Page 43 of Wicked Rivals

These plans unfortunately hinged on when Stefano would deal with the threat that had brought us here. After watching him earlier, something told me it was already at the top of his list. Perfect.

If Stefano tried to lock us up or take my son away from me, or even if Enzo told me he wanted to stay here, I’d already decided how to deal with that as well.

Every contingency had to be considered.

Even the unthinkable.

Though I’d already considered it, I wasn’t nearly as worried about what Stefano would do as I was about how Enzo would react, the possibility I might not be able to predict my own son.

Enzo wouldn’t stay with a man like Stefano, not even if he thought it was what he wanted. Not on my life. If I had to explain to my son the hard truths about his families—Stefano’s and my own—before he should really hear them, then so be it.

Any mother on the planet knew the hard choices had to be made sometimes to protect her child. Nothing in life was so precious to me that I wouldn’t sacrifice it to ensure Enzo’s safety, not even if it changed the way he saw me or meant he would never love me the same way again.

I hoped beyond hope it never came to that, but there would always be a chance. And if that chance became my reality, I would meet the challenge head on like I had every other one.

The only thing I couldn’t decide was where we would go after leaving Brooklyn and New York altogether. That decision had to be made in the moment, or I would end up spending too much time researching a specific place beforehand.

Even internet searches for apartments, neighborhoods, and schools left their own virtual paper trail that couldn’t completely be erased by simply clearing a browsing history. Not if someone with the right means really wanted to know what I’d been up to.

Stefano totally had the means, and now that he knew about Enzo, he would never let his son go without a fight. No matter what he’d said.

That kind of planning, looking ahead at that level, came with too much risk. Once Enzo and I got away, I had to be sure we couldn’t be tracked in any way.

Long after the heat of the bathwater had cooled, I stepped out of the tub, wrapped up in a fluffy towel, and collected my dirty clothes.

The dress I’d worn got covered in plaster, sawdust, and slivers of glass, and I couldn’t bring myself to put it back on.

So after heading back into the bedroom, I opened the closet and found a brand-new robe from the Neiman Marcus Collection, recently purchased but never worn, the tags still attached.

Whoever this robe belonged to before me, it didn’t matter. The damn thing belonged to me now.

The soft fabric hugged my body, wrapping me up in a warmth that rivaled even the steamy bath water. Just light enough and thin enough to stuff into a suitcase or backpack. I’d be taking it with me when we finally got out of here.

Stefano could consider it payment for my pain and suffering.

The finer details of my plans still needed to be locked down. More circumstances to consider. The weighing of pros and cons against staying until it was safe or leaving sooner while Stefano was distracted.

With all the rattling around in my head, I wouldn’t sleep. Not even a wink.

I sprawled out on the soft chaise lounge with the beautiful blue throw pillows, closed my eyes, and ran through the scenarios in my mind over and over, looking for weak points or potentially unforeseen circumstances that might hinder us. Or help us.

So many variables. So many things I didn't know. How many people occupied this house at any given time? If Stefano left the house, how many men did he take with him? Could I sway the loyalty of one of his employees?

The men wouldn't lift a finger to help me, that I knew. They were Stefano’s men through and through.

What about the maid? Would she see another woman in need and lend a hand, or did she value her resume more and the paycheck that came with it? Was she the only female in Stefano’s employ, or were there others?

I just didn't know.

And I couldn’t say how long it would take Stefano to solve our problem with whoever had started this private war with him.

Then my thoughts turned to the yellow envelope he’d handed me in the car and everything inside it. The note on the top had mentioned an engagement, and that introduced even more variables.

Did I need to worry about his fiancée as well?

If she’d somehow discovered Enzo, she could also be behind the attack, wanting to get rid of any potential future claims to Stefano’s empire, claims that might come between her own children and their inheritance.

Stefano hadn’t even known about Enzo, though. The existence of a bastard son living so closely in Brooklyn seemed like something a bride-to-be would discuss with her future husband, even if only to warn him that she knew and expected him to clean up the inconvenience.

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