Chapter 11 Weak And Useless
Weak And Useless
Catrina asked about you in class today. I told her you were becoming important in America. I hope that’s true. —Miss you still, Iz
Izzy
Two weeks of living with Enzo fly by. I feel stronger every day, more myself. Our friendship seems to have picked up from when we were kids, slipping easily into the comfortable relationship we always had.
“Someone set up a meeting, and they won’t speak to anyone but me. I have to go to the club again tonight,” Enzo tells me at dinner. From the way he speaks, it’s clear he’s unhappy.
“Can I come?” I ask, before I can think better of it.
Enzo’s eyebrows shoot upward, and his face contorts into worry. “Is that wise?”
It’s not lost on me that he hasn’t said no.
“Probably not,” I shrug, “but how am I supposed to get better if I don’t go out?”
“And Lucas?”
The name is like a slap to the face, and I almost flinch, but I force it back. “What’s the likelihood of him turning up at your club?”
Enzo scoffs. “None.”
I quirk an eyebrow.
He studies me then sighs. “Fine, if you think you can handle it.”
I nod, a real smile lighting my face.
Enzo grins back at me before his face turns serious again. “You’re not to leave my side though.”
“Yes, dad,” I mutter.
“I’m serious, Izzy. Nothing should happen, but I’m not risking your safety.”
I indulge in his protectiveness because secretly I love it. I always have.
“Okay, I won’t leave your side.” Like I would anyway. He’s my safe place. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
“And if you feel even the slightest bit panicked, or unsure, you tell me, and I’ll get you out of there.”
I nudge his shoulder. “I’ll be fine.”
He grumbles but doesn’t argue as we eat in comfortable silence.
It’s only once we’re finished, that I realize I have nothing to wear to go out.
I’ve been living in Enzo’s ridiculously oversized clothing for the past few weeks and not once have I thought to complain.
But I certainly can’t go out like this, in nothing but Enzo’s shirt. No matter how comfortable I feel in it.
“Any chance you’re a secret cross-dresser who wears a women’s size four?” I ask Enzo with a teasing smirk.
His eyes shine with amusement. “Not last time I checked no, why?”
“I don’t have anything I can wear to go to a club.”
He curses, as if only just coming to that same conclusion.
“Iz,” he says carefully, and my smile drops, “maybe you should stay here.” I open my mouth in protest, but he continues.
“I can get you clothes, but Izzy, you’d stick out like a sore thumb if you wore anything more than a tiny dress.
I can’t imagine you want to do that right now.
And I’m worried that you’re going to be scared, being around so many people. Just look at what happened with Dante—”
“Are you done?” I ask, cutting him off. My voice is firm, something I’m incredibly proud of given the way my heart is racing.
His mouth snaps shut in surprise.
“I need to do this, Enzo. It’s been weeks. If I stay here and hide it will only be harder for me later on. I feel so weak and useless being this way. Scared of my own shadow.” My voice drops as a tremor shoots through it. “Please, Tesoro, don’t make me stay here alone.”
“You know I can’t say no to you when you call me that, Cuore mio,” Enzo groans, and I know he’s going to let me come. “I’ll get a dress sent for you, give me a minute.”
He types something on his phone, while I get up to go shower.
An hour later, the intercom buzzes.
Enzo answers it gruffly before telling someone to come up.
A woman with long glossy black hair enters the apartment. Her high heels click across the marble floors, her curvy hips swaying as she moves. Instantly I feel jealous. Inferior.
I look down at myself. My body is thin, no curves, my boobs are too small, my ass flat.
She nods at Enzo but doesn’t move in close to him. They’re familiar, but professional. His eyes hold a darknesses to them that I haven’t seen in him before.
Despite that, some ugly emotion rears its head inside me.
Enzo steps toward me, placing a hand on my back. “Noemi, this is Izzy,” he introduces. “She needs your expertise.”
This Noemi woman smiles at me warmly. “Izzy, nice to meet you. Enzo tells me you need a dress and possibly some makeup for tonight?”
Strengthening my backbone I return her friendliness, despite the jealousy churning in my gut. “Yes, please.”
She turns her back, which is when I notice all the bags she brought with her. My eyes widen and when she looks back at me, she laughs. “We’re going to have so much fun!”
Another hour later, I feel like I’ve made a new best friend.
“I can’t believe you shot him!” I cry, covering my mouth with my hands as I try not to laugh.
“I was aiming for someone behind him, but I’m not the best shot yet,” she tells me, grinning at me in the mirror as she curls my hair. “I’m still pretty new to all this.”
My makeup is already done, and I barely recognize myself.
My features have never looked so sharp, so defined.
A soft champagne eyeshadow shimmers across my lids, catching the light with every blink, with a delicate sparkle layered on top.
The winged eyeliner elongates my eyes, making them appear larger, more striking.
My skin looks flawless, the foundation blending seamlessly with my naturally tanned complexion, as if it were made just for me.
“So, if you work with Enzo… with the organization… how come you’re here doing my make-up?”
