Page 6 of The Enforcer's Brat

Grabbing his bag, Enzo headed back down to the SUV. Matteo was leaning against the vehicle, his posture relaxed but alert. As Enzo approached, he couldn't help but admire the way Matteo's suit clung to his broad shoulders and narrow waist.

"Ready?" Matteo asked, straightening up.

Enzo's grin turned wicked. "Oh, I'm ready. Question is, are you?"

Something flashed in Matteo's eyes – wariness, maybe, or intrigue. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Enzo just winked, tossing his bag into the back seat. "You'll see. Let's go, big guy. Show me to my gilded cage."

As they pulled away from the curb, Enzo felt a thrill of anticipation. He might be trapped, but he was far from defeated. And if he had to be stuck with a babysitter, well... at least it was one he wouldn't mind seeing shirtless.

The game was on. And Enzo Ricci played to win.

CHAPTER 3

ESCAPE AND CONSEQUENCES

The safe house was a far cry from Enzo's luxurious penthouse. Tucked away in a nondescript suburb, the modest two-story home looked like it belonged to a middle-class family, not the heir to Chicago's most powerful crime syndicate. Enzo scowled as Matteo pulled into the driveway, already plotting his escape.

"Home sweet home," Matteo said dryly, cutting the engine. "At least for the foreseeable future."

Enzo snorted, grabbing his duffel bag. "It looks like somewhere people go to die of boredom."

"That's the point," Matteo replied, his tone maddeningly patient. "Boring means safe. And safe is what you need to be right now."

As they entered the house, Enzo had to admit it was nicer on the inside. Modern furnishings, top-of-the-line electronics, even a fully stocked bar. Still, it felt like a prison, no matter how gilded the cage.

"Your room is upstairs, first door on the left," Matteo said, gesturing towards the staircase. "Why don't you get settled while I do a perimeter check?"

Enzo rolled his eyes but headed up without argument. His room was spacious enough, with a comfortable-looking queen bed and an en-suite bathroom. But the windows, he noticed with a sinking feeling, were fitted with subtle but sturdy security bars.

"Fucking perfect," he muttered, tossing his bag onto the bed.

He spent the next hour unpacking and exploring the house, looking for potential weaknesses in the security. But Matteo, it seemed, was thorough. Every exit was alarmed, every window reinforced. Even the Wi-Fi was locked down tighter than Fort Knox.

By the time Matteo called him down for dinner, Enzo was seething with frustration. He stomped into the kitchen, ready to pick a fight.

"I'm not hungry," he snapped, even as the smell of garlic and tomatoes made his stomach growl.

Matteo, stirring something on the stove, didn't even look up. "Sit down, Enzo. You need to eat."

"You can't tell me what to do," Enzo retorted, knowing he sounded childish but past the point of caring.

This time, Matteo did turn, fixing Enzo with a stern look that sent an unexpected shiver down his spine. "I can, actually. It's literally my job. Now sit down before I make you."

The threat, delivered in that low, gravelly voice, shouldn't have been as arousing as it was. Enzo felt his face heat, torn between defiance and a sudden, intense desire to see just how Matteo might "make him".

Grudgingly, he slid into a chair at the small kitchen table. Matteo nodded approvingly, turning back to the stove. A few minutes later, he set a plate of pasta in front of Enzo.

"Eat," he said, taking the seat opposite. "Then we'll talk about the rules."

Enzo wanted to refuse on principle, but the pasta smelled amazing. He took a begrudging bite and had to stifle a moan. It was delicious.

"This is... not terrible," he admitted grudgingly.

The corner of Matteo's mouth ticked up in what might have been a smile. "High praise indeed."

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Enzo sneaking glances at Matteo when he thought the older man wasn't looking. In the soft light of the kitchen, the sharp planes of Matteo's face seemed softer somehow, more approachable.

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