Page 1 of The Enforcer's Brat

CHAPTER 1

THE WILD CHILD

The bass thrummed through Enzo Ricci's bones, a primal rhythm that matched the pounding of his heart. Neon lights pulsed in time with the music, casting ever-shifting shadows across the writhing bodies on the dance floor. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and something darker—the unmistakable musk of power and danger that permeated every corner of Club Inferno.

Enzo tipped his head back, letting the sensation wash over him. This was his element, the pulsing lifeblood of the city's underbelly. Here, he wasn't Enzo Ricci, reluctant heir to the most powerful crime family in Chicago. Here, he was just another beautiful face in the crowd, anonymous and free.

"Another round for the birthday boy!" A voice shouted over the music, and suddenly a shot glass was being pressed into Enzo's hand.

He grinned at his best friend, Luca, raising the glass in a mock salute. "You trying to get me wasted, Luca?"

Luca's answering smile was wicked. "It's your twenty-third, Zo. If you're not puking in an alley by dawn, I've failed as your wingman."

Enzo laughed, downing the shot in one smooth motion. The tequila burned a fiery path down his throat, adding to the pleasant buzz humming through his veins. He was already well past tipsy, riding that perfect high where everything felt possible and consequences were a problem for tomorrow's Enzo.

"Come on," Luca shouted, tugging at Enzo's arm. "Let's dance!"

Enzo allowed himself to be pulled onto the dance floor, losing himself in the throng of bodies. Hands reached for him, men drawn to his effortless grace and the aura of danger that clung to him like expensive cologne. He reveled in it, in the hungry gazes and not-so-accidental touches.

This was what he lived for—the thrill of the chase, the intoxicating rush of being wanted. It was so much better than the stuffy world of family obligations and mafia politics he'd been born into.

As the song changed, transitioning into something slower and more sensual, Enzo felt a prickle at the back of his neck. The hair-raising sensation of being watched. He turned, scanning the crowd, until his gaze landed on a figure at the bar.

The man was older, probably in his late thirties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a jawline that could cut glass. He was dressed impeccably in a tailored suit that screamed money and power. But it was his eyes that captured Enzo's attention—steel gray and utterly focused on him.

Enzo felt a thrill run through him, equal parts excitement and danger. He knew that look. Had seen it countless times on the faces of his father's associates, the hungry gaze of a predator eyeing its next meal.

A smarter man might have looked away, might have retreated to the safety of his friends. But Enzo had never been accused of being smart. No, he lived for this—for pushing boundaries and playing with fire.

He met the stranger's gaze head-on, letting a slow, sultry smile spread across his lips. Then, with deliberate provocation, he began to dance. Every movement was calculated to entice, to draw the eye and stoke desire. He ran his hands through his hair, down his chest, letting his shirt ride up to reveal a tantalizing strip of skin.

The stranger's eyes darkened, his grip visibly tightening on his tumbler of whiskey. Enzo's grin widened. Got you, he thought triumphantly.

He was about to make his move when a commotion near the bar caught his attention. A girl, probably around his age, was arguing heatedly with a man who looked to be her brother. Enzo recognized them immediately—Giulia and Franco Bianchi, children of his family's biggest rival.

Enzo hesitated, torn between his attraction to the mysterious stranger and his instinct to help Giulia, who he'd always gotten along with at the few social events their families were forced to attend together.

Before he could decide, Franco grabbed Giulia's arm roughly, dragging her towards the exit. Enzo's protective instincts flared to life. With one last regretful glance at the handsome stranger, he pushed his way through the crowd.

"Hey!" he called out, catching up to the Bianchi siblings just outside the club. "Everything okay here?"

Franco whirled, his face contorting with rage when he recognized Enzo. "Ricci," he spat. "This doesn't concern you. Walk away."

Giulia's eyes were wide with fear and relief. "Enzo, please. Franco found out I've been seeing someone he doesn't approve of. He's threatening to tell our father."

Enzo's mind raced. He knew how controlling the Bianchi patriarch could be. If Giulia was dating someone outside their approved circle, it could spell serious trouble for her.

"Come on, Franco," Enzo said, keeping his voice light despite the tension thrumming through him. "It's a party. Let the girl have some fun. I'm sure whatever's got you worked up can wait until morning."

Franco's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Stay out of this, Ricci. Unless you want to start a war."

Enzo raised his hands in a placating gesture. "No war. Just looking out for a friend. Why don't you let Giulia come with me? I'll make sure she gets home safe, and you can cool off. Win-win."

For a moment, he thought Franco might actually throw a punch. But then, with a disgusted snarl, he shoved Giulia towards Enzo. "Fine. But this isn't over."

As Franco stormed off, Giulia sagged against Enzo in relief. "Thank you," she murmured. "I don't know what he would have done if you hadn't shown up."

Enzo squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "That's what friends are for. Come on, let's get you somewhere safe for the night. You can crash at my place if you need to."

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