4. The Enforcer Arrives

CHAPTER 4

THE ENFORCER ARRIVES

Enzo's bare feet padded softly on the wooden stairs as he made his way down to the kitchen. The smell of coffee and bacon wafted up to meet him, making his stomach growl despite his apprehension. He paused at the bottom of the stairs, taking a deep breath to steel himself for whatever Matteo had in store.

The kitchen was bathed in early morning sunlight, giving it an almost peaceful air that belied the tension Enzo could feel thrumming through his body. Matteo stood at the stove, his broad back to Enzo, muscles shifting beneath his fitted t-shirt as he flipped pancakes with practiced ease.

"Sit," Matteo said without turning around, his voice gruff but not angry. "Coffee's on the table."

Enzo slid into a chair, wrapping his hands around the steaming mug. He watched Matteo move around the kitchen, trying to gauge the older man's mood. The air between them felt charged, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks.

Finally, Matteo set a plate in front of Enzo – pancakes, bacon, and eggs – before taking the seat opposite with his own breakfast. For a few minutes, they ate in silence, the only sound the clink of cutlery on plates.

"So," Enzo said, unable to bear the quiet any longer. "Are we going to talk about last night, or...?"

Matteo looked up, his steel-gray eyes unreadable. "Finish your breakfast first. Then we'll talk."

The rest of the meal passed in tense silence. Enzo's mind raced, imagining all the possible punishments Matteo might have in store. By the time he'd cleaned his plate, his nerves were stretched to the breaking point.

Matteo stood, gathering the dishes. "Living room," he said. "Five minutes."

Enzo nodded, retreating to the couch. He perched on the edge, leg bouncing nervously as he waited. When Matteo finally joined him, settling into an armchair with leonine grace, Enzo felt like he might vibrate out of his skin.

"Alright," Matteo said, his voice calm but firm. "Let's talk about what happened last night."

Enzo opened his mouth, a snarky retort on the tip of his tongue, but Matteo held up a hand.

"No. You're going to listen first. Then you can have your say."

Chastened, Enzo nodded.

"What you did last night was reckless, irresponsible, and dangerous," Matteo began. "You disabled a state-of-the-art security system, snuck out in the middle of the night, and put yourself at risk. All for what? A cup of coffee and a misguided sense of rebellion?"

Enzo felt his face heat with shame and anger. "It wasn't like that," he muttered.

"Then explain it to me," Matteo said, leaning forward. "Help me understand why you thought it was worth risking your life for a late-night snack run."

Enzo ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up. "You don't get it. This whole situation – being locked up, cut off from my friends, my life – it's suffocating. I needed to prove to myself that I could still... I don't know, make my own choices?"

Matteo's expression softened slightly. "I understand that this is difficult for you, Enzo. But my job is to keep you safe, even if that means protecting you from yourself sometimes."

"I don't need protecting," Enzo snapped, old defenses rising. "I can take care of myself."

Matteo raised an eyebrow. "Can you? Because from where I'm sitting, you've done a piss-poor job of it so far. The Bianchi incident, your reckless behavior at clubs, last night's little adventure – it all points to someone who doesn't have the first clue about self-preservation."

The words stung, hitting too close to home. Enzo stood abruptly, pacing the room. "You don't know anything about me," he spat. "You're just some hired muscle my father brought in to keep his fuck-up son in line."

In a flash, Matteo was on his feet, crowding into Enzo's space. "You're right," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't know you. But I know your type. Spoiled, entitled brats who think the world owes them something. Who've never had to face real consequences for their actions."

Enzo's breath caught, anger and something darker, hotter, coiling in his gut. "Oh yeah?" he challenged, tilting his chin up defiantly. "And what are you going to do about it, old man? Ground me?"

For a moment, Matteo just stared at him, his eyes dark with an emotion Enzo couldn't quite name. Then, without warning, he grabbed Enzo's wrist, spinning him around and pinning him face-first against the wall.

"What I should do," Matteo growled, his breath hot on Enzo's ear, "is put you over my knee and teach you what real discipline feels like."

