Page 9 of Corrupted By the Capo

Between Fabiano and this crap with Enzo and the long day’s work at the shelter, I’d had enough of everyone. “You cut me off before, so let me say this again loud and clear: I belong to no one.I don’t ever want to see you again. Have the night you deserve,” I said.

I spun on my heel and stomped up the steps, proud of myself that I didn’t look back.

I stepped inside of my apartment and dead-bolted the door.

I was proud of myself when I ignored Enzo’s persistent knocking and Hope’s phone calls.

I was less proud of myself now, three days later. Because instead of putting out of my head and not giving him another thought, I was seated in the nicest dining room I’d even been in, wearing a dress I couldn’t afford—and told myself I fucking hated—with Enzo’s hand protectively wrapped around mine like I belonged to him.

“You gotta try the cutlet, Molly. It’s fucking amazing,” Enzo said.

As he spoke, his breath brushed against my ear, and he stroked his lips across my cheek.

It wasn’t a kiss, exactly.

Just another one of those innocent touches he seemed so content to give.

Always “accidentally.”

It hadn’t escaped me that they’d increased in frequency, and I was sure they weren’t accidental, not when his touches lingered.

Not when I knew thatheknew how I reacted.

I smiled brightly, noticing that he smiled back. His eyes—the most enchanting shade of golden brown—sparkled with amusement.

I kept a smile on my face as I leaned over, pushing my lips to his ear.

“I hope you fucking choke on it,” I said softly, ending with a light laugh.

Enzo turned his head, brushing his lips against my ear.

“I have something for you to choke on instead,” he said.

I smiled tightly, trying to ignore the way my stomach flipped with desire at his words.

When I pulled away, I met the gaze of a woman I’d been introduced to earlier. Enzo had told me she was his aunt, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember her name.

She was maybe seventy with thick, dark hair threaded through with gray. Her eyes reminded me of Enzo, but they exuded a warmth that felt like home.

She was also apparently Enzo and I’s biggest fan.

“Oh, to be young and in love again,” she said.

“Mona, you’ll always be young,” Enzo said.

Mona.

That was her name.

I’d have to remember that, though I hoped this would be the last time we met. No offense to her; she’d actually been great. But after I put in this appearance, I would make sure Enzo was nothing but a distant memory.

I shifted in my seat, trying to ignore the way my heart clenched at that thought or at the fact that I knew Enzo wouldn’t disappear so easily.

He’d been ever-present for the last three days. Waiting outside my door the morning after all that crap with Fabiano.

At the shelter.

Walking me home at night.

---