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Abby and I climb into the second SUV, and we rocket away from the burning building. As our driver navigates the debris-littered parking lot, I feel Abby’s fingers curl around my arm.
“Thank you, Enzo.” Her breath is warm against the side of my neck. “For everything.”
“Always.” I kiss her head and know I mean it in the depths of my soul.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Abby
I step inside Enzo’s luxurious loft, my heart still pounding from the danger we escaped. The opulence of the surroundings is a shock to my system – the floor-to-ceiling windows with city views, the modern art adorning the walls, and the sleek Italian furniture that seems too beautiful to sit on.
“Make yourself at home,” Enzo says, his voice deep and soothing like a balm to my frazzled nerves. He gestures to the plush velvet sofa, but I can’t bring myself to sit down yet. My guilt weighs heavily, making it difficult to breathe.
“Enzo, I’m so sorry,” I blurt out, unable to contain my emotions. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I didn’t want to bring danger to your family.”
He approaches slowly, gently placing his hands on my shoulders. I can feel the warmth radiating from his touch, and it’s a stark contrast to the cold dread that has settled in my bones. His beautiful eyes are full of concern as he studies my face.
“None of us could have predicted any of this,” he assures me. “And you’re not responsible for Rodrigo’s actions. Don’t blame yourself.”
“Still,” I whisper, my voice cracking under the weight of my guilt, “your sister was put in danger.”
“Abby,” Enzo says firmly, locking his gaze onto mine, “you didn’t ask for any of this. Rodrigo’s been nursing a grudge against us for years after we refused a shipment. He tried to sell us an inferior product, and word got around. He lost a lot of business after that and blamed us.” He kisses my head. “And we protect those we care about.”
I see the conviction in his eyes and the unwavering loyalty to those he loves. Would he ever include me in that circle?
Do I want to be?
“Thank you,” I manage to say, swallowing back my tears. “I promise I’ll do everything possible to make this right.”
“You and Ari are alive, so everythingisright.”
The kindness in his voice is enough to break me, and I finally allow myself to collapse onto the plush sofa. As I sink into the cushions, I realize how exhausted I am, both physically and emotionally. Guilt gnaws at me, whispering that I don’t deserve this sanctuary or Enzo’s kindness.
The doorbell rings, and I startle, a testament to my frayed nerves. Enzo walks toward the entrance. “Hey, Doc.” An older man with salt-and-pepper hair, clad in a crisp white coat and carrying a black medical bag, enters quietly.
“Buonasera, Enzo,” the doctor replies, his voice gentle and professional. “I heard about what happened tonight. Is everyone okay?”
“Physically, yes,” Enzo says, glancing over his shoulder. “But I want you to check on Abby.”
The man nods and crosses the room, settling beside me on the sofa. His eyes are warm but analytical as they study my face, taking note of every bruise and cut.
“Let’s take a look at you, Abby,” he murmurs, opening his bag and pulling out a stethoscope. As he checks my vitals and examines my injuries, I try to focus on the rhythmic ticking of the expensive clock hanging above the fireplace, anything to avoid dwelling on what just occurred.
“Everything seems to be in order,” Dr. Moretti announces after a thorough examination. “You’re quite fortunate, considering the circumstances.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“Take some time to rest and recover,” he advises before gathering his things and bidding us goodnight. Once the door closes behind him, Enzo turns, his concern etched upon his face.
“Abby,” he says gently, “why don’t you shower?”
“I need to go home and tell everyone I’m okay.”
“Word was sent to your family. Your brother knows you’re okay,” he sits beside me, “but it might be better if you don’t show up covered in blood and soot.”
“Good point.” I walk toward the far end of the loft and step into the lavish bathroom, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror – bruised and in shock.
“Alive,” I mutter. “And grateful.”
