Page 12 of Beautifully Savage Butterfly

The doors slide open on Enzo’s floor, and I tighten my arm around the bag as I step off the elevator. His door is the only one in the small hallway, my footsteps echoing off the marble floor for the few steps it takes to reach it. The heavy black door swings open before I can knock, and my brother fills the doorway, immediately looking me up and down with concern.

Instead of his typical expensive suit, he’s dressed comfortably in a pair of loose-fitting black sweatpants and a light blue t-shirt that softens him, despite the fire in his eyes and the worry line etched between his eyebrows.

I roll my eyes and shoulder past him into his apartment. “Unbunch your panties. No one is dead and I’m perfectly sober.”

Come to think of it, I haven’t touched a drink in over a week. Not since the night I got drunk after Orion’s last fight… Well, his last legal fight, anyway. I’ve been too busy being strung out on memories of the way he ordered me to my knees and fucked my mouth like he wanted to punish me. I jerked off to the memory of it three times a day until my dick was raw and my balls were sore.

He scoffs and swings the door closed behind me.

“Excellent news. It’s so rare that anyone bothers to come by without an ulterior motive. Broken noses to fix, problems to solve, dead bodies that need to be dealt with. It’s always something. But I knew I could count on my baby brother to stop by simply because he misses me and is ready to take me up on that offer for an afternoon of ordering takeout and watching movies.” Let it never be said that Lorenzo Moretti doesn’t know exactly how to twist the knife.

I wince at his casual, knowing tone, calling me out without uttering a single accusation.

“We can watch movies and order food.” It wasn’t part of the plan, but I don’t have anything else going on this afternoon, so why the hell not. “But, uh…”

He stands casually with his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, his shoulders relaxed in a way I rarely see since he took over the Family. I pull the bag of cash out from under my arm and hold it out to him. He arches an eyebrow.

“What’s this?” he asks, not making a move to grab it.

“The balance of Orion Barros’s debt,” I answer, and a second eyebrow joins the first, inching up his forehead as he studies me with probing eyes.

“You doing collections these days? Got bored of delegating that task to your underlings and decided to shake down a couple of guys yourself?” He cocks his head to one side and his lips curl into a smirk. “Or is it just the beautifully savage MMA fighters who require your personal attention?”

My throat tightens and the paper crinkles noisily under my fingers, giving away the twitch of my grasp. Of course he’s seen right through me. Lorenzo is no idiot, and I haven’t exactly been subtle about my interest. But for some reason, I can’t make myself admit that he’s right.

“It’s money,” I say gruffly, stepping closer and shoving the bag into his chest. “Can you just take it without giving me the third degree about it?”

His eyes tighten and darken for a fraction of a second before he finally pulls one hand out of his pocket and takes the money from me. He doesn’t open the bag to check any of it, he just moves past me, striding into the large main room of his penthouse and tossing the money carelessly onto the coffee table. The bag slides across the glass tabletop, stopping just before it topples over the edge. Meanwhile, Lorenzo makes himself comfortable on the leather couch in the middle of the room, crossing his ankle over his knee and stretching one arm along the back of the couch.

He picks up his phone, and I realize I’m still rooted to the spot. I shrug out of my suit jacket and unstrap my leather holster, then slip my shoes off. I stretch my toes inside my socks and reach up to loosen my tie before following him into the living room. He glances up from his phone and does a quick once-over of my more relaxed appearance, grunting what sounds like approval.

“Pad Lao and spicy wontons?” he guesses, and I nod.

“Hell yeah,” I agree, my mouth already watering. I take a seat on the other end of the couch, mirroring his position and reaching for the remote so I can find something to watch. If I’m not quick, we’ll end up watching the entire Godfather trilogy.

I settle on Scarface while he finishes placing our order and lets Carlisle know that we have food coming. Then, he slips his phone into his pocket, cracks his neck, and swivels to face me a little more.

“You realize I don’t give a damn who you fuck, right?” His voice is rough, but there’s a layer of something gentler underneath, like he’s worried that I’m actually lying awake at night, afraid he won’t approve of my love life.

I snort and grin. No, I’m definitely not stressed that Lorenzo or anyone else who matters will have an issue with my crush on Orion. Crush. The word is entirely too tame. Obsession, perhaps? I roll the word around on my tongue without saying it out loud.

“You want a full accounting of everyone I get off with?” I ask blandly. “Do fantasies count, or are you only interested in who I actually close the deal with?”

“Why don’t we just keep it to men who are important enough to warrant paying off their debts.” He matches my tone.

“He’s been doing underground fights twice a week to earn the money to pay that debt off.” It’s a true statement, I’m just leaving off the part where I decided to take care of the rest of it myself without telling him.

Enzo hums in response.

“Who are you dating these days?” I turn the line of questioning back on him.

“I’m spoiled for choice, aren’t I? Between the men who are looking for nothing more than money and status, and the ones who are too damn scared of me to be any fun,” he mutters. “And, of course, I have the added privilege of paranoia, always wondering if any man who throws me a flirtatious smile could be an undercover Fed or a hitman sent by another Family, desperate to encroach on our territory.”

The irritation that was simmering in my chest moments ago fizzles out in an instant.

“That makes two of us.” I sigh.

His lips twist into a sympathetic smile and he pushes himself up off the couch. He crosses the room to the bar cart in the corner and pours two glasses from the crystal decanter our dad always kept his favorite Scotch in. When he returns to the couch, he hands me one of the glasses, and holds his up.

---