Chapter Nineteen Tom
Chapter Nineteen
Tom
“Are you sure everything’s okay?” Iris stuck her head into my car window, delicate brows bunching in concern.
“Yeah.” I’d already revved up the car. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. “Just work. Tell Silas I’ll see him in two weeks’ time.”
“You got it.” She kissed my cheek, pausing. “Tom…you know you don’t have to come here so often, right? We’re doing fine now. I promise.”
“I know,” I said tonelessly. “I see you because I want to.”
And because the guilt is still eating me alive.
She looked uncertain. Normally, I’d stick around to check in on her. Today, however, I had a more pressing issue to tend to.
“Well, thank you so much for everything,” she murmured.
“Sure. Don’t mention it.”
I started driving before she stepped back fully.
That was how desperate I was to get out of there.
I checked my phone as I hit the accelerator. Enzo had read my texts, but hadn’t responded. I was supposed to meet him tomorrow.
I was heading over there now.
Enzo always made time to answer me. He made a fuss whenever I texted him first, too. Like the pope himself wanted to check how he was doing.
I’d been taking his availability and good nature for granted. Now that he wasn’t answering, I suspected something was wrong. And knowing who was after his throat, I needed to check for myself. Just because I wanted him incarcerated, that didn’t mean I wanted him dead.
I drove back to the city at record speed and parked across from his building.
At the front desk, I abused my badge again, flashing it wordlessly at the same security guy before slipping into the elevator.
At this point, I’d lost count of how many times I had abused my authority, power, and badge when it came to this man.
Principles? Gone. Morals? Foreign concept. Ethics? An obscure Greek island. I was becoming the very person I despised. Weak, soft, corrupt, and insatiable.
The ride up took an eternity. Finally, I rang his doorbell, ready to bite his head off for dropping off the face of earth without so much as a heads-up.
The familiar sound of his feet slapping the wooden floor filled my ears, and my pulse quickened without permission. The door swung open. And there he was. Alive, whole, albeit with a nasty-looking shiner.
I was panting, and for whatever reason, so was he.
I snarled in fury. “Enz—”
He punched me so hard, my head nearly did a 360.
Fuck, that stung.
“Is this going to be a thing?” I drawled, resisting the urge to touch my cheekbone. “Every time I come here, are you going to assault me?”
“No. But only because this is your last visit. Bye, fucker.”
He slammed the door in my face.
I stared at it for a beat, waiting for him to open it again and welcome me in with one of his silly jokes.
Was he always so violent in nonconfrontational situations?
It wasn’t how I’d read him. The profilers I had worked with on his case were all in agreement that he ticked six out of the eight trait boxes for psychopathy—heavy on the superficial charm, but low on impulsivity and antisocial behavior.
The pain kink never appealed to me, but to ride his ass, I was willing to endure mild violence.
I punched the doorbell again.
“Go away!” he groaned from the other side.
“Open up.”
“No.”
What the fuck did I do to warrant this kind of reaction? Was his fear of getting caught finally kicking in? That was the only issue I could anticipate.
That, and the fact you’re still investigating his case and will soon hurl his ass in prison.
No way had Enzo gotten wind of the latter. I kept my cards close to my chest as I pursued his prosecution.
“Enzo.” I plastered my forehead to his door, my breaths shredded with barely contained irritation. “I thought I’d made it clear I’m discreet and trustworthy.”
“Bro, for real. I’m not letting you fuck me. Go find another willing victim.”
“Just…just tell me what I did to upset you.” The crack in my voice made it sound foreign to my own ears.
A cold shiver ran down my spine. It wasn’t annoyance I was feeling. It was something else. Something I couldn’t pinpoint exactly, but warranted a physical reaction I’d never experienced before.
I realized my throat was dry and that I was beginning to really hate the color and texture of his door. I never wanted to see it again. Apathy had always been my best and only policy. I thought I had an abundance of it. But lately, some things had managed to slip under my skin.
No, not some things.
Someone.
“Tell me what you think I did, Ferrante.”
The door swung open again. His eyes were red but dry. They didn’t have that special Enzo glint that promised inappropriate jokes and lopsided grins.
“You wanna know what you did wrong?” He heaved.
“Yes.”
“You told me you were single, and today I found out that you’re married.”
“What?”
