Page 35 of The Bonventi Secret
I nod. "Thanks, Gio. I won't."
As the door closes behind them, I lean back in my chair, lost in thought. This thing with Livia, it's dangerous. Complicated. Butfor the first time in years, I feel alive. And that terrifies me more than any damn rival family ever could.
I stand and laugh. "This is crazy," I say in a low tone.
I pace the length of my office.
Should I see how she's doing?
No.
Maybe?
"Fuck," I mutter, bracing my hands on my desk.
It's like a fog has come and settled over my rational thoughts that surround her. Something is shifting, or already has. Something fundamental.
The idea makes my chest tight. It's as if she has the power to shatter the carefully curated image I've presented to the world, to expose the fragile, vulnerable man beneath.
Before I know it, I'm heading toward the library. Just to check on her, I tell myself. Nothing more.
But as I walk, a thought sneaks into my mind—what if it could be more?
I shake my head, trying to clear it.
Focus, Enzo.
Family first. Always.
But as I near the library, my heart rate picks up. And I realize, with a mixture of excitement and dread, that maybe, just maybe, Livia is becoming part of that "always," too.
LIVIA - 12
It's been a little over a week since I've set up and claimed this library. Part of me cannot believe it's been that long. I think the only reason it's hitting me now is because I'm stuck on a specific part of my dissertation, unsure which way to go. Normally, when things are going well, time flies as I tend to dive into my work, escaping everything around me. However, when I'm stuck, I'm thrust back into reality.
Four days ago, I came in to find an envelope from Marcella on my computer. It contained my library cards. I finally left the house and went to the University of Chicago's library to check it out. Alessandro—who prefers to go by Alex—drove me. I was annoyed at first, but he's alright.
The only thing I don't like about it is that he has to walk behind me—everywhere. Down the library stacks, he follows me. Have to use the bathroom? He's outside the door. Ordering a coffee? He's off in the corner, positioned like a military man at attention, scanning the room and staring at me. It's a bit uncomfortable. But he doesn't really talk much, so I try to pretend he's not there. At least he’s a gentleman and always makes sure I’m doing well so theres that.
My nightly dinners with Enzo have almost—just almost—become something I look forward to. The food is always really good, and his company is, well, not as bad as I thought it would be.
Yet, while he’s learning a lot about me, I'm left in the darkness. When I ask him questions about himself, his family, or even his work, he doesn't give me a whole lot. He seems nice and very caring but I want to know more about him if I'm going to be married to the damn guy.
Maybe there's something in that writing desk that will tell me more about what he does, where he came from, and who his family really is? That's probably why i’ve been unable to get out of my mind. That and a splash of 'you want what you can't have' kind of thing since I brought it up again, and he's completely shot me down and dismissed it.
Hell, I don’t even really want to use it anymore, but the idea that there could be something hidden within it to could help me learn the real Enzo - ugh, it's like a damn Siren from mythology, luring me in with her song.
Anyhow, Enzo missed dinner tonight. Away on business, I’m told. So guess what I’m doing tonight?
I took a picture of the desk and uploaded it to a forum for antique collectors. One person, Bobbles334, told me a few locations where hidden compartments may be located and how to open them. Apparently, it’s a spring mechanism that’s activated by bobby pins, which I have, so I’m going to MacGyver this damn thing.
I’ve drawn a red circle around the three possible locations on my phone, so let’s see what I find.
My heart races as I crouch before the antique writing desk, my hands trembling with a mixture of excitement and fear. The library is silent, save for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see Enzo's looming figure, but I’m alone. For now.
I fumble with the bobby pin, squinting in the dim light as I search for the pinhole Bobbles334 described. The wood grain feels smooth beneath my fingertips as I trace the edge of the desk, seeking the elusive opening.
"Come on," I say as frustration builds. "Where are you?"
