Page 10 of Vicious Heir

I’ve been slowly compiling my own version of evidence for the better part of a month. The last straw was him once again telling me I was going to have his baby whether I wanted to or not.

My end goal is to catch Enzo doing some shady shit he isn’t supposed to be doing…because it wouldn’t surprise me if he is. While I didn’t consider cheating, and I certainly haven’t caught that when I’ve used the recording device, I have been suspecting something.

The man is different. Worse than normal. More temperamental and moody.

There’s been a shift, and since I am a doting wife, I’ve noticed it.

Once I have the computer up and running, I open the surveillance footage and watch as Enzo leaves our house this morning at 7:58 a.m. Nothing unusual about that. I’m checking our home security footage only because I wonder if he’s bringing anyone around during the day when I’m not here. I know the fool is up to something, and I’m going to catch him.

I scan through the footage, clicking through the different timestamps throughout the day, but all I catch is an Amazon delivery driver, the sweet old lady from next door who probably wants to let me know about the latest neighborhood gossip, and a loose dog who got a little too close to our front steps.

Okay, so another day, another bust.

I’m not crazy. I swear I’m not crazy.

I stand from my computer and make my way out of the office and to our primary suite so I can get un-ready. I told Niccolò I wouldn’t be caught dead going into his nasty nightclub, but of fucking course I’m going! How could someone dangle something like that in front of my face and expect me to just ignore it?

I glance at my cell phone and note that I’ve got plenty of time. The store closes up at five on Tuesdays, so I have more than enough time to settle down and act like it’s going to be a nice, calm night. Just me and my wine and a nice book. After typing a text out to my husband, asking when he’ll be home, I choose an outfit—a pair of pajamas to really set the mood—and head toward the shower.

The entire time I think about him.

About Niccolò. About his words.

About how, for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel crazy. And I guess as much as he’s annoyed me, I have Niccolò to thank for that.

* * *

My cell phonealerts me that someone came through the front door, so I pull up the camera and see it’s Enzo. I hastily shove my feet into my Gucci slippers and head down the stairs toward where I know he’ll be—his study.

It’s the first place he goes anytime he gets home; he stores his knives and the gun he takes out of the house in there. I told him I didn’t want him having a gun on him when we’re just sitting around watching TV, and he obliged—although he has them littered throughout the house “just in case” he needs one quickly.

I imagine the hundreds of podcasts and true crime TV shows I’ve watched/listened to. The husband kills the wife ninety percent of the time. And it’s always with a gun they keep at home. The worst ones are the idiots who try to make it look like their wives died by suicide but have the gun placed in such a way that it could’ve never been suicide.

Idiots.

“Baby!” Enzo looks up and flashes a bright smile at me as I walk over the threshold and into his study.

His blond hair and blue eyes have earned him the name “Pretty Boy Greco.” I’m pretty sure half of Chicago knows him and calls him by it…and he loves it. It’s funny how your opinion on things like that can change once you know your husband is up to no good. I used to think it was cute, and now?

Now I just think it’s gross.

For grown men to call you “pretty boy” and for you to like it?

Gag me.

I play the part of Enzo’s affectionate wife, a part I’ve perfected over the past few years.

It’s easy to play a part that used to encompass your real feelings.

“Hi, babe,” I say as I reach him and stand on the tips of my toes to kiss him. My lips press firmly into his cheek, and then he kisses my temple.

It’s been a whole week since we’ve kissed.

We usually just have missionary sex for a few minutes before he rolls over and falls asleep each night.

I put some space between the two of us as he locks away his weapons.

“You look beautiful,” Enzo says, flashing another grin my way. It doesn’t stay long, because before I know it, there’s a deep frown line appearing on his forehead. “I’m so sorry, but I won’t be home long. I’ve gotta meet a couple of my soldiers to give them instructions on something we’ve been working on, and then I’m going to go with Leo to meet with a few of our associates about a contract that needs to be signed.”

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