“I’m taking you home.”
“What about the guy you just burnt to a crisp back there?”
“The guys are taking care of them.”
“Them?”
Enzo pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a sign. He looks like a parent frustrated with his precocious child. “Can’t leave the others alive to talk, now can I?”
A normal person would be disgusted by him, but I’d learned a long time ago nothing about me is normal, and as much as I pretend it is, it’s a fabrication so society won’t shun me. With Enzo, I don’t have to pretend anymore. It’s a big rush to be with someone who sees you, probably better than you see yourself, and still wants you. No one in my life has given me that, not until Enzo.
His apartment is massive, a penthouse in one of the most affluent buildings in the city. Crime pays well, and based on how Enzo lives, he’s at the top of the crime chain. White furniture, rich mahogany flooring, expensive rugs adorning the floor, pod lights, a large kitchen that even Gordon Ramsay would salivate over. It definitely doesn’t look like a place a single guy lives in. I take a deep breath when an image of Enzo having a wife or girlfriend flashes in my mind. I know nothing about him.
“You can go take a shower. There're clothes in the closet. Just take what you want.”
“How magnanimous of you.”
“If you don’t shut your smart mouth, I’m going to have to shut it for you, principessa. It’s down the hall, third door on the right.”
Third door on the right? How big is this place?
Enzo moves away from me, his attention on someone he is talking to on the phone. His voice is low, dangerous, and I just want to crawl onto his lap and fuck him so he’s distracted and can’t think of anything but me. But I feel like that might be a little shortsighted, so instead I do as I’m told.
The shower is huge. It can easily fit a party of ten. I’ve got no idea why anyone needs that much space. The water rushes at me from all the areas of the shower, including the ceiling and the walls. I let the water wash over all the shitty things that happened tonight.
“If only I could join you…”
I jump at the sound of Enzo’s deep voice. He’s leaning against the doorway, just as he’d done earlier tonight. The only difference is that it doesn't appear vengeful, but consumed with lust.
I grab the towel and wrap it around myself. “Do you mind?”
The jerk has the nerve to smirk, making my damn knees weak. He pushes off the doorway and stalks towards me, this sexy slow walk like he knows he’s literally God’s gift to womankind. His large fingers brush the top of the towel.
There’s something so powerful about the way he looks at me, like a starved man who finally sees a meal. I sense his touch on my skin, just from the intensity in his eyes. It’s feral, animalistic, like it’s only for me.
“I mind that you’ve covered up that sexy body.” he whispers.
I gasp as he rips the towel off my body.
Touch is a powerful thing. It unlocks the memories that we lock up behind a vault, some good, some painful, some we didn’t even know we had. Enzo brushes his finger against my bottom lip and I’m transported back to that night with his body on top of mine, where I tasted freedom.
“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before anyway.” He nods, turning to leave. “What do you want to eat?” He rubs the back of his neck and actually looks cute, not like the ruthless killer I saw not too long ago, but adorable—sweet, even. “I guess it’s something I should learn about you.”
I’m touched that he’s even asking. He doesn’t seem like a man who cares about the wants and needs of anyone, but then again, he might try to dull my senses before he makes me his sex slave. The sad part is I’d be whatever he wants, but there’s no way I’m going to let him in on that. “Whatever you want is fine. I’m not a picky eater.”
He nods and walks out.
The attached bedroom is massive. It’s adorned with satin sheets, a down duvet, and piles of pillows on the bed, not a room that would belong to a guy like Enzo. I walk into the giant closet, and it’s full of clothing, dresses, pants, pretty blouses, and so many shoes. My stomach turns, and the bile rises in the back of my throat. I’d met him at a sex club, a place where swingers go. He obviously has a wife or girlfriend, and this is their thing—bring home a plaything, have a little fun, and then discard her, even kill her. It isn’t like Enzo isn’t capable of that.