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Beside me, Enzo goes utterly still as they both slither up the steps.

“Beautiful bride,” Rocco leers. “Didn’t know Enzo liked ’em feisty.”

Enzo’s hand slides to my waist and stays there, assuring me of his backup.

My eyes narrow. “Didn’t know you enjoyed humiliation, but here we are.”

Vito snorts and sidles closer. “Careful, sweetheart. That mouth’s gonna get you…”

Enzo’s other hand drifts to my face. His thumb traces my jawline and tilts my chin toward him. His dark, heated gaze locks on mine.

The room quiets.

“My wife,” he says softly, never breaking eye contact, “can say whatever she wants.” His thumb brushes my lower lip and lingers. “Can’t you, cara?”

My face warms from his touch, which does things to my insides that don’t have anything to do with scolding bullies.

He just said he wasn’t interested, but his caress suggests otherwise.

Vito and Rocco exchange glances before backing off a step.

Enzo’s hand stays on my face, and his gaze falls to my mouth.

I give the two men a stern look. “Yes.”

Vito pales.

I lean forward, my voice akin to sugar-laced knives. “You lay a finger on Gio again, and I’ll convince Enzo to cut them all off. One knuckle at a time. Wives can be very persuasive, you know.”

Their smiles freeze, and Rocco stutters some excuse about a misunderstanding.

I pat Vito’s arm. “Good talk.”

After they slink away, I catch Enzo staring intently at me in my periphery, a glint of either amusement or pride in his expression.

He bends closer. “Maybe you fit here better than I thought.”

I don’t know how to react to his declaration because if he meant it as an insult, he failed. Instead, it lands like a crown.

He rises. “We’re done here. I’d like to take my wife home.”

At his declaration, the room falls into a shocked moment of quiet before a mix of murmurs, catcalls, and whistles rise.

My mind’s stuck on the words, my wife. The possessiveness in his voice coils low in my stomach. This feels all wrong and exactly right at the same time.

He grasps my hand, and I plaster on a big grin while everyone watches. I keep my feet steady as we stride through the crowd, even though every nerve in me screams as we exit the hall under a chorus of toasts and curious glances.

The sky outside is black silk, the stars flickering like warning lights. When Enzo opens the door of the car waiting outside, I climb inside without a word.

The drive across the property, past the main villa where I was kept and through iron gates to a smaller estate tucked into the hillside, is short.

We arrive at a mini villa built of marble and stone. Ivy plants wrap the building by the sides and climb the walls.

Inside, I find polished hardwood floors and white walls. The modern furniture looks untouched. The kitchen features marble countertops, and the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room overlook gardens.

He leads me around the place like an impatient realtor, and after showing me the kitchen, he spins around too quickly. Our shoulders brush in the narrow hallway.

We both pull away, and I manage a little lighthearted chuckle. “Never knew you liked your luxury.”