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I flip the handle, and the shower comes to life with a whoosh, steam quickly filling the room as I strip off my clothes and step under the spray. The water cascades over me like a baptism, cleansing my body and, for a brief moment, my guilt.
As the water sluices away the dirt and dried blood, I wrap my arms around myself, seeking solace in the soothing heat and the steady thrum of the showerhead.
Taking a long breath. I allow myself to feel the fear, pain, and overwhelming regret.
Why didn’t I just walk away from the game?
I know there isn’t an answer, but I doubt I will ever stop asking it.
Twenty minutes later, I step out of the shower and hear the door snick open. Enzo lays a stack of clothes on the counter. “Thank you.”
“Here.” He grabs his bathrobe and wraps me in it, running his hands up and down the material.
Swallowing heavily, I watch him grab a towel and gently dry my hair. I feel like one big exposed nerve and tell myself not to fall apart.
His serious expression is reflected in the steamy mirror, and I know this isn’t something he does regularly. “Thank you.”
“I take the towel from his hand and wrap my hair up. “I’m feeling a hundred things and don’t yet have the words to express how grateful I am for the save.”
“I will find you no matter where you are in the world.”
He presses a kiss to my head and then steps back. “Come out when you’re ready.”
Nodding, I watch him walk out of the room and know that it is more than I deserve.
Dressed in Enzo’s oversized T-shirt and sweatpants, I make my way to the table next to the open kitchen where he waits, a steaming plate of pasta before him. The aroma of garlic and tomatoes permeates the air, mingling with the faint scent of his cologne still clinging to my borrowed clothes.
“Sit,” he says, his voice warm. “You need to eat.”
I slide into the soft chair beside him, feeling the weight of the past twenty-four hours catch up. My stomach growls in agreement as I take in the sight of the meal – freshly made spaghetti topped with Bolognese sauce, accompanied by two glasses of red wine. “Thank you,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Ma makes sure I’ve got enough sauce to outlast the apocalypse.”
“It sounds like she and my brother would get along.”
“It does.”
He hands me a fork, and we eat silently for a few moments. The food is delicious, and each bite feels like a small victory, a reclaiming of normalcy.
“Abby,” Enzo begins, his voice tinged with concern. “You have nothing to worry about. Rodrigo met the consequences of his actions, so you never have to worry about him again.”
His words send a shiver down my spine. “If I apologize a million times, will that begin to convey to your family how much I regret my actions?”
“Hey,” he says softly, reaching out to place a hand on mine, sending warmth through my body. “Rodrigo just needed an excuse, and you happened to be convenient.”
“I’m having a hard time accepting that.”
“The man wanted revenge and to prove he’s more than an outlier that no one wants in their organization.”
“But I…”
“Played a game of poker and won. That’s not an invitation to rain down, holy hell.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “That sounds nothing like the story circling my head.”
“Because you don’t live in my world.” He moves his chair closer. “Every move an enemy makes requires a counter move. What happened is nothing more and nothing less.”
“I stood by while a man bled out.”
