Page 103 of Enzo
My parents sat with slumped shoulders and red-rimmed eyes. My brothers’ eyes were on their pasta dishes as they pushed the food around on the plate, but it would seem no one felt right about enjoying food when Amara was in her current state.
And me… I couldn’t even bring myself to reach for my fork.
“He’s wrong,” Papà finally said. “He has to be. How can we have gone from years to meredays?”
“The other doctors said the same thing.” Mama’s voice cracked, and she looked up for the first time since we sat down.
“They all work for Dr. Gvozden,” Enzo stated, the only one who somewhat kept his composure. But the vehemence in his eyes and voice terrified me.
“Where have you been?” Papà asked, as if just now noticing Enzo’s presence. “The past two hours.”
“Buying a house for Penelope and me.”
I tensed, but the subject fizzled out.
Silence closed around us, thick with anxiety and something else.Deceit.
Damiano cleared his throat, then spoke with a grave voice. “Who can we turn to, sis? Don’t you know a doctor in the States, Pa?”
“Not an oncologist,” Papà answered, disappointment lacing through his every word.
Armani slammed his fist on the table. “We can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
“We haven’t eaten all day,” Enzo reasoned patiently. “We won’t be of any use to Amara if we fall over from hunger.” His eyes bored into mine. “Eat something, please.”
My throat was so tight I was terrified I’d throw up if I took a single bite.
Mama slowly wiped at the tear rolling down her cheek, then, to my surprise, took a bite. She chewed her food, her expression blank, then swallowed.
“Enzo’s right. Let’s refuel, then your papà and I will return to the hospital. The rest of you get some rest.” When Papà didn’t move, she pinned him with a stare, but his eyes were locked on the empty chair, sorrow etched in every wrinkle of his face. “Luca?”
He returned Mama’s look when a phone rang out. Followed by another. Papà and Enzo reached for their pockets, and judging by their reaction when they read their messages, it was business.
Papà’s eyes flickered to my husband. “Qian Long is dead.”
He nodded. “So it would appear.”
The cold tenor in Enzo’s voice sent terror through me.
“Who’s Qian Long?”
Enzo shrugged.
Papà answered. “Nicki’s husband. Her brother, Danil Popov, forced a marriage between her and the head of the Triads. A fucking disaster it was, pairing two lunatics with each other.”
Enzo nodded. “Agreed.”
“I guess your alibi is rock solid,” Papà continued pensively. “You were here, and he was killed in Naples.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
My husband’s jaw tightened, something dark lurking in his expression. It took me a minute to recognize it: self-loathing.
Mama’s phone rang.
“It’s the hospital,” she breathed out, terrified. “Hello?”
The spoon slipped from her hand and clattered against the table. Food splattered all around her, but she paid it no mind. She sat there stock-still, her knuckles whitening around the phone from the force of her grip.
