34. Chapter Thirty-Four

Enzo has this air about him. I've noticed it ever since I was a child. When I was small, I remember thinking he was scary. Not in the way he'd hurt me, but more intimidating. Larger than life, I guess. He was very different from my father, who was always kind, affectionate, and less direct. He never paid me much mind as a child. As I got older, and less annoying, Enzo started smiling at me. Talking to me. Being nice. That air stayed, but it was no longer intimidating. I recognized it as power. The same way in which I looked at police officers.

I still feel that way about him now—mostly. He is an intimidating man. He bleeds power, and I've thought this even before I knew what he was. Now that I do, it all makes sense. But though that's true, I can't remember ever fearing him.

As much as I hate him, I'm not afraid of him. I know he would never hurt me. Not physically, anyway. Keeping me here is a form of hurting me, but deep down, because whatever is going on deep down inside of me, in my vat of logic, I know what he's doing is business. It makes sense. He wouldn't take me if he didn't need to. Even though I have every right to be angry at him for what he's done and keeps doing to me, some of that anger is misplaced. Most of that anger should be aimed toward my father because he is the one who did this. Had my father not done what he did, Enzo wouldn't have done what he had to do to fix it.

I know Enzo was fixing my father's mistake—whatever that mistake is, because Enzo is still tight-lipped about it. I recall Enzo telling me if it weren't for him, both me and my father would be dead. Maybe I should be grateful for him doing what he did.

I could be dead right now.

Dead. Not breathing. Not existing.

But I'm not dead. I'm alive. I'm here and I can have a life.

I still don't have the full picture, though.

I wish I did.

It may be easier to accept my fate if I knew the truth. If someone would just tell me the damn truth. I won't get it from Enzo, and I can't get it from my father because I have no way of talking to him.

Anyway, back to that overwhelming air of power dripping from Vincenzo Bramante…

I feel it like the way a scent crawls into your nose and doesn't leave you for hours, then haunts you years later for no reason at all. His presence does the same, lingering and mixing with the air, taking it over and making you feel it.

I feel him.

So when that presence is so strong it catches in my throat, swirls in my chest and makes me pause, I know something is very, very wrong.

I go down for dinner like I normally do. My body is on a schedule now, which isn't the worst thing to happen. The table is set for two, so I assume Enzo will join me. And he does, just late. So late that I'm almost finished eating. I feel him walk through the door before I know he's here.

And I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

His expensive shoes slap on the tile as he walks through the kitchen and into the dining room. He takes his suit jacket off, resting it on the back of the chair across from me before sitting down.

His face is in a scowl. Definitely angry then.

"Is everything okay?" I ask softly.

I've seen him pissed, but not like this. Something happened.

"Business. Don't worry about it," he snaps.

"O-okay. Sorry."

"Don't apologize."

"So—" I clear my throat, stopping myself from doing what he just told me not to. "Okay."

I stab the last shrimp, shove it in my mouth, and reach for my wine.

"Is there something I can do?" I offer.

He looks up, holding my gaze. The fury there is obvious, but there's also something more.

"Is Rafael around?"

I hate that a surge of jealousy rolls in my gut. How can I be upset about him being with Rafael if I don't want to be with him? What he does is none of my business.

"I'm asking if I can do something," I say, my pride and unrelenting need to be stubborn getting in the way.

"You can tell me if Rafael has left already," he says.

I sigh. "He left this morning. A little while after you."

He nods and pours himself a glass of wine before he begins to eat.

I finish my wine, grab my dishes, and stand.

"Stay," he demands. I pause, and before I know what's happening, I'm sinking back into the chair.

Why? Why do I listen to him?

"Okay…" I mutter.

"I'm not angry with you." His words are softer, but not any less sharp.

"I didn't think you were, but I don't want to stick around and be your punching bag," I assert.

He jerks his head up, his eyes softening. "You're right. I apologize."

I eye him carefully, not sure if he's fucking with me.

"What do you need Rafael for? Is it something I can help you with?"

Why do I want him to say yes? Why do I want him to need me for something?

Because you need him to trust you.

Trust, Jordan. Trust.

Yeah, that's totally why I'm doing it.

He holds my gaze for a moment. "Doubtful."

"What does that mean?"

"It means Rafael lets me take my anger out on him in ways I'm certain you won't allow."

My lips form an O, and I nod.

