Chapter 15 Never Be Mine
Never Be Mine
Papa says I’ve gotten taller. I wonder if I'll be as tall as you when you come back. —Izzy
Izzy
It’s been three days since the conference and Enzo’s had his security doubled, worried that Lucas will retaliate.
I don’t think he’s that brazen. He talks big words, makes idle threats, but that’s all they are.
It’s not that he isn’t dangerous—I know first-hand that he is.
But he’s also smart. He knows he can’t truly mess with the Russo’s.
“I’ve got to go out tonight,” Enzo tells me, and my heart sinks. I like living in a little bubble, pretending that we’re the only people in the entire world.
“Mafia business?” I tease.
He chuckles. “Afraid so.”
“Where are you going?”
He opens his mouth, as if to tell me, then clamps his jaw shut. “Will you tell me your secrets?”
I deflate. “No.”
He shakes his head. “Then I’ll keep mine. I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up.”
Then he’s gone.
What should I do now?
The elevator pings; I jump.
Noemi saunters in like she owns the place—dressed in all-black tactical gear, dark hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, lips painted bright red. She looks badass.
“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be out doing… mafia stuff?” I ask.
She snorts, flopping dramatically onto the couch. “Not tonight. The boys are having their fun—I offered to babysit.”
“Babysit?”
She nods at me. “Enzo always has someone guarding you when he goes out. Usually, it’s Rafael waiting downstairs. But I figured I could keep you safer being in the same room.”
“You just want an excuse to get drunk,” I tease, sitting opposite her.
Her face falls. “I wish. I’m on duty.”
“Damn. That sucks for you.” I smirk. “I’m going to drink wine.”
She growls—like a kitten. “You’re only saying that to make me jealous. I know you don’t drink alone.”
She’s not wrong. I don’t see the point.
She leans forward. “Do you know any lesbians?”
I blink. “What?”
“Do you?”
“You mean, do I know any people to set you up with?”
She sighs low, clearly exasperated. “Yes. Anyone you could set me up with.”
“I barely know anyone in this country, let alone lesbians.”
She mutters to herself, “I think I need to take dating more seriously.”
“Why?”
“I’m not getting any younger. It’s time to get serious. Did you know I’ve never been in a relationship?”
I glare. “You’re—what? Twenty-eight?”
She gasps. “I’m twenty-four!” She starts poking her face. “Do I have wrinkles?”
“Oh my god. My point is: you are not old yet. Talk to me when you’re my age and still haven’t found anyone.”
“Girl. One, you're married." Before I can correct her, she continues, waving her hand at me. "And yes, I know he's a dick—blah blah blah. But babe, hate to tell you this, you have found someone. You just won’t do anything about it.”
I groan. “I need that wine.”
Enzo
“You ready for this?” Dante asks as I flip the safety off my 9mm Glock.
I palm the knife in my pocket.
Despite guns being the preferred weapon for most, I love the thrill of bringing a knife to a gun fight. The feel of the cold steel in my hands. The way my opponent underestimates my abilities.
“Let’s do this.”
With eyes shifting around the space, we head inside. The Ivanov’s have messed with us one too many times, and now it’s time to end them once and for all.
Their main estate is a fortress—but lucky for us, they have a meeting in one of their warehouses tonight.
Inside, the light is dim, a musky smell permeates the air.
Voices carry from further down the hall. We follow the sound until we come to a door, left slightly ajar.
“I need the next batch by Friday.”
That voice. I’d recognize it anywhere.
“That’s not enough time.”
“I don’t care—get it done.”
A beat of silence.
“I can get you five by then.”
Five what?
A sharp exhale. “I need at least double that.”
“The Russos are breathing down our necks. It’s not that simple.”
“Make the problem fucking disappear.”
“You’re insane if you think we can just take them out.”
I nod to Dante.
He kicks the door in.
Chaos erupts. Gunfire explodes through the room.
My eyes find Lucas. His go wide—pure panic—before he bolts.
I raise my gun, but one of Ivanov’s men charges at me.
Perfect.
I let him get a few hits in before I draw the knife, burying it in his neck. He slumps against me, deadweight, before I shove him off.
Radomir Ivanov takes a shot. I twist, just missing the bullet.
“You fucker,” he snarls. “You dare come into my territory to threaten me?”
