the girls five,” Father Marc reminds me, his tone imbued with the pious indignation of Thou Shalt Not Lie .
“And I meant it. Two minutes for you, three to keep me from pissing myself. Stop wasting time. One minute, forty-five seconds left.”
“They’re in a vulnerable space, Enzo. If I had known there would be children, we would’ve had people on site.”
“What about their parents?”
His long, drawn-out sigh tells me everything I need to know. “We spoke with some of the women you rescued. Both their parents were brutally killed. Apparently, they fought to the death to protect the girls.”
Fire eats at my insides, but I stamp it out. Emotionless, I say, “One minute.”
Father Marc races through his words. “After a traumatic experience like this, tearing them away from a new bond could have catastrophic psychological impacts.”
No one needs to tell me about catastrophic impacts. After Trinity’s attack, she didn’t speak for four years. And she had us—five brothers—protecting her, tending to her every need and willing to go to hell and back for her.
I think of the two innocent faces, my heart splintering like shattered glass, and rub my temple, trying to stave off the growing headache.
Trinity had us. They have no one.
“What are you trying to say?” I ask, my patience fraying at the edges.
Father Marc’s voice softens, brimming with compassion and hope. “I’m saying they need you, Enzo. Just like Kennedy needs you.”
It takes a minute for his words to sink in, each one hitting me like tiny sledgehammers, determined to break through the empty tin shell of my heart.
With ten seconds left and my bladder about to burst, I snap. “Fine. They stay with me. For now ,” I add with a steely determination.
“You’re doing God’s work, Enzo.”
“You say that now. When they turn into deranged ax murderers, don’t come crying to me.”
I hang up, do my business, and collect my composure. Father Marc’s words replay over and over.
They need me? And what does he mean just like Kennedy?
With a minute to spare, her fiery eyes and breathtaking smile flash through my mind. I deliberately avoid thinking about her body and instead flip to my phone.
Last video recorded: 97 minutes.
Huh?
A million thoughts bombard my brain like flaming arrows as my pulse ratchets up sky-high.
I run through the mental checklist:
Hourly check-ins by security, verified.
Entry points secured.
Communication lines active.
Backup generators, powered.
Vehicle fleet, secured and accounted for.
Weapon cache, fully stocked.
I’m not sure what the world did in the dark ages before wifi, but thank god for technology.
I glance back at the feed and the little green dot.
Surveillance cameras, operational.
I open all ten live feeds and find Bella in the gym. It’s equipped with state-of-the-art machines, free weights, and plenty of space for yoga. But of course, my Bella is enjoying the polished hardwood floors and full-length mirrors for dance.
I can tell she’s partial to the pair of ballet slippers she brought along with her—old, worn, and likely her version of a security blanket. Undoubtedly, they fit her like a glove, but they’re riddled with holes and so mangled I wouldn’t be surprised if Truffles regularly uses them as chew toys.
Satisfaction beams from my smile as I watch her dance in the vibrant red shoes I had delivered today. Kennedy took an extra-long glance at them when she and Riley were at the market the other day.
They weren’t an expensive pair by any means, but as she soars through the air, her form exquisite, her smile radiant, I know she likes them. And now, my Bella dances for me and only me.
In that ephemeral second, everything is perfect. She’s fine. Everything’ s fine.
Hmm .
Ninety-seven minutes spirals through my head like a boomerang.
Unsettled, I switch back to the recording, and click to a random segment of the feed and...
Holy fuuuck.
“Is this what you want, Mr. D’Angelo?” the woman of my dreams purrs to the camera. Her luscious body is on full display like an eight course meal, and my cock instantly springs to attention.
I go to turn up the volume when a stampede of knocks barrages the door.
Fuck .
I pause the video and pry open the door. Two sets of eyes look up at me, eager and expectant.
“I still have eighteen seconds,” I say, flustered, pointing to my watch. As if eighteen seconds will do anything for the raging hard-on in my pants.
Lili shrugs. “We ran out of bandages.”
I glance over at Bruno, who looks like a house that’s been TP’ed.
My eyes narrow at them. “I still have time.”
“Not according to my watch,” Dante says, amused with a smug-ass grin.
I level him with a ruthless glare.
Heartless bastard.