Enzo’s gaze cut to me. “It’ll mean war.”
“With the mafia?” For once, I was grateful Chiara was with her father.
“With my mother’s side of the family,” Enzo tersely answered, “yes.”
TWELVE
Maria
“No, don’t come here. It’s a waste of time. Just stay there and send the jet, Constantine,” Enzo said into his phone while buttoning his black dress shirt.
I had my back to the wall in his bedroom, and we were alone for the time being. I’d followed him into his room, not giving him a chance to shut me out. He’d been on the phone and slightly distracted, or he probably wouldn’t have let me in. But I was done being behind a wall of secrets.
“I know, I’ll talk to Jesse. Don’t worry,” he continued, his eyes finding mine this time as he shoved down his sweats, and I swallowed at the sight of his hard, muscular legs, remembering that hot moment from his bathroom last night.
He still had on the same black boxer briefs he’d slipped into last night, and after expelling a deep, probably-frustrated-with-me breath, he snatched his black dress pants from where he’d laid them out on the bed.
“No, I don’t think Giovanni lied. He’d never be stupid enough to send his own people to rough me up, especially not if he was connected to her death back then,” I listened to him say, and I had to assume Constantine had floated the idea their mom’s cousin was somehow responsible for Bianca’s death. “I think this was just a bad fucking coincidence. But it’s possible whoever hired the three idiotas was trying to make it look like the mafia is to blame for her death to throw us off.”
They exchanged a few more words; then he ended the call and tossed his phone on the bed. He zipped his slacks and buttoned them, eyes returning to me.
“You don’t think what happened this morning was about Bianca, or you do? I’m not sure where your head is at on this.” I kept my back to the wall for stability because my legs were on the verge of giving out.
He adjusted the collar of his shirt, then fidgeted with his sleeves, working one to his elbow, exposing the ink I was so drawn to. “I suppose it’s possible, but it just doesn’t make sense.”
I cocked my head, waiting for him to meet my eyes again. I hated that he felt like a different person right now. Cool and aloof. A man I barely knew. He wasn’t the man who’d stood before me vulnerable last night as he asked me to save him from hell.
Three men attacked him this morning, I reminded myself. Nearly hurt Natalia and me. Yeah, of course Enzo was off.
He focused on his other sleeve, working it to his elbow while sharing, “Jesse is too good to have been followed. Too good for someone to figure out why he was even at the restaurant last night.”
“But because of the timing it’s hard to believe it’s unrelated?”
“It would have to mean whoever hired the cleaner found out he was on the run, and they preemptively acted, worried I’d find out the truth. But it still doesn’t add up. Even if they didn’t know about Jesse’s talk with me, by coming after me, they put me on alert, and why would they want that?” He finally looked at me and sighed. “I’ll figure it out, don’t worry.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” I finally pushed away from the wall and went to him, but he lifted his palms between us as a request not to touch him, and, well, that sucked.
“Maria, I’m not in the right state of mind right now.” He flipped his palms to look at them. “I wanted to kill that man for what he did to you. But he was a fucking kid, and you were in the other room, so I showed him mercy.”
“And what’s wrong with mercy?” My voice broke that time as I eyed the inked words No Mercy on his forearm. “Because that’s not something you’re accustomed to showing someone?”
His jaw went tight beneath his facial hair, and he shook his head. Did that mean yes or no? “Last night you said you wouldn’t run, but after what just happened . . . you should be terrified of me. Why aren’t you?”
“You keep telling me I like to play with fire. I guess you’re the flame I’m drawn to, and I can’t stay away.” I candidly admitted the only truth that seemed to make sense.
But was I crazy not to be scared? Was I so head over heels for this man I could get hit in the face with a bunch of red flags and see green instead?
I mean, his mother’s family was mafia. And the mafia was afraid of him. He had a room of monitors and weapons that didn’t belong in a chef’s home. Then there was the brutal fact he could kill, and here I was, a person unable to kill a bug without remorse.