“Okay. Family. I can deal with that. Who else is coming?”
“My accountant will be here around two. And more clothing will be delivered. I want you to have what you need.”
“I can buy my own clothes. I’m not broke and helpless.”
“I know you can. But I want to. And right now, it’s not safe for you to leave the penthouse. They’ll bring a collection—you just pick what you like.”
Her lips curve. “Will they have sweatpants and T-shirts?”
My hand slides down her side to her hip. “Pick out whatever you want, Angel. I know what’s underneath. But get a couple of dresses too. For dinners. For events. For when the world can see you at my side.”
She nods, and I reach into my pocket, pulling out the phone I had Rowan prep last night. Brand new, encrypted, already loaded with everything she might need.
“Your new phone,” I say, handing it to her. “My number. Lars’s. A couple of others. Secure. You don’t answer for anyone else.”
She flips it over, lips pressed into a line. “Thanks.”
“Password’s your birthday,” I add.
Zara glances up, her expression softening. “You remembered?”
“Hard to forget the night you turned thirty.” I let the weight of that hang between us.
She flushes, muttering, “You’re obsessed.”
“But charming.”
“Debatable.”
I lean down, brushing my lips over hers. “Behave while I’m gone.”
“No promises,” she whispers.
I groan, kissing her again—this time lingering, possessive. She tastes like the only woman who can burn me alive and make me thank her for the fire. If I don’t leave now, I never will.
Reluctantly, I tear myself away, grab my jacket, and head for the elevator.
“Enzo,” she calls, just as I’m pressing the button.
I glance back.
“Don’t get shot.”
I grin. “I’ll do my best, Angel.”
The meetingat headquarters is starting at ten. I walk into the long room flanked by Lars and three of my top capos, the air already thick with tension. The fallout from the cathedral raid is still ricocheting through the city, and I need every man in this room focused.
At the head of the table, I take my seat and nod once. Everyone else follows.
Stefano clears his throat. “We’ve confirmed casualties. Five Falco men dead. Three Kavanaghs. Two of ours were wounded—non-fatal.”
I nod, jaw ticking. “Wholed the retreat?”
“Anthony Falco. Disappeared right as the bullets started. Took a few of his crew with him.”
“Coward,” Lars mutters. “He left Zara standing there like bait.”
“Exactly,” I say darkly. “And he’ll pay for it.”
