The closer we drove toward the city, the heavier the silence became. I wanted to say so much to him, to tell him how I felt, but I didn’t. He’d already made up his mind.
I kept my face turned toward the window, watching the snow blur into smeared white streaks. Anything to hide the way my throat kept tightening.
My father’s men were already waiting outside when we pulled up to the gated entrance of the estate. One slipped inside as another signaled for the gate to be opened by the armed guard posted there.
Enzo pulled in and stopped the SUV but didn’t turn it off. His knuckles were pale around the steering wheel again.
“You should try not to look upset,” he suggested. “He’ll notice.”
“I’m not upset,” I lied, my voice betraying me immediately.
Enzo exhaled slowly, eyes on the guard approaching us. “Gia.”
“Don’t,” I whispered, feeling the sting of tears.
He stopped. Then, he just stared at me for one last second before exiting the vehicle.
My door opened a heartbeat later. Marco, my father’s right hand man, offered a stiff nod and ushered me out as though I were returning from a long vacation instead of a several weeks hiding from a rival mob in a secluded cabin.
“Your father is waiting,” Marco stated.
Inside the main foyer, my father stood in front of the marble staircase, hands clasped behind his back. His jaw was a stone wall, his expression unreadable until our eyes met. “Piccola.I’ve missed you.”
He crossed the room in three strides and cupped my face in his palms, inspecting me as if looking for cracks. “You’re safe,” he murmured. Then, quieter, “Thank God.”
For a moment, I let myself lean into the warmth of his hands. I’d been so homesick, but now that I was back home, I didn’t want to be.
I wanted to be back in the cabin with Enzo; back where we could be together without worrying about my father and mob politics.
My father’s gaze shifted past me to Enzo, who stood just inside the doorway, posture perfectly rigid, expression blank and professional—the way he always looked when he was on the job.
But his eyes flicked to me for the faintest fraction of a second.
My father seemed to notice, his brows furrowing. “Enzo, thank you for keeping my daughter safe.”
“Just doing the job you tasked me with, sir.”
My father’s eyes darted between us. “Speaking of, come to my office and I’ll get you your money.”
My stomach dropped. I’d forgotten that I’d been a job to him. Was that why Enzo was able to change his mind like I meant nothing to him? Was what we had even real?
My heart argued that it was real; that something had changed while we were secluded in that cabin together. That I was more than money to him.
Enzo’s throat bobbed before he followed my father into his office. I wasn’t sure if all that was happening was a money exchange, but the minutes seemed to crawl while they were in there.
I paced. Sat. Stood. Paced again. Every muffled rise of my father’s voice sent another flash of fear through me. Every quiet rumble of Enzo’s had my stomach twisting.
Finally, the door opened.
Enzo stepped out first, holding a small duffel bag.
His face was composed, but his eyes looked defeated. He avoided my gaze and I felt sick.
My father emerged behind him, expression carved from granite like it always was when he did business. “Thank you again, Enzo, for protecting my daughter. I’ll contact you if I need your services again.”
My heartbeat stuttered as I watched Enzo, silently begging him to say something about us. “Enzo?”
My father grasped my arm. “Let’s go, Gianina. You should get unpacked and settled before dinner.”