His expression hardened, and for the first time, I got to see Enzo, the enforcer. Not Enzo, the happy-go-lucky guy who made sure I smiled every day and genially yammered to me about his enema and shaving woes.
“I followed you.” He wiped his nose. “To Staten Island. I saw your wife. Your kid. Your life…” His throat bobbed, and he closed his eyes, turning away. “I saw everything, Tom.”
I was going to punch something.
Not him. Definitely not him. But something.
Maybe my own face. I certainly deserved it.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I ground out. A response so banal, such a cliché, I almost winced at my own words.
A sad smiled tugged at his lips. “It never is, right? Have a good life.”
He started closing the door, but I thrust my leg out instinctively, wedging it between the door and the frame. He paused, staring at my wingtip, his gaze traveling back up to my face.
“Careful now, Agent Rothwell. You don’t have a warrant, and this is my property. I can get you arrested.”
“I’ll take my chances.” I pushed all the way inside, closing the door behind me. “Let’s talk.”
I’d never explained myself to anyone. My private life remained precisely that—private.
I’d been officially out since my early twenties, but kept a low profile about my sexuality.
Even after Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was repealed, I never volunteered any information about my life.
Especially to my hookups, which was all Enzo was supposed to be.
I was now breaking more rules for him.
And I hadn’t even had him yet.
“Can we sit down?”
“No. I trust you can stand and talk at the same time,” Enzo deadpanned.
Christ. I’d really fucked it up, if he was this upset. But I’d never shared my personal life with anyone before, and I sure as hell never thought I’d be sharing it with my target.
“I’m not married,” I said evenly. “Iris is not my wife, and Silas is not my son.”
“Then who the fuck are they?”
“It’s complicated.”
He snorted, shaking his head. “Get out.”
“Look, I’m not married to her. I never was. We’ve never had sex.”
“Then why did you pause when I asked you if you were?”
“I didn’t pause because I’m married; I paused because I really am emotionally unavailable.” I grabbed the back of my neck, pulling in frustration.
“You and every other man in New York, asshole! You ain’t so special,” Enzo huffed, yanking his phone from his sweatpants pocket and honest-to-God fucking DoorDashing himself dinner while we were talking. The attitude on this man made me want to rip the walls to shreds.
“Put your phone down, Enzo. We’re hashing things out.”
“Nah, you don’t get to tell me what to do. I’m done with your half-assed explanations and all this Agatha Christie mystery bullshit. Either you tell me everything or nothing at all. But if you choose the latter, get outta here before I fuck up your face. I’m entitled to. It’s my property.”
I stared at him, a mixture of fury, wonder, and rage swirling inside me.
He was breaking my balls, meeting me toe to toe despite the fact I could destroy his life at the drop of a hat.
Nobody had ever given me shit like this. Least of all Matt. Definitely not Matt.
Matt was…gentle. Agreeable. A peacemaker. We’d rarely argued, and when we did, he would immediately try to placate me, to find a solution to our problem.
My nostrils flared as I watched Enzo ignoring my existence.
“What are you ordering?” I snapped.
“Uh, sushirrito?”
“I’ll have one as well.”
He didn’t say anything, but I saw him adding one more item to the cart before checking out.
I wasn’t hungry, but I didn’t want to leave, and I knew Enzo’s Italian-boy soul would not let him kick me out before I had food in me. He might smack me across the face with the sushirrito first, but he’d let me eat it.
We spent the time waiting glaring at each other silently from across the kitchen island.
I knew better than to try to explain myself while he was hangry.
Half an hour later, he was wolfing down the sushirrito.
Knowing Enzo would settle for nothing less than the entire truth helped, because it meant I couldn’t weed out the uncomfortable parts of my story.
“So tell me about what I saw today,” he said. “Who were those people, and why do you love them so much if they’re not your family?”
“I never said they’re not family to me. I said they weren’t my wife and child,” I clarified, then launched into the explanation.
“I knew I was bi ever since I was about seventeen. I had always hooked up with both genders and never thought much of it. Not that my parents were what you’d call supportive, but I didn’t give a shit about what they thought either way. ”
Enzo bit into his foiled seaweed, rice, and raw salmon burrito. “Okay.”
“I’d had some relationships, long and short, before I enlisted in the army.”
“You were in the army?” His eyes widened.