Page 11 of Enzo

“Your parents got it right the first time, then?” I laugh. It’s a joke in our family. My Zio Luca and Zia Katy always say they didn’t need more than one child. That my cousin Orlando is perfect, and since they got it right the first time, they didn’t try for another. If that theory were true, my parents definitely should have stopped after me. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I went with the safe option. Bacon, sausage, eggs. And toast,” I tell her.

“I’m a vegan,” she deadpans.

I drop the frying pan back onto the stove top with a thud. “Well, I guess toast it is?”

Kayleigh starts laughing. It’s a sound that I find myself wanting to record, just so I can play it over and over. “I’m kidding. But judging by the look on your face, anyone would think I just killed your cat,” she says. “I eat everything, but I’m not sure how much I can actually stomach right now.”

“Are you sick? I can get a doctor here to check you over?”

What the fuck was I thinking?I should have done that last night. God only knows what she was given.

Before Kayleigh can answer, my phone vibrates across the counter and my dad’s name pops up on the screen.

“I gotta take this. Dish yourself up some food,” I tell her, swiping up my cell and walking out of the kitchen. I hit the green answer button and press the device to my ear. “Pops, what’s up?”

“Your sister called,” he says.

“She did? Where is she?” I ask him.

“She wouldn’t say and we couldn’t get a track on her, but she sounded okay. I just thought you’d want to know,” he says.

“Of course I want to know.”

“You’ll be at Sunday dinner?” he questions, like it’s actually an option to miss it.

“I’ll be there,” I tell him and then an idea presents itself. “Oh, and I’m bringing someone. Spread the word. Tell everyone to tone it down a bit. She’s an outsider.” I know that by the time I get to my grandparents on Sunday, all signs of the family being involved in organized crime will be gone. The guards will be well hidden, and no guns or weapons will be in sight.

I should warn my father that my houseguest is an FBI agent. I don’t. I want to string her along on my own. I’m going to feed her little bits of information—nothing on my actual family, of course. Just little bits of bullshit that will all lead to dead ends.It’ll drive her mad. I know it would drive me insane, if the tables were reversed.

Now, I just have to worm my way into her life, get her comfortable enough to come to my family’s Sunday dinner. Although, if she’s as thirsty for insider information as I think she is, it won’t be all that hard to convince her.

Chapter Eight

Ifeel like I’ve entered the twilight zone or something. I’m in the home of a Valentino. I thought it would take months to get myself this close. I’m not prepared for it to be happening now. I know he just left the room to take a call from his father. I should try to listen, but the risk of getting caught eavesdropping this soon isn’t worth it. I need to get him to trust me first.

Which is why, when he walks back into the kitchen, I haven’t moved an inch. “You didn’t get food,” Enzo states. It’s not a question.

“I’m really not hungry. But I appreciate the offer,” I tell him.

Ignoring me, Enzo piles a bunch of bacon, sausages, and eggs on a plate. He then butters two pieces of toast, adding them to the top before setting it all on the table. “Come sit down and eat. You’ll feel better once you do.” He then turns back towards the stove and dishes up a second plate.

I lower myself into a chair, feeling all sorts of awkward. But when he sits across from me and smiles, something happens. My stomach flutters and my heart picks up speed. Not out of fear, out of excitement. Is it the thrill of the chase? I don’t think so, and judging by the way my panties dampen, it’s nothing but pure lust.

I’m lusting after a criminal. What was in that drink last night? I must be losing my mind.

I pick up a piece of bacon, because I need to do something with my free hand. My other one is still firmly gripping the scissors. I don’t know what he’s up to here, but I’d be a damn fool to trust a Valentino.

“Why did you help me last night? You don’t even know me,” I ask him.

“I’m an asshole, babe. There’s no doubting that. But I’m not about to sit by and let any woman be assaulted. I’m not that kind of asshole,” he says.

“Why did you take my picture? In that lecture hall?”

“I told you I was appreciating the art in the room.” Enzo lifts one bare shoulder.

Where is his shirt? And why isn’t it on?

“And I’m art?” My eyebrows almost hit my hairline.

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