Page 29 of The Enforcer

Nicola’s laugh booms across the garden. “She might have come to Naples to fetch you herself.”

“I wanted to give Zoe a night to recover. The steps…”

Nicola turns to me with a sympathetic smile. “The first time is the worst,” he says. “That’s true of the steps and…”

“Basta,” Alfonso groans.

Nicola laughs. “Come,” he says. “Take her inside. I will get your bags.”

“Grazie.” Alfonso reaches for me again. “Andiamo.”

My mama raised me not to be too proud to accept help. To be honest, that was always a lesson I tried to ignore. But I have maybe one or two good minutes left of standing on my own two feet before I keel over, so against my better judgment, I reach out a hand to Alfonso, and he practically lifts me against his side and carries me down the path.

He calls to Nicola in Italian before leading me away from the main house toward another flight of steps hidden against the side of the building. I groan. He laughs and then gives up the pretense of helping me stand.

I’m pretty sure the last person I willingly let pick me up was my daddy when I was like eight years old. The last man who tried to pick me up without my consent expected me to take it. He didn’t plan that my big and tall ass would fight him. I hit him over the head, and we toppled over. I landed on the relative cushion of his skinny ass stomach. I gave him a knot on his head the size of a golf ball. He learned to keep his hands to himself, and everyone in the university food court that day learned not to try me.

I want to teach Alfonso that lesson, but his hold on me is much more secure than that college asshole’s had been. Not that I plan to write a sonnet about his thick ass arms or anything. But I’m also so damn tired! For once in my life, when I hear my mother’s voice in my head telling me to let someone do something for me, I listen.

Alfonso carries me up the steps to another house, above the first, tucked closer to the mountain. I think he’ll let me down at the top of the staircase, but he carries me to the front door. He sets me gently on my feet and makes sure that I’m steady before he pulls that keyring from his pocket and unlocks the door.

“Who does your brother think I am?”

Alfonso blinks at me and blushes. “My fiancée.”

“Seriously?” I groan.

“We need a cover story,” he says.

“Were there no other options?”

He laughs. “Maybe. Welcome home, amore.”

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