Page 9 of Merciless Oath

“Feeling a little hot, Lenny?” He smirks, pouring me a glass of ice water. Thankfully, the waitress shows up at the perfect moment to take our orders.

“Let’s get down to business,” I assert as soon as she leaves.

“Oh, but I enjoy pleasure so much more,” he croons, leaning back casually in his chair. I study him, marveling at how much and how little he’s changed.

The same sandy golden-brown hair, but he styles it now. His abysmal suburban dad uniform of khakis and polo shirts is long gone, replaced by a crisp, tailored suit. As he leans forward, I spot swaths of delicate color peeking out from his sleeves.

Tattoos! Enzo never had tattoos. I wonder how far down they go? Do they cover his chest? Do they trail down to where…

“Hello? Earth to Lenny?” he says, waving his hand in front of my face. “Here I thought you wanted to talk business, but you just wanted to check me out.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“You’re wondering how far down my tattoos go, aren’t you?”

“What?!” I choke on nothing.Oh god, I’m going to faint.“No, I didn’t even know you had tattoos.”

He opens his mouth to throw another smart-ass line at me, but I press my finger against his lips, effectively shutting him up.

“As you know, the Rossis have purchased a waterfront complex here in the city.” I launch into the spiel I stupidly practiced for Rafael Romano. “We’re not here to step on anyone’s toes or cause trouble. We’re just expanding our more legitimate ventures to diversify our portfolio.”

“Right, right, right,” he muses, staring up at the ceiling. “And that’s why you tried to burn down our warehouse yesterday, right? Camaraderie and all that?”

I stare at him, shocked.What the hell is he on about?

He should know that I’m too smart to blaze into a new city, with zero support and a skeleton crew, and start a turf war. That’s not how I would ever do something like this.

But I know who would.

“Are you saying that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?”

“I’m saying you learned from the worst,” he replies nonchalantly. “Your father had no manners when it came to boundaries either.”

“My father is a complicated man,” I spit, but there’s no venom in my voice, and Enzo knows it. “Whatever, are we done here?”

I move to stand up, but he grabs my elbow, easing me back into my seat. We bore holes into each other’s eyes, neither of us willing to be the first to give. Finally, he closes his eyes and leans back in his seat.

“I’m just saying, maybeyoudidn’t burn down our warehouse,” he explains slowly as if I’m a child, “but maybe you should ask your maybe-dead-maybe-alive father about this.”

“He…wehad nothing to do with this,” I seethe. Anger rises up in my throat instantly.

How dare he imply that the Rossis would do something shady like that? We’re an old, established family. We don’t play small-time games.

“Clearly, you have some enemies to see to,” I declare, standing up and gathering my things. “And Enzo? If you even so much astryto retaliate for something we didn’t do, believe me, you’re going to regret the day you were born.”

I throw my hair over my shoulder and stalk out of the room. My composure lasts two more minutes—enough for me to get into the backseat of my armored, chauffeured car. Safely ensconced in my luxurious leather bubble, I burst into the ugliest tears known to humanity.

After giving myself a few minutes to wallow, I pull it together as we glide into the courtyard of our new East Coast compound. Uncle Luigi flings the front door open before I can even touch the handle.

“How was it? What happened?” he demands, trying to hide his worry.

“It was completely fine.” I brush him off and head to the kitchen. He tails me, expecting details. “They accused us of setting fire to their warehouse last night.”

“That’s ridiculous. Where the hell did they get that idea? Were you crying?”

“I mean, we move in, and their warehouse burns down. Looks suspicious, doesn’t it?”

I busy myself with pouring fresh beans into the coffee machine so he doesn’t see I’m hiding something. Mentioning that Enzo now leads the Romano family would only set him off—and send him running to tattle to my father.

---