One Month Later
“I’m in hell. I mean, there’s no other way to put it.” I pointed at the ground, frustration mounting, my body tingly all over. “Enzo’s driving me insane.”
“Mm-hmm.” My sister tossed a few of her best dresses onto the guest bed for me to try on for my date tonight. “Yes, having a man like Enzo wine and dine you, be all charming and swoony for weeks, was the definition for hell when I looked it up.”
I chuckled and dramatically collapsed onto the bed, probably wrinkling the outfits. “He’s barely even tongued me.”
“Because he knows he’ll put that tongue elsewhere if he does, and he’s trying desperately to take things slow. Give you some type of slow-burn romance.”
I groaned and rolled to my back and let go of an exasperated sigh. “I don’t want slow burn. I want action in chapter one. I want a whole book of hot scenes.”
She laughed again, then tossed a little black dress on top of me. “I know you, missy. And you love the tension and anticipation. I see the looks you share at the restaurant. And I know whenever you get a text from him because your face lights up.”
All true. I couldn’t deny it. And we had exchanged some hot looks and some witty and sexy read-between-the-lines texts that left me super wet afterward. The man knew how to turn me on without using dirty words.
Towels. Freaking towel talk from the man debating the best thickness over a late-night call last night had even sent me over the edge.
“Also,” my sister went on when I was lost in my thoughts, “not knowing when things will finally explode between the two of you is exciting and so, so hot. Trust me, I remember those days with Ryan.”
I tossed the black dress aside and sat upright. “He’s a walking book boyfriend, just like your hubby.” I fake-pouted and crossed my legs, the pain horrendous between my thighs. Chiara had been sleeping in her travel crib by my bed in Natalia’s guest room, so I was wound up tight without relief. My last orgasm had been in Long Island the night before hell broke loose.
Natalia smoothed a hand over her stomach. She was in a cute baby-blue dress with a bow beneath her breasts. “I really do think his request to do all of this is sweet and poetic. He wants to give your story a better beginning. And surely now that things are settled and the paint is dry on the whole mafia thing . . .” She wrinkled her nose. “Bad analogy, but the point is, I think enough time has passed, and he’ll take things to the next level.” She lifted one shoulder. “He is a chef, surely he knows how to turn up the heat.”
“Oh, he does. And he has been. For four weeks, but without getting me off,” I teasingly wailed, testing my drama skills. And yeah, they still sucked.
One thing I hadn’t been able to hide from Enzo: the nightmares. When he’d pressed for me to share, worried I was dreaming about him taking lives, I finally admitted they weren’t about him.
No, they were about Alice holding a knife over me by the bed. But I always woke up right before she could stab me.
Enzo had refused to take no as an answer when suggesting therapy. I’d told him I’d go if he agreed to see someone as well.
“I’ll do anything for you,” he’d said during our talk two weeks ago, holding my shoulders. “So yeah, if you’ll only go if I do, then yes.”
I’d had my fourth visit with the doctor last Friday and quickly realized I had a lot more to talk about than just Alice. Like the fact I’d ever let my mom pressure me into marrying Thomas in the first place. My doubts and insecurities about being a single mom. And on and on and on.
“I need to get out of your hair and move out,” I said as she grabbed the black dress.
“Oh, please. I love having you here.”
“I just don’t want to go to Mom and Dad’s, and why bother getting my own place when my hope is Enzo and I will move in together soon? At this rate, it’ll be forever before I move out.”
“Now that you don’t need to live in Uptown by Thomas, when that day comes, you and Enzo can get a home near us.”
Not that I’d seen Thomas since that horrific day last month, but he was back home and on an electronic ankle bracelet courtesy of the Feds. He was waiting to face a judge, where he’d plead guilty in exchange for a reduced sentence. Guilty for taking $50,000 from Alice to help them out.
