Page 86 of King of War

I bite on my lip, overwhelmed by a rush of love for him, not helped by the lingering effects of the mind-melting orgasm, I’m sure. I swallow it all down. Not knowing how to respond, I remain quiet. I think he knows it too. How much I struggle with this part of us. The part of us that was once as natural as breathing. But I’m not sure I can let him have that part of me again, even if I want him to. Even though I love him, I’ve learned to love myself too. And the broken girl inside me would never forgive me for opening ourselves up to that kind of pain again. We wouldn’t survive it a second time.

Gently, he unhooks my thighs from over the chair and sits me upright. “I was thinking, I know you probably want to get back to San Francisco, but you’ll be safer here. If only for a few days until we’re sure everything is settled and we’ve dealt with the fallout from Carmine’s death.”

I’m not sure that me staying here is all that much safer—at least not for my heart. And I’m even more certain that’s not the only reason he’s asking me to stay. I should absolutely say no and get back to my real life as soon as possible. Snap myself out of whatever messed-up fantasy it is we’re living in right now.

But… I have no jobs lined up next week. And what if he’s right? What could a few more days hurt?

“Okay. I’ll stick around for a few more days. Until you’re sure it’s safe.”

A smile lights up his face now, and I find myself mirroring it.

Oh, Rayne! What the hell are you doing, girl?

Chapter

Forty-Two

ENZO

It’s been a week since we dealt with Carmine, and the fallout hasn’t been as difficult to navigate as I anticipated. I seem to have slipped into his role with no questions asked, and even the Bianchis have offered their support. Nero and Marco are still licking their wounds, but they’ll get over it eventually. And if they don’t, I’ll deal with them. I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t do this to be the next don, but it’s been an effortless transition. I was practically running the business side of things anyway, so nothing on that front has really changed. My life is also made much easier, and infinitely more pleasant, by the fact that Rayne is still here, but I’m waiting for that particular shoe to drop. And I get the sense it’s about to.

“Now that everything is taken care of and settled…” She picks at her fingernail, like she’s nervous. “It’s probably time for me to leave and get back to my life, you know?”

I’ve been anticipating this, so why does it feel like a sucker punch? These past few weeks have been incredible, and the past few nights where she’s spent every single one in my bed—fucking spectacular. I was stupid enough to think that maybe it might be enough for her to stay. I don’t even know what to say, worried that if I speak I might beg her not to leave.

“When are you going?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Tomorrow morning. I’m going to rent a car and⁠—”

“Don’t rent a car. I’ll drive you.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea. Better to make a clean break, don’t you think?”

Nothing about it will be clean—it will be messy and painful and it’s already tearing out my fucking heart. “Then Angelo can drive you.”

“I’m perfectly capable of driving myself, Enzo. Besides, I like a good road trip. I’ll put on a little Tay-Tay, or maybe even an audiobook.”

God, I fucking hate this. “You don’t have to leave.”

She walks toward me, stopping when we’re just a few inches apart. “Yes, I do. We can never be what we were.” Her voice is so soft and certain. It breaks me wide open.

I drop my head, staring at the floor because I can’t look her in the eye. I need her to stay, but I have no fucking right to ask. More than that, I need her to want to stay. Familiar feelings of abandonment and betrayal start bubbling up inside me, and I force them back down. She’s doing nothing wrong. She’s never done anything but love me, and I fucked it all up.

I take a breath and force myself to look at her again. “If that’s what you want.”

Her eyes are wet with unshed tears. “It is.”

Fuck! How do I let her go? I’m not a man of compassion or mercy, and I don’t know how to be the benevolent hero who lets his girl walk away because he knows she’d be better off without him. But I do know a man who is.

An hour later, I’m at St. Benedict’s church. The familiar smell of wood, old paper, and incense reminding me of all the Sundays we spent in here, forced by Mama to attend Mass.

The confessional booth is vacant, and I slip inside, hoping it’s my brother on duty today and not Father Mike. Not sure he can help me with this particular problem.

A moment later, the screen slides back and my brother’s voice fills the booth—and me with relief. “Enzo, are you here for confession?”

“Yes. No. Maybe.”

“Okay.”