Enzo's heart raced, his body responding traitorously to Matteo's proximity. "You wouldn't dare," he gasped, even as a part of him thrilled at the idea.

Matteo's chuckle was dark and full of promise. "Don't test me, brat. You have no idea what I'm capable of."

For a long moment, they stayed like that, frozen in a tableau of dominance and submission. Enzo could feel the heat of Matteo's body pressed against his back, the strength in the hand pinning his wrist. He should have been scared, should have been fighting to get away. Instead, all he felt was a dizzying mix of arousal and anticipation.

Finally, Matteo stepped back, releasing Enzo. When Enzo turned to face him, Matteo's expression was carefully neutral once more.

"Here's how this is going to work," Matteo said, his voice back to its usual controlled tone. "You're on lockdown for the next week. No phone, no internet, no leaving the house. You'll train with me every day – self-defense, physical conditioning, the works. And you'll start learning about your family's business."

Enzo blinked, thrown by the sudden shift. "What? Why?"

"Because knowledge is power," Matteo said simply. "And the more you understand about the world you're a part of, the better equipped you'll be to survive in it."

Enzo wanted to argue, wanted to rail against the unfairness of it all. But a small part of him, the part that had thrilled at Matteo's display of dominance, whispered that maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

"Fine," he said grudgingly. "But don't expect me to like it."

The corner of Matteo's mouth ticked up in what might have been a smile. "I don't. I expect you to learn from it."

As Matteo outlined the schedule for the coming days, Enzo found his mind wandering. He couldn't shake the memory of Matteo's body pressed against his, of that low, dangerous voice in his ear. It was confusing and exhilarating all at once.

"Are you listening?" Matteo's sharp voice cut through Enzo's thoughts.

"Yeah, yeah," Enzo mumbled, flushing. "Training, studying, being a good little prisoner. Got it."

Matteo's eyes narrowed. "This attitude of yours isn't going to fly, Enzo. The sooner you accept that this is for your own good, the easier things will be."

Enzo rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, warden."

For a moment, Enzo thought Matteo might actually follow through on his earlier threat. The older man's hands clenched at his sides, a muscle ticking in his jaw. But then he took a deep breath, visibly reining himself in.

"Go get changed," Matteo said, his voice tight with controlled frustration. "We start training in ten minutes."

As Enzo trudged upstairs to change into workout clothes, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. A part of him – a larger part than he cared to admit – had been hoping Matteo would snap, would follow through on the promise of punishment.

He changed quickly, opting for a tight tank top and shorts that showed off his lean, toned body. If he was going to be stuck here, he might as well have some fun pushing Matteo's buttons.

When Enzo returned downstairs, he found Matteo in the backyard, setting up what looked like a makeshift training area. The older man had changed too, wearing a fitted black t-shirt that clung to his muscular frame and track pants that did little to hide his powerful legs.

Enzo swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. It was one thing to admire Matteo in a suit, but seeing him dressed like this was a whole new level of temptation.

"Ready?" Matteo asked, turning to face Enzo. His eyes widened slightly as they raked over Enzo's form, a flicker of something hot and hungry passing through them before he schooled his features.

"Born ready," Enzo quipped, stretching his arms above his head in a way that made his shirt ride up, exposing a strip of toned stomach. He didn't miss the way Matteo's gaze lingered on the exposed skin.

"We'll see about that," Matteo muttered. "Alright, let's start with the basics. Show me your fighting stance."

Enzo adopted what he thought was a decent approximation of a boxer's stance, fists raised. Matteo shook his head, moving closer.

"No, like this," he said, his hands coming to rest on Enzo's hips. The touch, even through the fabric of Enzo's shorts, sent sparks skittering across his skin. "Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent."

Matteo's hands slid up to Enzo's shoulders, adjusting his posture. "Keep your elbows in, protect your core," he murmured, his breath hot on Enzo's ear.

Enzo suppressed a shiver, hyperaware of every point of contact between them. He could feel the heat radiating off Matteo's body, could smell the clean, masculine scent of his soap.

