7. Enzo
ENZO
I sleep like the dead. It’s the smug slumber of an arrogant asshole who thinks he has it all figured out.
I’m not proud of my alter ego Brian, but I seemed to have stepped into his shoes with apparent ease, and dwelling on what this says about me as a person will mean digging deep, something I’m not prepared to do right now.
It’s a game. One I never imagined in a million years that I would find myself playing, but now that it has fallen into my lap, I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts.
Like Megan always says: the universe has a way of making these things happen, and this is my time to have some fun.
I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling, replaying Nyx making herself come for me. It’s one of the sexiest fucking things I’ve ever experienced, which goes to prove what a little roleplay can do when two people are prepared to go all-in.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand beside the bed in the guest room. It’s a message from Megan. A photograph of their spaniel, Bella, wearing the pink collar that Demi and I bought for her in Rome. The caption:
I miss my Uncle Enzo.
I smile at the image and close the app. Sometimes, it feels as if Megan, Gio, the twins and Amber—and Bella of course—belong to a parallel universe, another dimension in which the Enzo they knew was someone else.
This Enzo, the one I am now, isn’t the same person.
I’m a fake. A fraud. The wonderful wizard of Manhattan, masquerading as the youngest Sabatelli son, and if anyone is going to catch me out, it’s Megan.
What would she think of JADED and Nyx? Silly question, she would try to convince me that I’m better than this. That I should be throwing my energy, time, and money into finding Demi and having a grown-up conversation about deep shit like life and relationships and love.
Tried that once upon a time, bared my heart, told Demi I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, and look how that turned out.
At least I know where I stand with Nyx.
I pay the fee, play the game, and walk away at the end of it. Fuck falling in love. I’m making a deal with myself right now: when Nyx begs me to fuck her and means it, I’ll call it a day, walk away from the club, and never look back.
I smile at the watery sunlight trying to break through the guest room windows. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. This whole scenario with Nyx is nothing more than drawing a line underneath my past so that I can move forward, if not healed, at least armed and ready to face the future.
A future without Demi.
It’s like a bachelor party without a wedding. One final fling before I get my head and my life back on track and make my family proud.
Make me proud.
A sound drags me out of my reverie and back into the guest room where the sun has dipped behind a bank of heavy gray clouds.
A door opening or closing.
The door to my bedroom.
I throw back the comforter, drag yesterday’s pants on over my boxers, and open the guest room door a crack, enough to watch my sister tiptoeing along the hallway with her shoes in one hand and a wide-brimmed hat in the other.
I could stop her, ask her where she’s going, but I don’t.
Instead, I text my driver.
Bianca is in the elevator. Take her wherever she wants to go and don’t take no for an answer. I hit send and type another message: I want updates.
I shower and get dressed in a hurry. By the time I’m ready, my driver has confirmed that Bianca has visited Club Monaco on 5th Avenue and is heading inside the Wraith, a sleek black glass hotel and casino resort, dominating the Manhattan skyline.
I take a taxi to the Wraith. It’s mid-morning, and the grand foyer is less busy than it is in the evenings when guests are visiting the restaurant or casino. The concierge recognizes me and inclines his head as I make my way through to the restaurant.
Bianca isn’t there.
I check the bar and lounge area, and there’s still no sign of her.
The casino is open. Some guests appear to have been there all night; their clothes are rumpled and they have dark smudges underneath bloodshot eyes. Others are fresh-faced, sipping brightly colored cocktails and champagne around the roulette tables.
I don’t see my sister.
I head back to the concierge and ask him if my sister checked in within the last thirty minutes.
“No, Mr. Sabatelli. Only one guest has checked in, a regular visitor to the Wraith with his current partner.” I’m about to ask for the partner’s name, when he adds, “His male partner.”
I smile and pass a tightly rolled wad of banknotes into his hand when I shake it. “Did she pass through the foyer? She was carrying a bag with the Club Monaco logo.” I don’t mention her black eye and swollen mouth; my sister has become an expert at covering bruises with makeup over the years.
“Yes, Mr. Sabatelli. She went through to the casino.”
That’s what she wanted him to think.
“Thank you.”
“You have a good day now, Mr. Sabatelli.”
I don’t return the compliment. I check the casino again in case Bianca was in the restroom the first time I looked, but I’m not surprised when I don’t find her.
