Page 97 of Wicked Rivals

I prayed to the Holy Mother that would happen.

“He’ll be really mad at us for leaving,” Enzo said.

“You let me handle that. You will be fine. He’ll be so relieved to see you that he won’t be mad at all.”

“But what if he is?” Enzo asked. “I won't ever be fine without you.”

My heart skipped beat after beat, breaking for him. A surge of overwhelming guilt shot through me. I had put him in a terrifying situation not once, but twice now.

“Listen to me, Enzo. Stefano won't hurt me,” I whispered. “I’ll tell him we came back for our clothes. You let me handle that part, okay?”

I could only hope things played out that way. If not, well, at least I could soothe my boy’s fears now, in the moment, and deal with the rest later.

Another crash downstairs echoed up the stairs and into the apartment, making us both jump.

I held on to my baby tighter.

“What happens if he doesn't get here in time?” he whispered.

I kissed the top of his head.

“We’re still going to be very quiet. When that man comes upstairs looking for us, he’ll go into one of the bedrooms first. Whichever one he chooses, you and I sneak into the other one, then we run down the stairs as fast as we can and get outside. Understand?”

Enzo nodded.

I hated being helpless and trapped, forced to sit and wait.

The waiting and anticipation exhausted me, and I needed to conserve my energy.

Deep breath in. And out.

“Shouldn’t we call the police?” he asked.

“No, baby, not this time. We can’t trust the police around here with this kind of thing.”

He nodded, locked his arms around my waist, and pressed his face against my chest.

The screaming taunts and crashing and banging continued from the monster downstairs as he destroyed the rest of the café. I tried to tell myself it didn't matter. I’d planned to leave it all anyway.

Just part of an old life. That was all.

But with every crash, something inside me also broke. The last ten years of my life had been poured into this café, and this bastard so recklessly dismantled it all.

I shut my eyes to picture what our new life might look like.

Maybe we would settle in Savannah instead of going west. Winters would be warmer, the everyday pace slower, and while I imagined that would take some getting used to, it might be a better start for Enzo and me.

Maybe we would open a New York style pizzeria or maybe even another cozy café.

But whenever I envisioned something new and far away, my mind shifted the vision to an image of dark blue eyes.

Eyes with the same crease between them as my son’s.

I hated how much I craved Stefano. I hated him for it. And that he could already speak so easily with my son and had earned his respect so quickly. I hated how relief had washed over me when he told me he wasn't marrying Benedetta.

And I fucking hated that he’d been right.

I couldn't protect Enzo on my own.

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