Page 91 of Enzo
The corner of my lips tilted up.
“Untie his left hand,” I instructed Amadeo.
Atticus jerked as he resisted, but he was no match. Amadeo held Atticus’s hand out, fingers stretched in the air. I wanted him to watch when I severed his flesh from bone.
I began by sharpening the blade, making sure the man could clearly see the rust lining the metal. If he didn’t die from the pain, he might die from an infection.Bonus.
“Ready?”
“Fuck . . . you,” he wheezed.
I laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
And then I got to work. One by one, his fingers rolled onto the filthy ground until he screamed and begged for mercy. Until I got everything I needed from him.
“Thanks for being here,” I told Amadeo. “And for… before. I owe you one.”
He scoffed. “No, you don’t. It would take me several lifetimes to repay you for all the times you saved me from Mother.”
“You’re my brother. I’d die for you.”
“Ditto.”
“What now?” Amadeo questioned. “I want to help.”
“I have one more stop to make,” I told him. “Sit this one out.”
He was already deeper in this fiasco than I wanted him to be.
“But—”
“I promise you’ll hear from me if I need you.” He opened his mouth to protest. “That’s an order, Amadeo. As the head of this family, I’m telling you to stand down.”
He nodded in resignation, and I fished out my phone and typed a message to my wife.
Me: I’ll be home tomorrow.
35
PENELOPE
“Penelope, please sit down,” Mama hissed from her spot on the sofa. “You’ll wake Amara with all that pacing.”
I flicked a glance to my sister, in the fetal position on the couch, layers of blankets covering her. It was only two in the afternoon, but she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes open.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “Time seems to be dragging.”
My husband was coming home tonight and I was antsy. He’d been gone less than a week, but it seemed like an eternity. I didn’t like how cold the bed felt without him. In fact, the cottage, a whole three-hundred-forty-square home, seemed too big without him.
“I’m happy you and Enzo are seeing eye to eye.”
She smiled, her hands busy knitting. It was a hobby she’d recently picked up, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her she was terrible at it. Whatever she was knitting now was destined to join the pile of rejects we’d all been graciously gifted. In one spot, it looked like it was going to be a scarf, but then expanded to look like a blanket, before it shifted into a pencil-thin string-like thing.
“Did he ever divulge details of his mother? Was she crazy, or is that just a rumor?”
I frowned, remembering how he reacted when I mentioned his mom on our wedding day. I hadn’t brought her up since, hadn’t even given her much thought.
“I haven’t asked.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Right?