Yet my pussy doesn't seem to agree. She's eager to know what exactly it is he does to Rafael and if she would enjoy it too.

Does he only keep Rafael around for rough sex? I could be into rough sex. I actually think I might be.

"Can't you go to the gym or something?"

He sighs, shaking his head. "It isn't the same."

My body felt pretty damn good after every time I was with Enzo, so I can understand a workout wouldn't be the same. I've worked out before, and I don't get nearly the same satisfaction from it as sex. Well, sex with Enzo and Rafael, definitely not with Zach.

It's quiet as he eats, and I sit here and twiddle my thumbs, wondering if there is something I am supposed to be doing. It's awkward as hell. But I don't want to push his buttons. He may snap. Again, not that I fear him, but I don't want to push him away.

Trust.

Trust.

"I have something for you," he says.

I perk up. "You do?"

He nods. "It's in my office. We can get it when I'm finished."

"Okay. Thank you," I say carefully.

"You don't know what it is."

"It's for the thought."

"What if it's a bullet to the head?" I furrow my brow, and he shakes his head. "Just go wait for me upstairs." He flicks his wrist toward the door, and I quickly grab my stuff and scurry out. He's in a foul mood, and all I can think about as I climb the stairs is what if it truly is a bullet to the head?

He wouldn't do that. I'm his payment. Why would he kill me?

Still, my logic doesn't stop my panic, and I grow more and more anxious as I wait outside the locked office door.

When his feet sound on the stairs, I don't know if I should be concerned or relieved.

If he was going to kill me, would he do it in his office?

Unlikely. It would make too much of a mess. There's carpet in here.

He'd likely do it outside, or maybe in one of the bathrooms. The spa, possibly. There isn't any carpet in there.

Unless he isn't going to use a bullet and strangles me instead. That won't be messy at all.

Breathe, Jordan. He isn't going to kill you.

At least, I don't think he is.

He crowds the door as he unlocks it and steps inside. He looks at me expectantly. My mouth drops open as I look at him, then down the hall.

"Are you going to kill me?" I whisper.

He huffs out a laugh, and smiles. Actually smiles.

"I am not going to kill you."

I nod, not fully believing him, but go into the room anyway. If he wants to kill me, there's no way I can stop him. I can try. I'll fight like hell, but Enzo is twice my size—easily. Killing me with his bare hands would be a warm-up for him.

Once I'm inside, he closes the door and moves to his desk. I look around the room, and note it looks exactly the same as I last remember it, the hint of mint still lingering. I kind of feel bad about that. Maybe a little. Maybe not. I'm not quite sure.

He opens the top drawer in his desk and pulls something out. He moves to stand in front of me and offers me a small, rectangle device. My brow furrows as I look up at him.

"There are restrictions on the phone. Only two numbers you can call or text. The web can be used, but it's limited. Social media apps cannot be downloaded, but games can. Once I know I can trust you, they'll come off."

"You're giving me a phone…" The words come out as sort of a question, but mostly because I can't believe him. This must be a trick.

"The two numbers you are allowed to call and text are me and your father."

No way. Is he joking? I stare up at him, trying to pick my jaw up off the floor.

"I can talk to my father?"

His face is hard, but he nods and moves the phone closer to me. I take it and click the side button to wake it.

"There's no password, and there's no point in putting one on. The phone is being monitored from the master account."

"You're giving me a phone," I repeat, this time more breathily. As the seconds tick by, this really sinks in.

"I'm giving you a phone," he says.

I can't begin to describe the emotions rolling through me. The weight lifted from my shoulders is insurmountable. This is only a small step, but I've hardly had to do anything for it. Here I was planning on using my body to make him trust me, and all I had to do was nothing. I didn't even sign the papers. And not only that, but maybe I'll get answers now. I can speak with my father and find out what happened.

"Why?" I ask, looking up at Enzo again.

The vulnerability that crosses his face has my heart skipping a beat. He's looking at me like he cares about me. But that can't be it. He must have ulterior motives.

"I don't want you to be a prisoner here, Jordan. I hope one day, we can look past this situation we were both put in." I don't miss the way he stresses the word both, and my thoughts from earlier come back. Maybe he was backed into a corner too. Everyone just wants to survive in life. It's natural instinct. He cups the side of my face, his fingers warm, but I resist the urge to lean into it. "I hope one day you can enjoy being here. Maybe even want to be here."

That would make everything easier, wouldn't it?