Chapter Forty Enzo
Chapter Forty
Enzo
It was the longest day of my entire fucking life, and I was running on caffeine, heartbreak, and vengeance.
Spoiler alert—the two last components? Terrible stimulants.
After I’d almost thrown a punch in the face of Tom’s lapdog, a.k.a.
Sully, I was finally ushered to Rikers to be properly arrested, met my lawyer, saw a judge, posted bail, and ejected myself back into the world.
By then, it was eight thirty in the evening, and even though my brothers were eagerly waiting for me at Lila and Tiernan’s to hear about my clusterfuck of a day, I had one more thing I needed to do beforehand.
I was in love with Thomas Rothwell. I was never going to be with him for a million obvious reasons, but the fact remained that I was never getting over him, either.
I couldn’t marry Katya.
Not only could I not offer her friendship and companionship, but I would not be able to bring myself to put a child in her, something she’d made clear she wanted.
It appeared as though only Luca had managed to follow through with a marriage of convenience out of us brothers.
And, seeing the state of his marriage, I was hardly eager for a repeat.
We were several months away from the wedding. It was fully paid for, and our families were both clinging to the occasion to fix the impending war like it was the last hit of pure oxygen in an airless space.
And I was going to take it away from them.
I was going to ruin everything, Katya included.
But for once in my life, I was going to put myself first.
The elevator ride to my apartment lasted a lifetime, but by the time I stood in front of the door, I couldn’t bring myself to open it.
Katya was on the other side. And, beyond her, the future I’d claimed for myself.
I could get locked up tomorrow for all I knew.
Forever, this time. And though I didn’t have Tom anymore, and could hardly ever see myself going on queer apps to find someone to hook up with, on a deeper, more fundamental level, I was tired of lying. Of hiding.
Who I was.
Whom I loved.
What I craved.
None of this was by design, by choice, by fault.
Like all humans, I’d been born against my will, into a family not of my choosing, to the burden of a last name I did not know. And, like all humans, I was born with desires, passions, and loves I could not select nor contain.
But these past few weeks, I finally realized who I truly was. And you know what?
I liked that person in the mirror.
I wanted to do right by him.
Exhaling briskly, I pushed the door open.
The lights were off. Katya was sprawled on the couch, the blue hues of dusk highlighting her feminine curves and endless legs. She wore nothing but a sheer white babydoll, the soft fabric pulling at the junction between her thighs.
A hard task had just become impossible.
She was here to seduce me.
Gently, I closed the door behind me, ambling into the room.
She held a soft paperback to her face, flicking a page slowly.
I didn’t know if she’d heard me. I sank onto the end of the couch, watching this beautiful specimen of a human—cold and regal under the silvery moonlight—and my already battered heart shattered once more.
She deserved better than the Ferrante or Rasputin families could ever offer her.
Tossed between brothers like a hot potato, forced to negotiate affection, and babies, and fucking ice swan sculptures.
She’d done nothing wrong. And yet, once again, she was about to pay the price of being born into the Bratva.
“I do not like love stories.”
Her words startled me. I hadn’t realized she knew I was in the room. Her face was still hidden by the softcover, which I now recognized as a Penguin Classics edition of Wuthering Heights.
“I like romance books well enough, but love stories? Oh, no. Those do not always have happy endings. I can’t bear them, Enzo.” Her voice cracked. “It is bad enough that life is full of heartbreak. Why must literature insist on hurting us, too?”
I’d never met contemplative, melancholy Katya before. Only the sexy vixen version who was playful, daring, and endlessly flirtatious. I wondered who she really was under the babydoll, under the smiling college girl, and all the different facades the pakhan insisted she wore.
And I was never going to find out.
I lifted her ankle, gently resting it on my muscular thigh and digging my thumbs into the pad of her foot. She rested the book on her chest, studying my busted-up face, with the blues and purples and fat lip. She didn’t seem surprised, nor too worried about the engagement shoot tomorrow.
Something passed between us, an acknowledgment that we both understood there wouldn’t be one.
“Why?” she whispered, a tear rolling down her porcelain cheek. I knew exactly what she was asking. Why was I canceling the wedding? Why was I going against my brothers? Why was I throwing away the last shred of chance for peace between the Bratva and the Camorra?