Past the bank of elevators serving the upper levels, I pass through a door marked STAFF ONLY and keep going till I reach the fire door exit at the rear of the building.
Bianca is long gone.
I call in a favor from the NYC Taxi Commission and get data on every journey made within the last two hours.
The information includes pick-up and drop-off times, journey duration and route, but even when checked off against every location within a three-mile radius of the Wraith, none of them could potentially be my sister.
And I can’t track her because she doesn’t have a cell phone.
Or at least, she doesn’t have one that I’m aware of.
Now’s the time when I should warn Giovanni that she’s back, but I tell myself I can handle it.
She knew what she was doing when she snuck out of my apartment and vanished like an apparition inside the Wraith, but she has nowhere else to go, and the deeper I dig, the more chance there is of my brother hearing about it.
Whatever she is up to, she isn’t ready to leave. I just need to keep a closer eye on her.
There is one person I can speak to though. Stella Marlow. The woman my sister fell in love with, and the reason Bianca used my brother to help her escape the clutches of her sadistic husband.
When I check out her social media accounts, I discover that Stella Marlow is in New York City.
Coincidence?
I catch up with the runway model at a charity gala event that evening at the Plaza Hotel.
Stella is wearing a floor-length gold gown that shimmers with crystals, reflecting the glow of the overhead chandeliers as she moves like thousands of tiny mirrors blinding those around her.
She poses with other celebrities, cheek-to-cheek, smiles painted on for the cameras.
She shakes hands with men in designer suits, converses with everyone she meets, and people seem to gravitate towards her like moths to a flame.
She’s living up to her name: vibrant, glowing, a star orbiting the event. I understand why Bianca fell in love with her.
What puzzles me is what first attracted Stella to my sister.
Where Stella is all vivid colors and glowing smiles, Bianca is serious.
Where Stella is full of energy, Bianca is tightly coiled wire waiting to be sprung.
Where Stella is approachable, Bianca is surrounded by high walls topped with razor-wire, a machine gun waiting on the other side to take down unwanted intruders.
They say opposites attract, but do they? Really?
I wait for a lull between conversations when Stella is alone for more than five seconds, clutching an untouched champagne flute in her hand.Before I approach her, I accept a drink from a server dressed in black and gold along the way.
Her eyes narrow briefly when she recognizes me.
“Enzo Sabatelli?” We’ve never met, but it’s obvious she recognizes me from the media and doesn’t trust me; her eyes are already darting around the room for a glimpse of Bianca.
“Hello, Stella.”
She doesn’t look directly at me. Instead, she’s scanning around for an escape route, no doubt in the shape of her manager or PR assistant.
Resigned, she faces me again, the smile still in place for the benefit of the reporters covering the event. “Why are you here? Did Bianca send you?”
“No, she doesn’t know I’m here.”
She swallows, but the tension is still there. “Is she… Is she hurt?”
That’s her first thought, that Bianca might be hurt. Maybe Stella knew her better than I gave her credit for.
I ignore the question. “Has she reached out to you recently?”
“No.” Stella hides behind her champagne glass, constantly aware of being watched, her every move, every glance, every conversation a performance waiting to be picked apart by the vultures who follow her on social media. “I haven’t seen her since Sicily.”
She doesn’t have to elaborate. Gio invited Stella to the family home on the Mediterranean island to witness him delivering his ultimatum.
She was his parting gift to our sister. Subsequently, Bianca chose the woman she loved over her own children, and Stella realized that she couldn’t be with someone with a lump of rock for a heart.
It doesn’t mean that my sister is unaware of her former lover’s itinerary though, and I don’t believe in coincidences.
“What’s going on, Enzo?” Stella keeps her voice low. “You didn’t come here to say hi. Is Bianca in some kind of trouble?”
I smile, playing along for the eagle eyes surrounding us. If I deny it, Stella won’t believe me, and if I tell her the truth, she might go back on her decision of twelve months ago and try to find my sister. Safer for her if she stays the fuck away from Bianca Sabatelli.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
I down my champagne and prepare to leave as a woman I vaguely recognize joins us. She’s older than Stella, mid-forties maybe, wearing a white pantsuit teamed with black accessories and black pearls around her neck.