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For me. For my brothers. For my wife.
For everything my father has built, to ensure it lives on in his name.
He would approve. He would do the same thing. Not a single part of me thinks otherwise, and my brothers may not agree. But they don’t have to. I don’t need their approval, I only need my father’s.
I cock the gun, take a steadying breath.
“You would do the same thing, Papa,” I whisper, gritting my teeth.
And then I pull the trigger.
I bite back a choked sound.
It’s done.
One simple bullet hole to the side of his head. Blood trickles down, landing on the pillow. He stops breathing. I close my eyes, take another deep breath, turn around and run out of the room.
I suck in lungfuls of air and still I feel like I can’t fucking breathe. I move to the kitchen and down a glass of water before splashing some on my face. Finally, the panic calms and the oxygen courses through me, no longer making me feel like I’m going to pass out.
A few more breaths and I feel almost normal. I’m stepping out of my son role and back into my businessman one.
I remove the silencer. Put my gun back in the holster. I hold my head high and take another deep breath. I go to the door. Put my jacket back on. Slip my shoes on my feet and leave for good.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Jordan
Enzo comes into the room with a wave of tension following him.
He looks worse than I’ve ever seen him before. I sit up from the bed, watching as he loosens his tie, undoes the top button of his shirt, and goes straight to the bathroom without saying a word. The door closes behind him softly and a moment later, the shower turns on.
I slip out of bed and move to the door. I consider knocking but reach for the handle, releasing a breath when it turns. I don’t know if I should be doing this, but he said he needed me here waiting for him. I’m going to take that as he needs me.
The room is already filling with steam, and it’s warm and humid. I quickly take my clothes off, and move into the bigger part of the room toward the shower. Enzo is standing under the spray, face in the water, hands on the wall in front of him.
He looks devastated.
What did he do?
I step into the shower. Without thinking about it, I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my cheek on his back.
I’m frustrated with how the night has gone. With him and Bernice and even Antonio. Especially with Enzo.
But he already warned me he would need me tonight. Well before I panicked and got mad at him. He told me he was doing something bad and needed me to be here for him when he got back, so that’s what I’m going to do because it’s going to take both of us to make this relationship work. And what else do I have left in life, other than him and my marriage?
Enzo doesn’t say anything and neither do I. We stand there for a long time, under the water, until I pull away to wash him. I tug him out of the spray of water to wash his hair, which isn’t as easy as I thought it would be, considering he’s so tall. He stares blankly ahead as I do it.
When I’m done, I grab the bar of soap, lather it onto my palms, and wash him. I take my time. I’m careful and precise. The same way I am when I massage him. And when I reach for the faucet to shut the water off, he stops me by grabbing my wrist. I look up at him, and nothing about his expression has changed. He takes my other wrist and pulls them both up and around his neck, then he’s sliding his arms around me and pulling me tightly against him, nuzzling his face in my neck.
I’ve never felt safer in my entire life.
The clock says it’s 3:04 a.m. I roll over and find the large bed empty. The first night in Enzo’s bed and he leaves me alone. I sit up, rubbing my eyes, and find him sitting in a chair by the window, staring out into the night sky. The thick drapes are pulled back, allowing the moonlight to shine in on his handsome face. He’s in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else—so I guess he does own pants other than slacks. His head is rested on his closed fist, and he’s not moving outside of breathing.
I throw the blankets off me and go to him. He looks up at me and smiles a soft, tired smile. His arm is warm when he wraps it around my waist and tugs me onto his lap. And when he buries his face in my neck and inhales, I can’t help but preen. Does my smell do to him what his does to me?
“You’re so beautiful, angel.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask softly, running my hand through his hair.