My voice is a blade. “You’re selling girls. You lost any right to call this your territory.”
He opens his mouth, but I don’t let him speak.
“Your son raped my sister. This was long overdue," I spit out.
A roar of anger slices through the chaos. A blurred body collides with Radomir. Papa.
His fist connnects with Radomir's nose, blood flying as his head smashes to the side.
Papa doesn't stop. Each hit has the sound of bones crunching and cartilage tearing filling the room as everyone stops to watch. Thunderous growls leave Papa's throat as the rage inside him is unleashed.
Eventually, he stops. Radomir's face is caved in. There's no chance he survived the beating. And yet—
Bang.
A bullet hits Radomir square in the skull.
Papa stands, stalking towards me. "Nikolai raped my Tessa?" The words are frayed at the end, as if just saying them is too much.
“That’s why he’s dead. Tess killed Nikolai.”
He exhales hard. No words. Just rage.
Around us, silence falls. The rest of the Ivanov’s lie dead.
Papa doesn’t miss a beat. “Clean this place up. No trace.”
He turns away, already dialing.
“Baby girl?” he breathes into the phone, a slight crack to his voice.
Shit.
That’s gonna be a fun conversation. Just another thing I need to apologize to Tess for.
I hate that Lucas managed to get away tonight. But he won’t for long. I will make him pay. I will make anyone who dares hurt Izzy pay.
By the time I make it back home it’s almost dawn.
I’m exhausted, but instead of going to my own bed, I quietly push open the door to Izzy’s room, finding her sleeping soundly.
She looks so peaceful like this—lying on her stomach, one leg bent upward, highlighting her ass that’s barely covered by her panties.
Her golden hair fans out around her, her sun-kissed face relaxed.
I don’t go to my room. I should. But I just sit and watch her. Watch the rise and fall of her shoulders—a reminder that she's still alive. Still here.
God, I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted anything more than I want her.
I love her. I love her so much it hurts.
But she can never be mine.
I must fall asleep because I wake to a crick in my neck, an aching back, and Izzy’s sleepy eyes staring at me.
“Morning,” I yawn, stretching myself out.
She smiles. “Morning. Did you sleep there?”
I shrug. “Didn’t mean to.”
“You could have gotten into bed with me.”
I swallow, staring at the ceiling. “I couldn’t.”
“Why not?” She’s wearing one of my shirts again, something she does often. “We’ve done it before. We used to do it all the time as kids.”
I want to tell her I didn’t want to fuck her as a kid and controlling myself around her now is an almost impossible task. But, instead, I say, “I just didn’t want to presume.”
She laughs, her smile lighting up her whole face, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Well presume away. I’d never say no to an Enzo cuddle.”
“Really?” I ask, raising a brow as I move toward her.
She squeals as I pounce, pulling her into me and wrapping my arms tightly around her. “This what you wanted?”
Her shoulders shake against my chest. “Yes.”
I kiss her hair, inhaling deeply before I untangle our limbs, standing back up. “Noted.”
“Do you have plans today?” she asks me.
I had planned to track down the other men involved in her assault, but she’s looking at me with wide, longing eyes. “No, what do you want to do?”
“Movie marathon?”
I shake my head, chuckling. “Sure, let me go shower first.”
An hour later, after we’re both clean and changed into ‘comfy clothes’ we settle onto the couch together.
“You’re not in a suit,” she muses, resting her head against my shoulder as she hits play.
“I told you I wear sweatpants sometimes.”
I don’t. The only time I’ve ever worn them was the two weeks I was waiting for her to wake up.
If I’m honest, the suits are a little suffocating, the fabric too tight across my chest and pulling uncomfortably over my arms. But wearing anything less would be a scandal.
A Mafia man dressed in anything but an impeccably tailored three-piece?
Unthinkable. In this world, appearance matters.
And Italians? Well, we’re nothing if not stylish.
We end up watching the extended editions of all three Lord of The Rings movies—I remember when the first one came out and we snuck into the cinema to watch it. Izzy was obsessed.
We pause only for food and bathroom breaks.
It’s nice. Mundane. So far removed from the life I lead now. And yet… it also feels normal. Something about Izzy being around again lets me fall back into the boy I used to be. The one before all the violence and bloodshed that now stains my soul.