56. Chapter Fifty-Six

Enzo comes into the room with a wave of tension following him.

He looks worse than I've ever seen him before. I sit up from the bed, watching as he loosens his tie, undoes the top button of his shirt, and goes straight to the bathroom without saying a word. The door closes behind him softly and a moment later, the shower turns on.

I slip out of bed and move to the door. I consider knocking but reach for the handle, releasing a breath when it turns. I don't know if I should be doing this, but he said he needed me here waiting for him. I'm going to take that as he needs me.

The room is already filling with steam, and it's warm and humid. I quickly take my clothes off, and move into the bigger part of the room toward the shower. Enzo is standing under the spray, face in the water, hands on the wall in front of him.

He looks devastated.

What did he do?

I step into the shower. Without thinking about it, I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my cheek on his back.

I'm frustrated with how the night has gone. With him and Bernice and even Antonio. Especially with Enzo.

But he already warned me he would need me tonight. Well before I panicked and got mad at him. He told me he was doing something bad and needed me to be here for him when he got back, so that's what I'm going to do because it's going to take both of us to make this relationship work. And what else do I have left in life, other than him and my marriage?

Enzo doesn't say anything and neither do I. We stand there for a long time, under the water, until I pull away to wash him. I tug him out of the spray of water to wash his hair, which isn't as easy as I thought it would be, considering he's so tall. He stares blankly ahead as I do it.

When I'm done, I grab the bar of soap, lather it onto my palms, and wash him. I take my time. I'm careful and precise. The same way I am when I massage him. And when I reach for the faucet to shut the water off, he stops me by grabbing my wrist. I look up at him, and nothing about his expression has changed. He takes my other wrist and pulls them both up and around his neck, then he's sliding his arms around me and pulling me tightly against him, nuzzling his face in my neck.

I've never felt safer in my entire life.

The clock says it's 3:04 a.m. I roll over and find the large bed empty. The first night in Enzo's bed and he leaves me alone. I sit up, rubbing my eyes, and find him sitting in a chair by the window, staring out into the night sky. The thick drapes are pulled back, allowing the moonlight to shine in on his handsome face. He's in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else—so I guess he does own pants other than slacks. His head is rested on his closed fist, and he's not moving outside of breathing.

I throw the blankets off me and go to him. He looks up at me and smiles a soft, tired smile. His arm is warm when he wraps it around my waist and tugs me onto his lap. And when he buries his face in my neck and inhales, I can't help but preen. Does my smell do to him what his does to me?

"You're so beautiful, angel."

"What's wrong?" I ask softly, running my hand through his hair.

With his face still against my neck, he shakes it back and forth. I pull away and shift so I can see him better.

"Talk to me," I tell him, running my hand down his face. "You're the one who said we needed trust."

"This isn't about trust, Jordan." He sighs.

"Then what?"

He blinks a few times, and that's when I notice how bloodshot they are. Did he sleep at all? Has he been crying? Is it possible for him to do that?

"Shame," he answers after a long moment.

"I don't understand. Please tell me. Let me help you through this."

Those words tumble from my lips, and it's another solidification that I want this man. I want to be here for him. I want to be his wife. I want his trust, his affection, his love.

"I did something terrible tonight. Something unforgivable."

My stomach sinks, and one thing pops into my head. Something terrible. Something unforgivable. Something that, despite my feelings, would break my heart.

"Did you hurt my father?" I whisper, holding my breath as I wait for the answer.

"No," he says simply.

My body sags. Thank god for that. I may be angry with my father, feel completely betrayed, but I don't want him dead.

"But I killed someone's father," he adds robotically.

I'm aware Enzo kills people. Or at least has. I mean, isn't that the thing we all know about the mafia? But hearing him say it? It's strange. Makes me a little unsettled. Still, I try to be supportive. Because that's what a good wife would do.

"I'm sure whatever you did, there had to have been a reason. You're calculated, Enzo. You don't do things for nothing."

Enzo isn't a sociopath. I'm not sure there's a valid reason to kill someone, but what do I know? I didn't grow up in this world. I don't know the first thing about it. And surprisingly enough, knowing Enzo has probably killed many other people doesn't bother me as much as it should. My biggest concern with him being involved in this life is my safety. Along with my future child's…

Enzo leaves me out of his mafia business and I'm grateful for it. Because it scares the living hell out of me. If I sat down to think about it, I'd drive myself crazy. It's best I live in ignorant bliss when it comes to this part of him.

I've always lived in the safety of my father's home, behind his rules and demands. I chose responsibility over fun. I don't do risky things. I don't do daring things. Going to that club was the craziest thing I've ever done in my entire life, and look where it got me…

My head is too messy to say whether I'm grateful for it or not. When I was at dinner with Enzo, full of wine, I told him I'd have gone with him had he asked. And that's probably true had he done it that Saturday night. But had I time to think about it rationally? I don't know. The night at the club opened my eyes to a lot of things, but most of all, it made me realize I haven't been enjoying my life the way I could be. And now, I don't have that choice either.

But I tell Enzo what I tell him because it's what he needs to hear. We will never see eye to eye on this, and it's better we leave it out of our marriage than fight about it.

That's what I'm choosing to do because it's easier.

"There was a reason," he adds quietly. "There's always a reason. But this? It was different.

I run my hand through his soft hair. "How so?"

"He was a father," he repeats.

"A lot of men are fathers, Enzo."

He shakes his head, looking up at me with haunted eyes.

"No, angel. He was my father."