Page 19 of Enforcer's Obsession

I forced myself to keep calm and pushed out my words through clenched teeth. “Tie her to a chair if you have to, but nothing else,” I said.

He looked surprised, but then nodded.

“Sebastian,” I said, surprised that my voice was calm, though I knew it was edged with warning.

“I got it,” he responded.

I understood why he was confused.

After all, ease and care weren’t exactly normal concerns of mine.

I couldn’t explain it, but the thought of my men—or anyone else—mishandling my little belissima didn’t sit well with me.

I realized I had let out a mirthless laugh when Sebastian raised an eyebrow.

His look asked unspoken question, and I wasn’t in the mood to answer, so instead I moved toward the stairs, trying to leave thoughts of my complication behind.

My cousin followed me, feeling free to speak his mind where Sebastian had stayed quiet. “We should get rid of her,” he said.

“Did you get rid of the other one?” I asked.

I looked back at him, his dark eyes unreadable. “It wasn’t necessary. She was already tipsy. I gave her a few drops of MDMA. She won’t remember a thing.”

“That is a little…subtle for you, cousin,” I said.

Enzo didn’t bother to deny what I’d said. He knew he was a blunt instrument. It was the way he preferred handle things. And it was that hotheadedness that kept him from moving up the ranks of the Moretti family.

He shrugged. “Aren’t you always telling me I need to use my brain for something other than headbutting people?”

I chuckled. “For years, but you’ve never taken that advice.”

Enzo was ten years younger than me and still hardheaded, brash, with the kind of exuberance that had been snuffed out of me one cold, starless night decades ago.

I appreciated that about him, but also knew that in this business, his exuberance—and his hotheadedness—would eventually get him killed.

“Well now you have proof that I listen to you,” he said as we walked back to the garage.

I went to the second vehicle and stopped a moment to watch the men. They were taking my vehicle apart.

Literally.

By the time they were done, the car I’d liked so much would be nothing but scrap, and, most importantly, impossible to identify. Some might find it overkill, but the vehicle could have been spotted leaving the scene of a shooting, so I wouldn’t risk leaving any evidence.

“You drive,” I said to Enzo as we got into the car.

He cranked the engine, drove off, and then looked at me from the corner of his eye. “The lady looks respectable.”

“Like you know what that is,” I responded with a chuckle.

He beamed at me. “Yeah, not my area of expertise, but she clearly pays her taxes and has probably never had so much as a jaywalking ticket. She looks like the kind of person someone would miss,” he said.

“Yes,” I responded, though I couldn’t stop my thoughts from straying back to the girl.

Was she the type of person others would miss?

I couldn’t tell.

She’d been there with her friend, who had also struck me as a respectable, if somewhat carefree, citizen.

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