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I stop. Look at him. Old friend. Old loyalty. Thirty years of quiet competence and whispered advice. A man who has held my life in his hands more times than I can count. A man who is now speaking about my son like he’s an asset.
Enzo lifts his brows in a question. “Everything all right?”
“Who were you talking to?”
My tone is light. Too light.
Enzo doesn’t flinch. “Business,” he says smoothly. “Just business,caro. Nothing you need to worry about.”
He steps closer, friendly, familiar. The way he always does when he wants to soothe without answering. But my body doesn’t relax. It hasn’t relaxed around him in days. Not since the gala. Not since Lucia’s face.
Not since my son’s hand touched his ear.
