17. Enzo #2
Breathe, Enzo. I’m pissing all over her parade and she hasn’t even had a lesson yet. “And you haven’t met this guy, Mateo? He didn’t come to the school to demonstrate his acting skills?”
This is the part where she’s supposed to say no.
Instead, she scrunches up her face and says, “He came here yesterday to speak to me and Susi and another student whose parents are both actors.” Her expression crumples, and she sucks on her top lip as if she could rephrase it so that I stop morphing into Enzo the Sicilian Hulk and smile at her instead. “That’s all. No biggie.”
Mateo Esposito. Via Firenze. I’m imprinting the information inside my skull with indelible ink.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, stabbing at the rage swirling around in my gut without making a dent. “I don’t need your permission to take acting classes. Uncle Gio has his own film studio in LA. I thought maybe he could get me a small part in a movie someday… after I graduate.”
She’s right, she doesn’t need our permission, and the last thing I want to do is shatter her illusion that the world is full of genuinely nice people with her best interests at heart.
But the truth is, the world is full of evil fuckers who would exploit her to swell their own bank accounts, and never a lose a moment’s sleep over it.
“Promise me you’ll have no more communication with him until I’ve checked him out.”
“Okay.” She sounds about as far from okay with this as she can get. “Why?”
“You don’t need to worry about why. Call it your Uncle Enzo’s paranoia.”
“And then what? Can I go to drama classes?”
Would she give up the idea if I told her it was off limits?
If she’s anything like her mom, she’d climb out of her dorm room window to go to fucking drama school, without a bodyguard, and without her house supervisor knowing that she isn’t sitting at her desk completing her math assignments like the model student she’s been until now.
“Yes. But you’ll wait to hear from me first.” I hold her gaze, and her face lights up.
“Thanks, Uncle Enzo.” She gets up and wraps her arms around my neck. “You’re the best.”
I smile. “Don’t let Uncle Gio hear you say that. He wears the best uncle badge with pride.”
“Can we go now?” Leo is already on his feet, having hardly spoken.
“I thought we could go get pizza. I know where to find the best hole-in-the-wall in Rome.”
“We already ate.” He shuts the suggestion down.
Sofia hugs me again. “Sorry, Uncle Enzo. Maybe you could give us some warning next time.”
“Sure.” I offer Leo my hand, and he shakes it weakly. “Next time, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says without conviction.
They turn to leave and Sofia hesitates, rummaging around in her leather satchel. “I almost forgot, Mateo gave me this card to give to you. He said you met in New York, and you would know what it means.”
Adrenaline is already pumping around my veins before she hands me a black business card with the word JADED printed in shiny green letters on the front.
“We have a problem.”
I’m walking along the Via Firenze with Luis.
Gio is on the other end of the call, getting the brunt of my fears and my heavy breathing.
Seems that frequently getting tasered and skipping meals takes its toll on the body after all; just when you’re starting to feel like you might not be immortal, along comes the proof like a sledgehammer.
“Go on.”
“A Bratva problem.” There’s silence at the other end.
“I need you to run a check on a guy called Mateo Esposito. I’m on Via Firenze looking for a drama school that doesn’t exist. The bastards turned Sofia’s head with acting lessons, and she’s already mentally auditioning for a role in a movie being filmed at your studio in LA. ”
“What does any of this have to do with the Bratva?” Calm is Gio’s middle name these days. Must be love, or cake, or the perfect family waiting for him to come home every night.
“They left a calling card.”
“Okay, have you increased security around the children?”
“Is the Pope a Catholic?” I sense his flicker of a smile. “And for the record, they’re teenagers. Do you remember Bianca at fourteen years old?”
“Fuck.” There’s a pause. “Are they safe or should we move them?”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Gio. The kids are not chess pieces. They don’t even know where home is these days, and if those Bratva fuckers get their hands on either of them, you’ll be hearing about me on the news channel.”
“I’ll speak to the principal.”
“Done.”
“Did you let Leo and Sofia know how serious this is?”
“Indirectly.”
I reach the Via Firenze address printed on the poster I ripped from the school’s bulletin board, scrunch the sheet into a ball, and toss it into the nearest trash can. The building is a hotel, a well-established hotel with tourists stepping outside in their wide-brimmed hats and tinted shades.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gio presses.
“It means, I didn’t want to scare the shit out of them. When was the last time you spoke to either of them?”
“What’s your point?”
I turn around and make my way back to the car waiting for us outside the school. With Rome traffic, it was easier to walk. “My point is, they’re both vulnerable right now.”
In their own ways. I’m worried about Sofia because the sick bastards would capitalize on her name and sell her to the highest bidder. But I’m more frightened for Leo because he’s shutting down, and I know first-hand what damage bottling things up inside can do.
“I made Sofia promise not to entertain this Mateo guy again. But I think you should speak to Leo. He… needs someone to talk to.”
“Sure. And Enzo, be careful.”
I smile. “You know me.”
“That’s why I said it.”
I’m waiting for the private jet to take off on the tarmac at Rome Airport when a message pops up on my cell phone from an unknown number.
It’s a video. I turn up the volume and brightness, but the screen remains black.
A chill runs down my spine. This must’ve been recorded at JADED.
Then I hear a voice, barely more than a whisper as though all the sound has been sucked out of it, leaving behind only an echo of the words.
I glance at Luis across the table, and he shakes his head. He can’t decipher it either. I’m about to hit the pause button and ignore it when I hear a voice I recognize.
“You’re blonde. Your eyes are green, like a cat. No, not green, they’re hazel with flecks of amber.”
The words I said to Nyx the first time we met, when she asked me to describe her.
It’s followed by heavy panting. This must be when Nyx made herself come for me.
Only, when I try to piece together the times we met, it doesn’t fit; she didn’t make herself come that time.
The game had only just gotten started. They recorded our conversations, as I guessed they would, and are mixing them up for maximum effect.
“Game on, assholes. I’m coming for you.”
The recording is almost over when I hear something that makes my skin prickle.
“Enzo…”
I must’ve misheard, so I press rewind and play it again.
“Enzo…”
I hold the phone to my ear and turn the volume up to full.
“Enzo…”
Technology has made it easy to sound like she said my name, but there’s something else scratching away inside my skull.
Forget the raspy enhancement, the voice doesn’t sound like Nyx.
It sounds like Demi.