Chapter Fifteen Enzo
Chapter Fifteen
Enzo
Tom Rothwell was a tortured man.
From the minute he fell under, it was a free fall all the way to the bottom of hell.
I watched him grind his teeth, thrust, and groan in his sleep, like he was fighting an invisible beast. He cried out the word no repeatedly, pleadingly, chokingly.
A few times I thought about waking him up, but couldn’t bring myself to do it.
He’d be embarrassed on top of exhausted, and he’d definitely run away.
He needed the rest. And I needed him in my bed.
It was fascinating, watching a man so rigorous, so put together, fight his demons in the dead of the night.
Something haunted him, and I wasn’t sure what it was, but it was clear he was at least as fucked-up as I was. Those expressions, those moans, told me whatever bothered him chased him into the darkness. Burrowed so deep into his soul, it was imprinted on it.
He woke up with a dissatisfied frown.
It was a good call I’d decided not to make him coffee. He’d probably accuse me of trying to impregnate him or some shit. I slouched beside him instead, messing with my phone, trying to act all nonchalant and unbothered. All in order to hide the supreme internal meltdown I was currently harboring.
I had a man in my bed.
A gorgeous, older man at that.
And if I had my way, he was never getting out of it.
His eyes snapped to mine, his scowl deepening as he realized he wasn’t in his mausoleum or wherever he usually slept.
“What’s the time?” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, sitting upright.
“Six thirty.”
“I’m late.”
“For what?”
He didn’t answer, standing up and scanning the room alertly. “Can I get those clothes now?”
“Sure can. I folded them for you on the ottoman.” I gestured to the corner of the room. He stomped his way there, silently sliding into my bugged black sweatpants and Versace tee.
I watched him, realizing I knew nothing at all about Agent Rothwell—where he lived, what his hobbies were, his family situation—while he knew everything about me.
And it just wasn’t fair.
“Hey, sorry about your suit.” I cleared my throat.
And about putting surveillance on your ass.
Not that I felt all that guilty. Bastard could write my autobiography at this point. I was just evening the score a little.
Tom made a disgruntled noise, trying his best to ignore my existence.
The first ray of the morning sun sliced through the curtains, the light hitting his eyes.
It made the cobalt blue turn pale, and a rich pool of gold pool around his irises.
The beauty of it tormented me, legitimately squeezed the oxygen from my lungs, and I couldn’t handle it. I looked away.
Failure. Weakling. Pervert, my father’s voice chided in my head. Living in sin, condemned to hell.
Fucking asshole, I wanted to scream back. There’s nothing wrong with me. Nothing. I’m not hurting anyone. I’m just figuring out who I am.
“You all right, kid?” Tom cocked an eyebrow. “You look seasick.”
“I need you to answer some basic questions so I don’t feel like I’m fucking a Russian spy or something. You’re giving me a complex.”
He finished dressing and strolled into my en suite, returning with toothpaste he rubbed across his teeth and gums with his finger. “I’m not a Russian spy.”
“See, that sounds exactly like something a Russian spy would say.”
He shook his head, putting on his signature you’re-dumb-but-I-still-want-to-fuck-you expression. “You get five questions, and I reserve the right not to answer any of them.”
Fucker.
Whatever. At least he was cooperative, I guess.
“You’re single, right?” I chewed on my bottom lip, chancing a nervous glance at him. “I’m not breaking up a family or some shit?”
It took him an excruciatingly long time to answer this yes-or-no question.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said finally.
“Well, that’s not promising.” I forced out a laugh.
“Neither of us is a cheater,” he replied. “Next question.”
Okay. Fuck. My mind drew a blank, because his first answer threw me off. What did it even mean? Why couldn’t he just say he was single?
“Where do you live?”
“New York.”
“Duh. Where in New York?”
“None of your business. You have two more questions.”
Wait, he’d counted the follow-up question as a question? And I still hadn’t received one straight answer from him.
“Aren’t you afraid we’ll get caught?”
“No. No one would believe we’re stupid enough to do something like this unless you tell them.”
“Why is it so stupid?” I challenged. “You work for the bureau, and I’m in…”
“Waste management,” he completed for me, looking unimpressed. “Sure. Your last question?”
“How do you know I won’t tell anyone?”
Heavy silence laced the air, tainting the oxygen with something toxic that singed my lungs.
“Because they’ll kill you,” he said softly. The finality of the words made my spine prickle with awareness. I knew who they were. My brothers. The Camorra. And I knew the implication of his statement—queer men brought shame on their Mafia families. They had no place in the underworld.
But I also knew my brothers well enough to be secure in the knowledge that they wouldn’t do that. They’d taunt me endlessly, probably always look at me like I was an odd bird, but never take my life for something like this.
“Luca and Achilles—” I started.
“Might spare you, sure.” Tom stood up, slipping into his Oxford dress shoes.
“But your soldiers would know, and they’d never look at you the same way again.
You’ll be good as dead. The enforcer. The man upholding the organization’s ruthless reputation.
The Camorra is already at a point of disadvantage against the Russians, maybe even the Irish; you will be the final nail in that coffin.
You’ll never let yourself be your family’s downfall.
No.” He shook his head. “We both have too much to lose in the worlds we live in. We’re taking it to our graves, kid. ”
My throat worked around the bitter lump inside it. He was right.
I could never love him in the light.
I could never love any man in public.
It was the future I’d accepted for myself, to keep the ones I loved happy and fulfilled.
“Any more questions?” He arched a brow.
I shook my head, unable to produce actual words.
“Good.” He strode toward me, dropping an impersonal kiss to my bare shoulder. “I’m headed out of town for the weekend. I’ll see you Monday.”
I nodded absentmindedly. All the excitement and joy from our night together drained from my body, leaving in its wake this odd, gnawing feeling of an empty stomach no food could satisfy.
“Hey.” He grabbed the front of my throat, tilting my head up in a possessive grip. “Next time I see you, I’m going to fuck you. Buy some lube. Finger your ass daily. It’ll ease you up to it. Though I’m not gonna lie… The first time’s gonna hurt.”
He turned around and walked away, leaving me somehow more devastated than that time Achilles fucked Adriana and she broke the news to me while still underneath him.