I took a deep breath and let it all pour out—everything that hadhappened recently. This string of blows had been building up inside me, way past the breaking point.
That damn diagnosis. My mother, who'd sold her own daughter to a strip club.
The only thing I didn't tell him was that I was pregnant.
Whatever else, we weren't a couple. What happened in the elevator was an accident. It didn't change anything.
After listening to my rambling account, Enzo leaned forward slightly, fingertips pressed together under his chin, silent for a moment, like he was thinking something over.
Then he made his decision.
"Be my mistress, then."
I thought I'd heard him wrong.
"What?"
"I'm interested in your body. You're exactly my type." His words were blunt to the point of shocking. "And I happen to have more money than I can spend. You don't need to stay in this place getting harassed by garbage anymore. You move out, I give you an apartment, and I cover your monthly expenses. In exchange, you're available when I call."
Logic told me this was the best way out I had. I could leave this club. Have a safe place to live. Have money for prenatal checkups, baby supplies, planning for the future.
Any one of the things Enzo casually promised was something I couldn't get right now no matter how hard I tried.
Besides, from every angle, Enzo was an ideal choice as a lover. I had to admit I didn't dislike him—my heart often raced when I was near him.
But.
I didn't want to be anyone's mistress. I refused to accept this shameful transaction of trading my body for money and protection. And I had an overwhelmingly strong feeling that Enzo was a man ten thousand times more dangerous than that idiot Silvio.
"I need time to think."
Enzo nodded, standing without hesitation, pushing the chair back to its original spot.
"Let me know when you've decided." He picked up his jacket from the couch, draped it over his arm, and headed for the door.
"But don't make me wait too long. I'm not a patient man."
Chapter Eight
Enzo&Chloe
Enzo
Trouble piled up like a goddamn mountain.
Julian's gimpy leg barely healed before he started stirring shit in the family, linking up with the Mexicans. I geared up for Mexico when Valentina's father called—wedding prep needed to be grand and fast. No more delays. His patience had limits.
Every damn thing demanded my full focus. But in the heat of it all, Chloe kept hijacking my brain space.
No woman ever turned me down. Not arrogance. Just a fact.
Since I was seventeen, planting my feet in Brooklyn with a gun and two words, nothing stayed out of reach. Women, money, power, loyalty—if I wanted it, it came.
But Chloe Bennett rejected me twice.
She was a tough nut, and fuck, addictive as hell.
No matter how slammed I got, every night at eight sharp, I showed up at that strip club I barely hit once a year.