"Like this?" Enzo asked, his voice huskier than he intended.

Matteo stepped back, his eyes dark as they met Enzo's. "Better," he said gruffly. "Now, let's see what you can do. Try to hit me."

Enzo blinked, thrown by the sudden command. "What, just like that?"

Matteo nodded, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. "Unless you're scared."

The taunt worked exactly as intended. Enzo's competitive nature flared to life, overriding his common sense. He lunged forward, throwing a punch aimed at Matteo's jaw.

In a move too fast for Enzo to follow, Matteo sidestepped the attack, grabbing Enzo's wrist and using his momentum to flip him onto his back. Enzo hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind out of him.

Matteo loomed over him, one eyebrow raised. "Rule number one: never let anger cloud your judgment. It makes you predictable."

Enzo glared up at him, frustration and grudging admiration warring in his chest. "Show-off," he muttered.

Matteo's lips twitched in what might have been a smile. He held out a hand, helping Enzo to his feet. "Again," he said. "And this time, think before you act."

The next hour passed in a blur of instruction and sparring. Enzo was in good shape – years of partying and occasional gym sessions had kept him fit – but this was a whole different level of intensity. By the time Matteo called for a break, Enzo was drenched in sweat, his muscles aching in ways he'd never experienced.

"Not bad," Matteo said, tossing Enzo a water bottle. "You've got good instincts. Just need to learn how to use them properly."

Enzo gulped down the water, trying not to preen under the praise. "Thanks," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "So, what's next? More punching? Maybe you'll teach me some super-secret ninja moves?"

Matteo snorted, shaking his head. "No ninja moves. But we are going to work on your stamina."

Enzo's mind immediately went to the gutter, images of sweaty, tangled limbs and breathless moans flashing through his head. He felt his face heat, hoping Matteo would attribute the flush to exertion.

"Stamina, huh?" he said, aiming for nonchalance. "And how exactly are we going to work on that?"

Matteo's eyes gleamed with something that might have been amusement. "Running," he said. "Five miles, to start with. Think you can handle it?"

Enzo groaned internally. Running was decidedly not what he'd had in mind. But he'd be damned if he let Matteo think he couldn't keep up.

"Please," he scoffed. "I could do five miles in my sleep."

Matteo's grin was downright predatory. "Prove it."

As they set off at a steady jog, Enzo couldn't help but feel like he'd just walked into a trap of his own making. But as he watched Matteo run ahead of him, admiring the way the older man's muscles moved beneath his sweat-dampened shirt, he found he didn't much mind.

This might be a punishment, but it came with one hell of a view.

By the time they finished their run, Enzo was ready to collapse. His lungs burned, his legs felt like jelly, and he was pretty sure he'd sweated out every ounce of liquid in his body. Matteo, the bastard, looked barely winded.

"Hit the showers," Matteo said, his voice annoyingly steady. "Then we'll grab some lunch and start on your studies."

Enzo nodded, too exhausted to form words. He dragged himself upstairs, stripping off his sweat-soaked clothes and stepping under the blessedly cool spray of the shower.

As the water sluiced over his aching muscles, Enzo found his mind wandering to Matteo. To strong hands and steel-gray eyes, to the way the older man had manhandled him so easily during their sparring session. He groaned, feeling his cock start to harden despite his exhaustion.

This was going to be a long, frustrating week. But as Enzo wrapped a hand around himself, giving in to the fantasy of Matteo pinning him down, of rough hands and bruising kisses, he couldn't bring himself to regret it.

Whatever game they were playing, whatever this thing was between them, Enzo was all in. And he had a feeling that when it finally came to a head, the explosion would be spectacular.

With that thought, Enzo came with a muffled groan, Matteo's name on his lips. As he rinsed off, he couldn't help but wonder if Matteo was thinking of him too, if the older man was as affected by their proximity as Enzo was.

Only time would tell. And Enzo, for all his impatience, found himself looking forward to the slow burn, to the gradual build of tension between them.

Game on, indeed.