Enzo tracks me, his bare feet silent on the rug. He doesn't stop me. He watches the sway of my hips beneath the silk with dark, hungry intensity.
"Yes, Natalia?" Turi replies through the door.
"Tell Matteo to stop acting like a spoiled child." I cross my arms over my chest, staring at the closed wood. "Tell him the transit hub was a compromised asset anyway. If Rourke had enough access to wire the building and set a trap around the ledgers, the Bellantis were already three steps ahead. Enzo didn't ruin the operation. He saved Matteo from walking into a massive federal trap."
Dead silence on the other side of the door.
I glance over my shoulder. Enzo is staring at me. His mouth is slightly parted. The calculating gears in his head are spinning rapidly. He just realized what I did. I didn't just defend him. I used my legal, strategic brain to give Matteo an out. I provided a logical justification for the chaos Enzo just unleashed. I reframed a crime of passion into a tactical victory.
A low, rumbling chuckle vibrates through the door. Turi is laughing.
"I will tell him exactly that, strictly worded." Turi's amusement is obvious. "This is the good stuff—the dark roast from the place I like on Taylor Street. I am leaving a thermos with the food. Drink it. Both of you."
Footsteps retreat down the long, cold hallway of the east wing.
The silence returns.
I turn fully around to face Enzo. He is still standing by the bathroom door, bare-chested, battered, and transfixed. The calculating fixer is analyzing the new data. The civilian he dragged into this just stepped up and defended his chaotic actions to the inner circle of the mafia.
He crosses the room in three massive, silent strides.
He does not stop until he is inches from my face. The heat of his body practically burns through the silk of the robe. His scent is finally breaking through the layer of ozone and blood.
"A federal trap." He repeats my lie. A slow, devastating smirk curves the corner of his mouth. "You just gave Matteo a reason to claim the loss as a strategic retreat."
"Matteo has an ego." I tip my chin up, refusing to back down from the overwhelming intensity of his gaze. "Corporate executives have egos. You manage the ego, you manage the fallout. Basic negotiation tactics."
"You are incredible."
He drops his hands to my waist. He lifts me off the ground. My bare feet leave the rug. I gasp, my hands flying to his bare shoulders for balance. The sleek muscle shifts under my palms.
He carries me to the king-sized bed. He drops me onto the center of the mattress. The down comforter absorbs my weight. Before I can scramble backward, he follows me down. He straddles my hips. His hands bracket my head. He hovers over me, all hard muscle, heat, and unyielding energy.
"The engagement is over." I state the fact clearly. The legal boundaries must be defined. "The cover story is dead. The threat is eliminated. There is no strategic reason for me to stay in this compound."
"There is no strategic reason." He agrees. His dark eyes trace the curve of my cheek, the line of my jaw, the pulse beating rapidly at the base of my throat. "The contract is void."
"I have a lease on a very nice apartment in the city."
"I bought the building." He reminds me. "I will evict you."
"That is a violation of tenant rights." I fight the smile threatening to break across my face. The absurdity of arguing property law with a mafia enforcer is intoxicating.
"Sue me." He leans down. His lips brush the shell of my ear. The rough texture of his beard scratches against my sensitive skin. A wave of heat crashes directly through me, low and aching. "Take me to court, Natalia. Spend the next fifty years cross-examining me. Depose me every night."
My breath hitches. The humor evaporates. The raw, unfiltered reality of his devotion settles heavily into my bones.
The fixer who controls everything surrendered control. He walked into a rigged building, hunted down a lethal threat, and destroyed his own family's leverage just to guarantee I could sleep safely in this bed. He risked his standing with his brothers. He risked his life.
He bet everything on me.
"I don't like losing cases." I whisper. My fingers slide up into the thick, damp waves of his hair. "I prefer to settle out of court."
He lifts his head. The raw hunger in his eyes is blinding.
"What are your terms?" His voice is a rough rasp.
I lift my left hand. The diamond ring catches the light of the bedside lamp. The cold metal. The flawless stone. The legacy of a murdered mother and a traumatized boy who finally found something worth fighting for.
