Page 30 of Tailored for You

Enzo shook his head. “Let them show her around. Take a moment to eat.”

I stared at the group, Harper following the two guys down the hall without so much as a backward glance at me, rattling on about every Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle fact she could think of.

Suddenly, I was very aware of how quiet the kitchen was and that I was alone with Enzo.

He leaned against the countertop, arms crossed over his chest, making his shirt ride up, giving me a better view of his tattoo and how built he was.

I was never good with silence unless I was creating something, so I said the only thing that came to mind.

“She loves superheroes but only if they’re from New York. Superman, TMNT, Captain America, Batman. It’s been an ongoing obsession for the last few months. I thought she’d move on to some more age-appropriate cartoons, but whenever I tried to suggest another cartoon, like this popular pig one, she asks when they’re going to take out the bad guys. There are not a lot of girl superheroes, let alone ones that are from New York.” I spewed out the words, unsure why that was what came out of my mouth rather than the ten other, significantly more important topics like what happened last night.

“Well, there is Spider-Gwen,” Enzo said.

I stopped, staring at him with raised brows. Enzo blinked, like he was surprised he said it out loud, and then laughed. Had I ever heard him laugh? It was a deep rumble that shook his upper body, and I wanted to hear it again.

“Are you ready to talk about last night?” he asked. He came to the island opposite me and leaned down on his forearms.

He held my gaze, and I realized I hadn’t responded. I’d just been staring at him.

“Yes.” I pushed my plate away and folded my hands.

“Two masked men were in your studio. It was trashed, and I don’t know how long they were in there before I got there.” He paused, a muscle ticking in his jaw. I braced myself because I got a feeling that I wasn’t going to like what he said next.

It was hard to hear and even harder to think about. Pain, heartbreak at everything I had worked so hard for, being torn apart, threatened to pull me under. The violation of my safe space. The place that I’d made entirely mine and Harper’s.

My world blurred to those minutes when I felt true, paralyzing fear all over again.

My body went cold as I tried to hold myself together.

A warm hand slid under my hair and behind my neck, pulling me into a warm, hard body. “It will be okay,” Enzo said, his thumb rubbing my throat. I soaked in his strength as I took time to come to terms with the fact that I might never be able to set foot in my apartment or studio again.

“Do you want the rest?” he asked. I pulled away to look up at him, without fully leaving his embrace.

He was strong, and I desperately needed that strength to hear what else there was to know.

I took a deep breath and nodded at him to proceed.

“They came there with a purpose. It wasn’t to rob you—or if it was, it was an afterthought. I have reason to believe they came to hurt you and Harper.” He said it softly, but it hit like a punch to the gut.

Someone wanted to hurt me and my daughter? As if it wasn’t violating enough to have someone tear apart my studio—the place I’d built not only to put food on the table but to let go and create.

Would I be able to live there and feel safe again? Or work there?

No, we’d have to move. I’d have to find somewhere else, because I knew I’d never be able to go back there and not relive the terror of that night.

“Hey, come back to me.” Enzo’s voice was closer. I blinked, realizing I’d been spiraling, hearing and seeing nothing, my heart racing. “That’s it. Come back to me, ragazza carina.”

A thumb swept over my cheek, and my face was angled up. Concern laced Enzo’s face. For a moment, I held entirely still; my heart slowed as I let the warmth of his proximity and the soothing strokes of his thumb lull me to calm.

“It’s a lot, I know,” he said.

“We can’t go back there,” I whispered. Tears burned the back of my eyes, but I held it together. Now wasn’t the time to cry; that was for later, when I showered. Right then, I needed a plan.

“No. You’ll stay here.” There was a finality to his tone that rubbed me the wrong way.

“Or we can get a hotel room.” I snapped back.

“No.”