“I’m gay.” I kissed the back of her foot. Not bi, not confused, gay. “And I’m in love with someone. I thought I could enter this marriage with a clear conscience and clean heart. Now I can’t do either.”
“The person you keep referring to on Instagram…is that him?”
I nodded.
Pain lodged in every crease and curve in her lovely face. She forced her lips up in a rueful grin, aquamarine eyes glittering like sunrays dancing over the ocean. “That’s how I knew I’d already lost you.”
“How do you mean?”
“You stopped posting thirst traps. I figured you didn’t need to anymore. You’d found someone who worshipped you, who gave you all the confirmation you sought.”
She scooted into a sitting position, nudging me so our knees touched. We were both staring at the turned-off TV. Sirens blared in the distance. We were stuck in a situation we’d both been thrust into by others, into uncharted territory normal people our age never had to navigate.
“How long have you known you’re gay?” she asked quietly.
“I think deep inside I’ve always known. But the reckoning only happened in the last few weeks.”
She nodded, still staring at an indeterminate spot on the wall. “I won’t breathe a word to anyone about it. If the Camorra is anything like the Bratva, this could be very dangerous for you, Enzo.”
Reaching for her hand, I squeezed it in a silent thank-you.
“How did you know what I came here to say?” I asked.
“I didn’t at first. Not before I got here.
” She pushed a dark tendril of hair behind her ear.
“I mean, we haven’t been talking much lately, and I thought today would be a good day to test our sexual compatibility.
So when I got here, I took a shower, wore something sexy, did my hair and makeup…
” She worried her lower lip, shaking her head with a snort.
“Then, as I waited on the couch, I realized this place doesn’t look lived-in anymore.
I know your cleaners come on a Wednesday, so it’s been a few days since they were here.
Yet your bed is perfectly made, there are no dishes in the sink, no knickknacks thrown around.
Your ashtray is still clean, for goodness’ sake.
It is obvious you’ve been living somewhere else recently. ”
Women were remarkably attentive creatures. I was shocked the FBI wasn’t swarming exclusively with them. Aging men had nothing on this particular demographic. They needed to fire their entire HR department.
“You’re right,” I said.
“Well, are you at least happy?” she croaked.
“We broke up today,” I admitted. “So no, I’m not happy. But I feel…relieved.”
“To not have to marry me?” Her chin wobbled, but she kept her head high.
“No, you silly goose.” I threw an arm around her shoulders, yanking her to me and kissing the top of her head.
“I’m happy I don’t have to pretend to be something I’m not anymore.
Straight. Attracted to women. Capable of marrying one.
But yes, I’m also thankful I’m not going to drag you into a loveless marriage.
You’re young, beautiful, smart, and kind. You deserve a man who worships you.”
I was going to assume full responsibility for the breakdown of the engagement, pay for the entire wedding, and face the consequences.
“I need you to promise me one thing, Katya.”
She blinked at me.
“Don’t let Alex wrestle you into another arrangement with a mobster for his own benefit. You deserve a man who will peel away every layer of you like you were a precious gift and find out all about you.”
“Lyosha won’t try to fix me up with anyone again,” she said confidently.
“How do you know?”
“Because I told him that if this wedding is canceled, I’m not doing this again. I want someone normal. Sane. Maybe an accountant or something.”
“You deserve it.”
She squeezed my hand back. For a moment, we stared at each other mischievously, like two children who’d skipped school and managed to get away with it unscathed. It wasn’t the end of anything—it was the beginning of a bloody war. But it was a form of freedom, and we both needed it.
“You really didn’t want to marry me, huh?” I said finally.
She shook her head, stifling a laugh. “Not even a little. You are way too handsome and way too lovable. Now, Achilles was another story. I did take interest in him, briefly.”
“I’m sorry.” I scrunched up my nose.
“I’m not.” She wiped invisible sweat from her forehead. “If I’d married him, he would still be with Tierney today. Only I would be the laughingstock of the underworld, discarded somewhere if I were lucky, or worse—dead.”
“I don’t think he’d have killed you,” I said.
“Maybe not, but Tierney would have.”
I laughed. She grinned.
“I don’t like love stories, either, by the way,” I told her.
I kissed her mouth chastely, letting go of her hand.
And it was over, our love story, before it ever began.