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She was living back in the States now, managing billion-dollar brands from what I’d last heard.
“Izzy’s bringing her boyfriend.” He revved the engine a touch.
“You don’t like him?”
“I don’t know him. None of us do. The fact she kept him hidden means she doesn’t think we’ll approve.” He glanced at me while saying, “Bringing him to Long Island for the rest of the week can only mean one thing.”
“And that is?”
“She’s marrying him.” He looked back while spinning the wheel with the heel of his hand, reversing the Porsche to avoid a roadblock in our way.
Why was it always so sexy when a guy did that instead of using the cameras? Of course, everything Enzo did seemed to turn me on. “What is it you need at your house?” I decided to drop the subject of his sister’s boyfriend, worried his foul mood would return, and I needed a break from Mr.Moody.
“I have some of Bianca’s things there that I want to bring with me,” he answered without much emotion in his voice, which meant he’d probably worked hard to do that.
And at that, I realized maybe we shouldn’t talk at all. To fill the uncomfortable silence, I turned on the radio and flipped through the stations until I found a song I liked. Can’t go wrong with Sam Smith.
The grumbles from Enzo had me changing the station. Maybe it was too sexual?
Landing on a country station next, which made my heart happy, I hummed to Chase Rice’s song, and either I sucked at humming or he hated the song, because when I glanced his way, his bladed jawline was tight. Not to mention his forearms were flexed. One hand on the wheel and the other on the stick shift thing.
“Can you change that, please?” he asked, and I hurried to do so, but I had the feeling he wouldn’t exactly love the next song.
“You’ve got to be kidding. Someone is fucking with me, I swear,” Enzo said as “Bad Decisions” played. He reached over and shut off the radio. “How about the sound of silence instead?”
I slumped back in my seat. Feeling restless, I grabbed my phone from my purse and opened my photo album to look at pictures of Chiara.
“Have you talked to him today?” Enzo’s deep voice rumbled through the space a few minutes later.
“No, we haven’t spoken since last night. And I’ve been dodging his calls today. If he knows I’m traveling with you, he’ll flip out.”
“He has no business dictating what you do. None.” He faced the road again, and I honestly had no clue where we were now or what part of the city we were in, but it was bustling and alive. Exploding with energy. And so different from where I grew up.
He switched lanes and stopped at a red light before looking at me. But then his attention shifted over my shoulder, and his entire body seemed to go lax, including his mouth.
I pivoted to follow his eyes, unsure why a Catholic church, which looked like it belonged in the Renaissance era based on its architecture, had produced such a reaction from him. “What’s wrong?” I faced him again, but he was already looking toward the road, pulling through the light, accelerating a bit more than necessary.
“Nothing,” he whispered.
“Don’t lie. Please.” I reached over and set my hand atop his forearm and gave him a gentle squeeze.
“It’s just ...” He cleared his throat. “That was Bianca’s church where she went to mass. And it was also where I was arrested for murdering her killer.”
FIFTEEN
Maria
“I was upset. Drunk. Out-of-my-mind angry,” Enzo shared, his voice distant and detached as if it weren’t his story. “And I don’t know what possessed me to go to the church that night, but I stumbled in there like some crazy person, and someone called the cops. Turns out, the police were already looking for me.
“I guess I went there hoping I’d hear her voice. Have her tell me that what I did was okay because it was for her,” he went on, his tone rough with emotion. “We would’ve all gone to prison for years, but we were offered an unusual arrangement instead. And that included a cover-up story as to how he really died. And no, it wasn’t from a car accident.”
When he eased his arm free from my touch and changed lanes, I had a feeling he was done with sharing, and for once, I didn’t press him for more. I wasn’t quite ready to hear how he actually killed the man. And maybe I never needed to know those details.
I stowed my phone in my purse and kept my eyes on the window the remainder of the drive until we parked in front of his place.
I’d expected some fancy penthouse in the sky, not a stately brick town house with hints of Greek revivalism in the design. I’d dabbled in art and architecture in college, though quickly realized I lacked an important skill: drawing. But I’d always admired the beauty of certain buildings from my studies. And this was definitely a stunning home.
“Come on. We won’t be long.” He hopped out, then rounded the car to open the door for me before heading to the Suburban behind us. He exchanged a few words with the driver while I waited at his doorstep.
