Chapter Three #3
Enzo’s breath hitched. The victory was sweeter than any territory he had ever conquered. His smile widened into a devastating, breathtaking grin. "Enzo," he said, extending his hand. "My name is Enzo."
"Five minutes, Enzo," she repeated, refusing his hand but gesturing for him to lead the way to the café. As they walked side-by-side back toward the awning, Enzo felt a rush of adrenaline that had absolutely nothing to do with the syndicate, and everything to do with the woman walking beside him.
***
Hours later, the sun had vanished beneath the churning waters of the Ligurian Sea, plunging the coastal town into a deep, star-swept night.
The sprawling, white-stucco villa the Falco family had rented sat high on the cliffs, wrapped in silence. On the expansive, wrought-iron balcony overlooking the water, the ambient glow of a single brass lantern cast long shadows across the stone tiles.
Salvatore Falco sat in a wicker chair, the tip of his cigar glowing cherry-red in the darkness.
He held a snifter of aged scotch, the ice clinking softly as he swirled the amber liquid.
He watched his youngest son pacing the length of the balcony, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, vibrating with a restless, kinetic energy.
Salvatore had a special, deeply guarded corner of his heart for Enzo.
Lorenzo was the king, and Marco was the fierce, reckless lieutenant, but Enzo was the charming, vibrant soul of their bloodline.
To see him so thoroughly dismantled by a single afternoon conversation was both endlessly amusing and deeply concerning.
"She is brilliant, Papa," Enzo said, stopping his pacing to lean against the stone railing, staring out at the black water.
"She spent the entire forty-five minutes—because I stretched the five minutes, obviously—trying to convince me she is just a boring logistics accountant.
She talked about shipping manifests and fuel taxes.
But her eyes... she analyzes everything.
She tracked the exits of the café. She noted the blind spots.
She is a predator pretending to be a lamb. "
Salvatore took a slow drag of his cigar, exhaling a thick plume of smoke into the sea breeze. He did not smile. The insufferable teasing of the morning had faded, replaced by the grim, calculating reality of the world they occupied.
"She is formidable, Enzo," Salvatore agreed, his voice a low rumble. "I saw her fight with my own eyes. I have commanded armies of men, and she is better than most of our top enforcers. Her precision is flawless."
"Exactly!" Enzo turned around, his eyes bright with vindicated excitement. "She is a warrior. She is exactly the kind of woman who could stand in our world and not be crushed by it."
"And that," Salvatore interrupted sharply, his tone dropping into the authoritative cadence of a syndicate patriarch, "is exactly why you need to be extraordinarily cautious, figlio mio."
Enzo frowned, his excitement stalling. "Cautious? Papa, she saved your life. She saved Ana and Nonna."
"I am eternally grateful to her for that," Salvatore stated, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "But we are not a normal family, Enzo. We are the Falco dynasty. We are surrounded by enemies, by blood feuds, and by ghosts. You cannot afford to be blinded by fascination."
Salvatore pointed the glowing tip of his cigar at his son. "You said it yourself. She is better than most of our men. But ask yourself the critical question, Enzo: How would she have learned it?"
Enzo stared at his father, the reality of the question settling over him like a blanket.
"A woman does not learn to snap a man's throat in a fraction of a second by sparring with her brothers in the backyard," Salvatore continued, his voice grim and unyielding.
"She did not learn that footwork in a self-defense class.
That kind of lethality is forged in blood.
It is trained into a person by people who kill for a living. "
Salvatore leaned back, taking another slow sip of his scotch.
"There is no way her past is simple. Whoever trained that girl is dangerous.
And whoever she might be hiding from in this sleepy, forgotten town could be even worse.
If you pull her into our orbit, you must be prepared for the monsters that will inevitably follow her. "
Enzo turned back to the balcony railing, gripping the cold iron with both hands. He stared out into the vast, impenetrable darkness of the sea, the sound of the crashing waves filling the silence between them.
His father was right. The Amazon war goddess was a mystery. She was hiding. She was dangerous. And pulling her into the violent, reality of the Falco syndicate could ignite a war they were unprepared for.
But as Enzo closed his eyes, recalling the faint, genuine smile that had finally broken through her icy facade over their sparkling water, he realized the warning had come far too late. He was already standing in the blast zone.
"I know it won't be simple, Papa," Enzo whispered into the night, his voice echoing with a fierce, resolve that mirrored the devotion of his older brothers. "But I am going to unravel her anyway."