Page 43 of Enzo
I turned back to my siblings, various horrified expressions painted on their faces. But my sister was the one who surprised me when she puffed out her chest and settled her gaze on Enzo.
Her lips curled into a wry smirk as she said, “If you hurt my sister, I’ll fuck you over,” in the most deadpan delivery I’d ever witnessed from an eleven-year-old.
I could do nothing but stare at her in shock while my brothers murmured, “Attagirl,” and patted her on the back.
Enzo didn’t miss a beat. “Duly noted.”
Amara, seemingly content, looked at me and smiled. “I love you, Pen.”
Before I could return the sentiment, Enzo hoisted me over his shoulder, despite my struggling, and strode away from my family and the people that mattered the most to me.
16
ENZO
Current husband.
Those two words bounced against my skull over and over again as I hauled her out of her bedroom and down the stairs of her family home.
“Current husband,” I scoffed under my breath as I strode down the long hallway of the DiMauros’ Sicilian home.
“What?” Penelope paused, giving me a momentary reprieve from her small fists pounding against my back. “I don’t understand old man mutterings. Now, put me down or I’ll start screaming and my family will start shooting.”
I shifted her, relishing the feel of her breasts brushing against my chest as I slid her to her feet.
“Now what did you say?”
“I’m yourforeverhusband,” I gritted. “Not current.”
She scoffed. “Don’t tell me I hurt your feelings.”
I ran a thumb across my jaw.
Feelings.
I didn’t have those. Not in the sense that she imagined. I just had an obsessive, controlling nature I couldn’t shake. One I inherited from my mother.
“Have you ever wanted something so badly that it gave you chills? Made you act in unprecedented ways?”
My wife opened her mouth, closed it.
I let out a sardonic breath, hating that she didn’t. If she had, she might relate.
I let the unspoken words fill the silence while she stared at me with disdain. But damned if I’d be the one to break it.
Penelope tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “So you’re crazy?”
My laugh held a dark note. “Maybe.”
“And obsessed?”
“Maybe.”
She puffed a cloud of breath.
“How in the fuck did I get so lucky?”
I smiled darkly as I studied my wife, her five-foot-three frame somehow carrying equal parts spitfire energy and meekness. There was more to her than met the eye. More to this marriage too, although she didn’t know it yet.