She barks out a laugh. “Well, for one, that man out there doesn’t exactly make many friends, so I doubt he had anyone else to ask, and two, when Enzo Russo calls, you answer.” She shrugs at me like it’s obvious.
“You’re friends?” I ask, even though I want to add a just in there.
She sees right through me. “Don’t worry girl, your man's safe from me. Not enough pussy for my liking.” Her eyes rake over me. “You though…”
My shoulders shake as I laugh. “Good to know. But he’s not my anything.”
She purses her lips. “Does he know that? Because the way he looked at you.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively and my heart stutters.
I wave my hand at her. “We’re childhood friends. He doesn’t look at me like that.”
“But you look at him.” She doesn’t phrase it as a question, but she tilts her head.
“I’m married,” I say, even though the thought of that has bile rising in my throat. It’s not like the marriage is real, or something I plan to keep long term. But I feel the need to give distance between Enzo and me, to make my feelings for him seem wrong.
She raises her hands at me, stepping back. “Alright, alright. We’re done here. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you didn’t disagree with me.”
My cheeks heat, but I don’t say anything.
Noemi heads over to the bags she brought and rifles through them until she pulls out a tiny slip of a dress. Dress might be an exaggeration for how little fabric this thing has.
Fear skates through me at the thought of wearing something so revealing.
My bruising is pretty much gone, save for a few patches of yellow, but that’s not what has my chest seizing.
It’s the thought of men seeing me like that.
I’ve never been shy before, never felt uncomfortable in my own skin, but Lucas has taken that from me.
Forcing myself to breathe and push through it, I take the dress from her arms.
“I’ll let you get dressed,” she tells me before she leaves, closing the door behind her.
I’m still in one of Enzo’s shirts, having had no other options before now. Reluctantly, I unbutton it and pull it off my shoulders until I’m naked.
The dress itself is too flimsy for underwear, but it does include some padding in the boob area. Determination not to let Lucas win has me slipping it over my head. I close my eyes for a moment, breathe deeply, then look in the mirror.
The dress is skin-tight with a black lace pattern. The hem rests lower on my thighs than I expected, probably due to my short frame, which I’m thankful for.
A pair of champagne heels to match my eyes sits by the door. I slip them on; the shoes add about three inches to my five-foot-two height.
A knock sounds on the door. Expecting it to be Noemi, I call out to tell her to come in.
But it’s not Noemi.
It’s Enzo.
His gaze travels over me like he’s memorizing every inch. The heat in his expression surprises me, but then it’s gone, and I wonder if I imagined it.
He swallows before speaking. “You look amazing, Cuore mio.”
I can’t stop the way my cheeks turn red. “Thank you,” I mumble.
“You ready?”
Flipping my hair over my shoulder and blowing out a breath, I step in his direction. “Yeah, let’s go.”
Noemi stands in the hall waiting with a brilliant smile. She wolf whistles at me which makes me laugh, removing some of the tension in my shoulders. “Damn, if you swung my way I’d totally be hitting on you right now.”
Enzo growls playfully which has me laughing harder.
His expression is warm as he looks down at me—even with my heels, he towers over me—and I relish in the lightness that’s back in his eyes.
The three of us head downstairs. Noemi gets off at the ground floor while Enzo and I continue down to the basement level. Before she steps off, Noemi hands me a clutch bag with a strap so I can place it over my shoulders, then gives me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
I hope I can see more of her while I’m here.
When we get to the lower level we step out into an underground garage. Enzo leads me to one of the expensive-looking cars and opens the door, motioning with his head for me to get in.
As soon as the door closes, he jogs around to the driver's side and jumps in.
The drive to our destination is silent. It’s only when Enzo slows the car down that he speaks. “You promise me you’ll stay by my side and listen to me?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, I promise.”
“There’s a possibility I’ll need to leave you alone, but if I do, I’ll take you to my office where you’ll be safe.”
“Okay.”
I put my hand on the handle, but his fingers around my wrist give me pause. I twist my neck to look over at him. “We’ll head straight to the VIP area.”
Satisfied he gets out then comes round to open my door, offering me a hand to help me.
We’re outside a nightclub, with big glowing letters that spell out Piccola.
My footsteps pause, faltering.
“Piccola?”
Enzo turns so abruptly I almost crash into his back. He turns around to look at me, something unreadable in his expression. “Little one.”
“I know what it means,” I whisper, heart hammering in my chest.
“It’s for you.”
My breath catches as I look up at him, my mouth parted in shock.
He takes my hand and continues walking, keeping me tucked into his side. His shoulders are bunched tight, his eyes scanning around as we walk as though he's checking for threats—he probably is.
“Mr. Russo,” one bouncer says, nodding to him then standing out the way so we can pass.
Enzo leans in to murmur to him, both of them glancing at me before the same bouncer ducks his head. I swear to God I heard him whisper, "Chiunque la guardi, gli spari6," but he places his hand on my back and pushes me forward before I can fully process the interaction.
Then we’re inside.