“You think you’ll ever let him see Chiara again?” she asked, and I was surprised she hadn’t broached the subject sooner. “You think Thomas was telling the truth and he didn’t know the real plan?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” And that was another topic of conversation to tackle with the therapist. “But he won’t be seeing Chiara anytime soon. He doesn’t deserve to.”
“You’ll do what’s best, I know you.” She held the dress against her body, her cute belly popping out. She was nearly eight months pregnant now and their son was due mid-December. An early Christmas present.
“I’m honestly happy to have you here, though. Wish it was for a different reason, but still.”
“Me too.”
“And you’re at the other side of the house, so it’s not like I have to cover my face with a pillow during sex so you don’t hear me.” She shot me a funny look. “You don’t hear me, right?”
“Still getting some at eight months, huh?” I playfully waggled my brows. “Good for you, Mama.”
“Almost Mama.” She handed me the dress, lifting her chin to let me know to wear this one tonight. “Did Enzo text yet? Is he back from New York?”
He’d flown home early that morning, but he’d promised he’d be back in time for a late dinner. “He texted thirty minutes ago his plane had landed, and after a shower, he’ll be here to pick me up.”
“He say why he had to go?” she asked as I swapped my sweatpants and tee for the black dress and zipped it up.
“No, and I didn’t ask. I figure he’ll tell me if I need to know.” I studied myself in the mirror over the dresser. Enzo would have an excellent view of my breasts, and with any hope, his control would snap. “I kind of hate the fact that man has more restraint than I do. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”
“He spent years learning how to check his impulses. But don’t forget, you attempting to date last month sent him over the edge and did have him making a move.”
My body responded at the mere memory of him lifting my shirt that night to check if my panties were wet before he finally gave in and touched me for the first time.
“He’s trying so hard to be the man he believes you deserve.”
“He’s always deserved me.” I let go of a small breath. “Remember when I felt like something was missing in my life, so I took those classes, trying to figure it out?” I thought back to those days, which felt like years ago now. “But it’s so easy to see now that what I was missing was him.”
“Pretty sure he feels the same about you.” She smiled, rubbing her stomach. “Has he, um, read Bianca’s unedited story yet?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t wanted to press, but it’s been a month, so maybe. He hasn’t mentioned it, though.” My shoulders slumped as I thought back to the story. “I only read the first two pages, so I don’t know the details of what really happened myself. I just know Nico didn’t tell her he was married until after she fell for him.”
“And it wasn’t like she’d been invited to Alice’s wedding. I’m pretty sure the Costas didn’t have family reunions with Angela’s mafia side of the family for Bianca to have met him beforehand.”
“Right.”
“I hate to say it, and I don’t want to ruin the glow you have going for you, so please don’t let it, but I feel like Enzo needs to read it if he really wants to let go of the past. Maybe ask him about it tonight?”
I was on the same page. Like always. “I’ll try,” I said, nervous now, slipping on a pair of black slingback heels. “He should be here soon.”
We went downstairs, where Ryan was on the floor in the living room, and he had Chiara over his head while she pretended to fly.
“Le sigh,” my sister said at the sight. “He’s going to be such a great father.” She faced me, then tipped her head to the side, and I followed her gaze to see Enzo there.
The breath whooshed free from my lungs at the sight of him in the doorway watching us. Black dress pants and a black button-down shirt. Sleeves cuffed to the elbows showing his ink. A glimpse of the guardian-angel tattoo on his chest from the top two buttons undone. And his hair was styled off to the side in that sexy-messy way I loved.
“Hi.” Was that a pageant wave I just did?
“Hi.” Enzo removed his hands from his pockets and wet his lips, his eyes climbing from my heels up my legs. He spent a little extra time on my breasts as he started our way. “Bellissima.”
God, I loved when the man spoke Italian to me. And his nickname for me, Tesoro, always had me melting.
“Don’t stay out too late,” Ryan called out, sitting up and placing Chiara on his shoulders. She clapped his cheeks and laughed.
