Page 31 of Read This Before the Villain falls in Love with You

"I was also going to reorganize my captivity by color," I added, stepping around him to prop the window open for fresh air. "But sure, come in. Bleed on the carpet if you want. It matches your whole general aesthetic."

"Hilarious," he muttered, slumping into the armchair by the window. "I need some help. With the mess from last night."

I pointed at his slumped shoulders. "My help costs a lot of money. And normally you get coffee with it, not bruised ribs."

Enzo winced as he shifted his weight. "Put it on my tab."

I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled my knees up, still in the borrowed sleep shirt, hair a disaster, and folded my arms like I did in every boardroom that had ever paid me an obscene hourly rate. "Talk."

Enzo rubbed his stubbled jaw with a rough hand. "The man who broke in last night, he worked for Bellini. Someone will figure out he's missing soon. If people start asking about a body on our property, we need a clean story ready."

"You mean before the police show up with search warrants and ruin your garden party," I said, one eyebrow raised.

He picked at a loose stitch on his cuff. "We don't do garden parties."

I rested my chin on my knee. "So you want a cover story. For a dead guy."

"Self-defense," he snapped, his jaw tightening like the word had teeth if he didn't spit it out fast.

"I know. I watched." I rubbed my eyes. "Fine. Sit up straight, this part matters. Who else knows besides your cleaning crew and God?"

"Luca. Adrian. You." He counted on his fingers like that made him look less terrified. "Nonna, probably, because Nonna knows everything before it happens."

"Good. Keep it that way." I grabbed the notepad from the nightstand and twirled the chewed pen between my fingers. "First, nobody talks to anyone outside this house. Ever. Second, if cops come asking questions, everyone tells the exact same plain story without making up extra details."

"You're already better at this shit than our actual fucking lawyer," Enzo admitted, a faint grin tugging at his mouth.

I tapped the pen against the paper. "Your lawyer should quit. Third rule. If anyone asks, an armed guy broke into your house and you defended yourself. That is all. No gang names, no drama. Just a break-in that went bad."

Enzo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You're really good at making a killing sound like nothing."

I met his gaze flatly. "That's the point. Nobody pays attention to something boring."

He laughed, short and real, and some of the tightness left his shoulders. For a second he looked twenty four instead of a broody mafia guy, and I filed that away, the way I filed everything, because knowing when someone finally exhaled told you more than watching them hold their breath.

Enzo reached into his jacket pocket and slid my phone across the small table toward me. "Luca said you could have it back for work calls. Keep it short."

I grabbed it before he could change his mind, staring at the screen. Right on cue, it buzzed against my palm. I checked the caller ID and groaned.

"Amelia," I told Enzo. "My assistant. Brace yourself."

I answered. "Hi, Amelia."

"Nora! Oh thank God, please don't be mad," Amelia blurted, cars honking loudly on her end of the line. "The Kessler team wants to hold their big announcement next Monday instead, and I didn't know what to tell them!"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Tell them no. Give them three extra days instead. If they rush it out, they look guilty."

"Okay, got it, breathing room, writing that down." A pause, keys clicking somewhere in London. "Also, quick thing, where are you? Because your calendar says Milan for a spa retreat and I called the spa and they have never heard of you."

Enzo's eyebrows went up. I turned slightly away from him toward the wall. "It's a private wellness thing. Very exclusive. Off the books."

"Off the books like tax off the books or off the books like witness protection?" Amelia asked, and I loved her, I genuinely did, but sometimes her instincts were dangerously sharp for someone who once sent an invoice to the wrong billionaire and started a minor diplomatic incident.

I kept my tone deliberately sweet. "Off the books like none of your fucking business. Focus. Kessler. Three days. Is anything else on fire?"

"The Hartwell twins want to sue each other again."

"Tell them no."