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With his face still against my neck, he shakes it back and forth. I pull away and shift so I can see him better.
“Talk to me,” I tell him, running my hand down his face. “You’re the one who said we needed trust.”
“This isn’t about trust, Jordan.” He sighs.
“Then what?”
He blinks a few times, and that’s when I notice how bloodshot they are. Did he sleep at all? Has he been crying? Is it possible for him to do that?
“Shame,” he answers after a long moment.
“I don’t understand. Please tell me. Let me help you through this.”
Those words tumble from my lips, and it’s another solidification that I want this man. I want to be here for him. I want to be his wife. I want his trust, his affection, his love.
“I did something terrible tonight. Something unforgivable.”
My stomach sinks, and one thing pops into my head. Something terrible. Something unforgivable. Something that, despite my feelings, would break my heart.
“Did you hurt my father?” I whisper, holding my breath as I wait for the answer.
“No,” he says simply.
My body sags. Thank god for that. I may be angry with my father, feel completely betrayed, but I don’t want him dead.
“But I killed someone’s father,” he adds robotically.
I’m aware Enzo kills people. Or at least has. I mean, isn’t that the thing we all know about the mafia? But hearing him say it? It’s strange. Makes me a little unsettled. Still, I try to be supportive. Because that’s what a good wife would do.
“I’m sure whatever you did, there had to have been a reason. You’re calculated, Enzo. You don’t do things for nothing.”
Enzo isn’t a sociopath. I’m not sure there’s a valid reason to kill someone, but what do I know? I didn’t grow up in this world. I don’t know the first thing about it. And surprisingly enough, knowing Enzo has probably killed many other people doesn’t bother me as much as it should. My biggest concern with him being involved in this life is my safety. Along with my future child’s…
Enzo leaves me out of his mafia business and I’m grateful for it. Because it scares the living hell out of me. If I sat down to think about it, I’d drive myself crazy. It’s best I live in ignorant bliss when it comes to this part of him.
I’ve always lived in the safety of my father’s home, behind his rules and demands. I chose responsibility over fun. I don’t do risky things. I don’t do daring things. Going to that club was the craziest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life, and look where it got me…
My head is too messy to say whether I’m grateful for it or not. When I was at dinner with Enzo, full of wine, I told him I’d have gone with him had he asked. And that’s probably true had he done it that Saturday night. But had I time to think about it rationally? I don’t know. The night at the club opened my eyes to a lot of things, but most of all, it made me realize I haven’t been enjoying my life the way I could be. And now, I don’t have that choice either.
But I tell Enzo what I tell him because it’s what he needs to hear. We will never see eye to eye on this, and it’s better we leave it out of our marriage than fight about it.
That’s what I’m choosing to do because it’s easier.
“There was a reason,” he adds quietly. “There’s always a reason. But this? It was different.
I run my hand through his soft hair. “How so?”
“He was a father,” he repeats.
“A lot of men are fathers, Enzo.”
He shakes his head, looking up at me with haunted eyes.
“No, angel. He was my father.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Jordan