“Dah-dah,” Chiara called out, her eyes on Enzo, and that would never get old, especially the smile it produced from Enzo.
He went over and took her from Ryan, then lifted her up over his head, making that her second plane ride for the evening. “You going to be a good girl for your aunt and uncle, hmm?” Enzo asked her, and Chiara giggled before I hugged and kissed her goodbye.
Once we were outside, I leaned into Enzo and murmured, “But I might not be a good girl.”
He snatched my wrist and spun me to face him. Arching into him as his hand traced along my silhouette, I heard him whisper, “Fire.”
At the feel of his hard cock pressing against me, I had a feeling the chef was finally about to turn up the heat.
About.
Damn.
Time.
Sitting back on my heels on top of his hotel bed, I licked my lips and moaned as I finished my last bite of pizza.
Enzo stood in front of the bed, his eyes steady on me as I closed the pizza box and brushed a thumb across my lip, checking for crumbs. The steely, hard look in his eyes had me pinning my knees together.
Instead of dinner at a fancy restaurant, he’d surprised me with pizza delivery to his hotel room and a bottle of wine. I nearly blurted, I love you, at that fact, but I was trying to behave and take things slow. Pretend we were still in the early stages of our relationship and not say the words burning on my tongue that I’d last shared the day Thomas had been arrested four weeks ago.
“You barely ate.” I frowned as he cupped his mouth, his gaze lifting to the ceiling, and that was never a good sign. “What happened in New York?”
I stood and set the pizza box on his dresser before returning to face him, hoping he’d talk to me. The therapist was supposed to be helping him on that front—not keeping secrets from a place of fear I wouldn’t accept him.
“A lot happened back home.” He gripped the nape of his neck and squeezed, his gaze returning to mine again, and I reached for his free hand and laced our fingers together. “With the Brambilla case pretty much over, my brothers and Hudson have decided to work together again. But in a different way.”
“What do you mean?”
“Start a security company to help those in need.” He paused. “Less vigilantism and more by-the-book-type stuff. Well, for the most part. They’ll continue to work at the family business, too. Because their security work will be without pay.”
“Oh, wow.”
“I also saw Jesse today.” He let go of his neck and motioned toward the bed, and we sat, hands still linked. “Now that Jesse’s team is done with handling the rest of the clients from the cleaner’s list, he was able to come up and chat. Offer some guidance on how things work at his security company, Falcon Falls.”
“And you were part of that conversation because . . .” My heartbeat kicked up as I waited for him to answer.
“I’m not leaving here. Not leaving you.” He shifted on the bed, cupping my chin with his free hand. “Don’t worry.”
“But do you want to help them? I mean, work with them from time to time?”
“I’m happy here with what I do.”
That look in his eyes, though. “My inability to lie and hold a straight face is rubbing off on you.” I took a second to gather my thoughts. “You spent so much of your life fighting bad guys, and I know you love to cook, but if you’re meant to help others, too, I won’t stand in your way.”
“Maria.” His broody look softened. “I love you, I . . .” His voice trailed off as he closed one eye, realizing he’d slipped up.
I couldn’t help but smile. “And I love you, which is why I’ll support you no matter what. If you want to go on missions here and there, save the world, then you should. The sous-chef at the restaurant has learned a lot from you. He can handle things when you’re not here. You can have both.” I shrugged. “You can have it all. I do.”
“You do?” He tipped his head to the side.
“I have my daughter. My family nearby. A good job that I enjoy. And a man I love wholeheartedly. I feel complete. Happy.” I chewed on my lip, knowing there was one thing I was missing. “I mean, I would like to make love again. I have a list I’d love to check off, and my patience sucks, but—”
He cut me off with his mouth, his tongue sliding between my lips as his hand went from my chin into my thick, curly hair.
“I have a list, too,” he said after pulling back, our lips nearly touching.
“You do, do you?”
He smiled. “I do. But you’ll have to wait a bit before I share it.”
“Ugh.” I groaned. “You love to torture me.”
