He sets down his cup and straightens a little, brows drawing in. I open my hand and show him the drive.
"This isn’t just information. It’s everything I’ve kept hiddenfrom the world. It’s what I’ve been running with...and running from."
“What do you mean?”
“It’s everything that could take down my father. I want you to take it. I want to use what’s on there to destroy him.”
Enzo doesn’t take it right away. He watches me, carefully, quietly. "Are you sure?"
I nod, throat tight. "Giving this to you... I’m choosing to trust you, Enzo."
He finally reaches out and takes the drive, his fingers brushing mine. "Angel," he looks at me, voice rough. "You have no idea what this means."
I sit down beside him, the mattress shifting beneath our weight. "It means I’m tired. Tired of hiding, of surviving instead of living. I’ve spent the last few years watching over my shoulder, always waiting for the next blow. And it wasn’t just fear—it was betrayal. My father didn’t just rule our family with fear, he used me, he was willing to sacrifice his own flesh and blood to retain power."
Enzo's arm comes around my back, pulling me closer, steadying me. I don’t resist.
"He had this plan in place for years. The marriage, the alliance with the Falcos...it wasn’t just strategy. It was a punishment. A final act of control. The moment I started questioning things, the moment I stopped playing the good daughter, he started planning how to shut me up. Permanently."
Enzo runs a hand down my spine, grounding me. "That’s what you’ve been carrying all this time."
I nod. "There’s more on that drive than I ever dared say out loud. Ledgers, emails, photos—proof of what Lachlan’s done. What he’s planning to do. Not just to me, but to anyone in his way."
He looks at the drive again, then meets my gaze. "You’re safe now, Zara. You hear me? No one will ever touch you or use you again. Not your father. Not Falco. Not anyone."
My throat tightens, tears burning hot and angry behind my eyes. "I want him to pay. I want them all to pay."
Enzo cups my jaw, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. "They will. I swear it to you. You have my word that I will lay them at your feet, Angel."
I lean into his touch, breath shaking, something in me cracking open with the weight of everything I’ve held back. And for the first time in what feels like years, I don’t feel like I’m carrying it all on my own.
He presses his forehead to mine, our breath mingling in the quiet. And at that moment, I let the weight slip from my hands and into his.
Zara standsat the kitchen island in one of my shirts, half-buttoned and slipping off her shoulder, teasing me with flashes of bare skin. I had pajamas included in the clothes delivered, but she still demanded to wear one of my shirts. Her legs are long as she leans her hip against the counter, sipping her coffee like she’s been doing it here for years. Like she belongs.
The sight of her in my clothes, in my kitchen, does something brutal to me. It’s not just want—it’s possession settling deep into my bones. She looks too perfect in this place, like every corner of the room was designed to frame her. And maybe it was. Maybe I just didn’t know I’d been waiting for her to step into it.
I adjust my grip on the jacket slung over my shoulder, my tie still loose, unfinished. Half-dressed and already half-lost. I should be walking out the door, but all I can think about is taking the mug from her hand, setting it aside, and carrying her back upstairs where I can bury myself inside her again.
But reality presses harder than my want. The flash drive in my pocket is a reminder that last night’s fire burned into more than just sheets—it lit up enemies, stirred smoke I can’t ignore. My men are waiting. Answers are waiting. And yet here I stand, staring at my wife like she’s the only thing in this city worth claiming.
“Are you sure you’ll survive without me today?” I ask, crossing the floor toward her.
Her brow arches, smug. “Pretty sure I’ll manage. I’m married to a mob boss now. Guess I should get used to a little abandonment.”
I chuckle, tossing my jacket onto the stool and sliding my arms around her waist. “You wound me, Mrs. Marchetti.”
She snorts into her cup. “Please. You’ll be barking orders and brooding in a meeting room before I even finish my eggs.”
“Fair point.” I laugh, kissing her temple. “But I won’t be gone long. Lars will be stopping by, so you’ll have company.”
“Who is Lars?”
“My second in command,” I say, combing my fingers through her hair. “Technically my cousin, but more like a brother.”
Her eyes narrow. “Now I’m nervous.”
I laugh under my breath. “Don’t be, Angel. He knows what you mean to me. He was with me, every step, when I was tearing this city apart to find you. He’s family.”