“Like you haven’t done the same every hour of every day for the last month.” A dark, sexy grin slipped across his face so fast, I nearly missed it.
“And you loved every second, don’t lie.” I let go of his hand to place my palm over his heart, finding it slow and steady. The beats a comforting rhythm.
“I’ll think about the second job,” he said after quietly staring at me. “We can discuss it again later. I don’t need to say yes now. But there’s more I want to share with you about my day.”
He let go of me and was back on his feet. He went over to the uncorked bottle of wine and filled our glasses. Ryan’s uncle owned a winery in Tuscany, and it was his label of Chianti Enzo had brought with him tonight.
“My family went to visit Bianca at the cemetery this afternoon before I flew home.”
His words had me standing, my heart now feeling as though I were fighting for my life. “Are you okay?” Dumb question. Why would you be?
He turned, armed with the two glasses, his brows slanting as if unsure how to answer. “I think so, yes.” He handed me a glass, and he took a small sip, and I did the same, hoping to calm my nerves. “I brought Bianca’s unedited story with me and read it there.”
Oh jeez. Now I was going to cry. But I did my best not to, because I didn’t want him having to comfort me when I wanted to be the one there for him.
“You already know the parts printed in the magazine,” he began, his eyes on the wineglass. “That she bumped into him at a coffee shop one Friday, spilling her coffee on him. They wound up chatting. And then he started going there every day at the same time hoping to run into her, even though it was out of his way and not his normal spot.”
I thought back to the story, remembering her words. And how the “male lead” realized she was always there at nine in the morning on Fridays with her journal, jotting down her thoughts. And so, every Friday, they had coffee together, talked about life, and then they went their separate ways. Until one day he asked her out.
“It was three months until they went on a first date and he learned her last name.” He paused. “He’d canceled the date they’d planned and hadn’t told her why. Presumably because he panicked when he learned she was a Costa.” He finally looked up at me. “But I guess he’d already fallen for her and decided to see her anyway. And so they dated. And eventually, she fell in love, and that was when he told her he was married, and to Alice.”
“What happened?” I whispered.
“He promised her he was sleeping in a separate room from Alice and was miserable. It’d been an arranged marriage, and he feared his father-in-law, and he didn’t know what to do.” He shook his head. “But Bianca still ended things. And then in the unedited story, she wrote the ending she hoped for, that they bumped into each other years later and he was divorced.”
“And it became a second-chance romance.” Only, in real life, she never had that chance. “You blame him for her death now, don’t you?” Had he been honest with her from the start, she’d more than likely have survived. “Does that mean you want revenge?” Is the past not behind us?
“Bianca wrote the ending she wished she had because she really loved him. Hoped she’d have another chance with him one day.” His eyes fell closed as if visualizing his sister’s words. “The last line in her story, what the guy said to the woman years later when they bumped into each other, was, ‘Let me love you. If you give me a second chance, I’ll spend my life proving I’m worthy of it.’”
“That was the original title of her story.” I let go of a shaky exhale as he opened his eyes. “‘Let Me Love You.’”
“So, as much as I want to kill him, I know she’d never want me to do that. And he was willing to die so I could kill Alice.” He let go of a heavy breath, took my wine from me, then set both glasses down. “So no, I’m going to show mercy—again.” His chiseled jaw relaxed, and his gaze softened. “I love you, and after today, I know I’m finally ready to move forward.”
“You’re finally ready to let me love you,” I whispered, more as a statement than a question, knowing those words now had new meaning for him. For us.
“Yes,” he firmly said, and he reached up and looped my arms over his shoulders, linking my wrists behind his neck.
“Then maybe we skip to the epilogue?”
“I don’t know, I think we might have one more chapter in us before we get there.”
“My chef. My hero. And my writer. You have a way with words, just like she did.” I drew myself closer to him, feeling his body respond to me.
“Mm.” He brought his mouth near mine. “The only story I want to write is ours.”
