by Jane Henry
“Did you touch yourself last night?”
That's Enzo’s first question over coffee. I don’t get even a minute of normal conversation before he plunges me into this dynamic which is so fucking wrong, but feels completely right.
I blush furiously, but try to stay composed. "What if I did?"
I use my sassy voice to hide the sudden rush of guilt I feel because I absolutely did touch myself. As soon as I heard Enzo start to lightly snore, I rubbed my clit until I came and I fell asleep satisfied, if naughty.
He quirks a brow at me, that low voice of his doing wonderful things to my body. “If you did, then I'm going to spank you.”
“I guess you'd better spank me, sir," I smirk. I want him to spank me. I want to feel those big hands all over me, controlling me, making me feel all those sinful sensations I’m not supposed to know about. I'm supposed to be a good little virgin. I am a virgin, but I am in no way good.
“Brat," he says with a growl. “I’ll deal with you tonight. But we have to go. We both have classes.”
I look at his hand. His knuckles are still swollen from beating the hell out of Davo. I wonder what the other students would think if they saw their professor as he really is. I bet they’d be terrified of him. I feel a rush of something like power because I’m not afraid. I don't have to be. Enzo would never hurt me. He'd die to protect me, and that makes me feel very, very safe.
He glances down at his hand and flexes it. “It’s fine."
"I wonder if Davo's face is fine.”
Enzo shrugs.
He really doesn't care. I'm reminded again that there are the people he cares about, and then there is everybody else in the world. Enzo is the kind of man who could have ravaged nations back in the old days, before city states and laws and the pretense of criminal justice made him take this form, a professor, off to tutor his students in right and wrong.
"What are you smirking at?”
“How out of place you are in the modern world,” I answer honestly. "You're a warlord in a sweater.”
Enzo laughs, pleased at the comparison.
“Flattery won't save your ass, little girl. Tonight, you and I are going to have a long, hard discussion about doing as I say.”
I feel a thrill of excitement, a tingling in my clit as anticipation establishes itself low in my belly. Tonight is too far away. I want him to deal with me now. Long and hard, hard and slow, hard and fast, I don't care. I want to see him as I saw him last night, completely naked. He looks good nude.
“It’s time for school, Mia,” he reminds me in that deep voice. He extends his hand to me and I take it, feeling a simple but deep security as I do. Enzo is going to look after me. I am in his care, and I am his little girl. When we walk out into the world, I feel his protection wrapped around me even after we've gone our own separate ways.
I don't see Enzo again until lunch time. We’re having lunch together off campus in an Italian restaurant he thinks is decent. I think it's okay, but I’d be happy with fast food if it meant eating with him.
It's nice to sit and talk and steal the occasional sip of his wine. They carded me when I came in, but nobody here has the balls to tell Enzo that his lunch date can’t drink if she wants to. That’s his job, and at first he doesn't really seem to mind. I get the feeling that as long as I'm sweet about it, I can probably get away with a lot where he is concerned. Italian daddies like to spoil their little girls.
“You really shouldn’t be doing that,” Enzo smirks at me as I suck my lower lip in and draw his glass toward me.
“I’m used to much harder stuff than this," I remind him.
That is not the thing to say. Enzo reaches out and takes the glass from my hand before I can get my lips near the rim and all I’m left with is the faint scent of red wine.
“Not fair,” I pout.
“Life isn’t fair.”
“Hey, chumps,” Emilio throws himself down like he owns the place. I didn't even see him walk into the restaurant, but I'm guessing he didn't just materialize out of thin air. When Enzo is around, he is all I have eyes for.
“We're having lunch, Emilio,” Enzo says.
“Yeah. Me too. I’ll have the gabagool,” Emilio says to the waiter who appears next to us, summoned by the arrival of a third unexpected member. I take advantage of the situation by swiping Enzo’s glass while he is glowering at Emilio.
“Brat,” Enzo sighs, curling his finger toward me in an indication to give it back. I slide it over to him, but it is a sip or two lighter when I do.
“So I checked this Davo kid out,” Emilio says, grabbing for the breadsticks like he's starving. “I think he's alright. Talked to him about the drugs. Turns out his mother’s sick, so he’s selling to pay for her meds.”
I look at Enzo without saying a word. Enzo looks back at me. We both know what I'm thinking. I don't have to say anything, but I choose to anyway.
“You beat the shit out of a teenager who was trying to look after his sick mother,” I say.
“I’d do a lot worse to make sure you are safe,” Enzo says without any outward sign of guilt.
"Yeah, so anyways. That’s something going for us, you know? This town's getting real crowded. Lotsa factions. Lotsa bullshit. There’s the Mexicans, they’re coming further north all the time, and not because they want to open taco shops, if you know what I’m saying.”
We all know what he’s saying.
“Those guys, they like to get a little rough. They musta heard Mia was in town, she's a potential kidnapping target. Rich father, lots of leverage business-wise. I reckon it might be time to head home."
I stare Emilio down. “I’m not giving up on school because some asshole decides I’m useful to him. Just take care of him.”
“Take care of him!” Emilio laughs. "She talks just like her father. Bet she’s better in bed."
Enzo smacks the bread right out of Emilio's mouth. A chunk goes flying across the restaurant and lands in some woman's soup. She makes a gasping sound of affront.
“Shit, chill out.”
"You know better than to speak that way about, or in front of Mia,” Enzo says.
“Fucking asshole,” Emilio curses. He has a red mark on his cheek where Enzo cracked him one and I’m guessing a heavily bruised pride. “Why, I oughta…”
I finish off Enzo's wine before we’re all asked to leave about twenty seconds later.
After a sharp exchange of words, most of which come from Enzo, Emilio takes off in the other direction, and Enzo and I walk back to campus.
“You guys have an interesting working relationship,” I observe.
“He's like a little brother,” Enzo says. “I’m sorry, Mia. That was inappropriate. We shouldn’t be drawing attention to ourselves that way."
"The college probably wouldn’t like to hear about one of its professors beating people at lunch time.”
“Probably not,” Enzo agrees.
We've wandered back to his office. Finally. Some privacy. I know we can't have sex on campus, but maybe we can have sex on campus. Enzo draws me in and shuts the door behind me.
"You're sure you’re not too drunk to go to class?”
"I'm not drunk at all," I say. It's true, because I'm only tipsy. I want him. I want to touch him. I want him to redirect all that dark, dominant energy onto me.
“Professor. Mia. You're both here!”
Enzo and I both let out a groan as the door flies open behind us and Davo barges in, talking a mile a minute.
“I gotta meeting with Alejandro,” he says. “I was thinking I could get some information out of him. Find out why he’s looking for Mia. You know, get some intel."
The word intel coming out of Davo’s mouth makes me giggle. It does not make Enzo crack so much as a smile.
"We know why he’s looking for Mia. I think you should get out of town, boy," he says. “This is dangerous. There's no room for error and you're not worth shit to a cartel, or to us. This isn’t a game. You could be killed. Or wor
se. Go get in whatever piece of shit car you have, and get the fuck out of here.”
“I’m going to help you guys," Davo says, the smile dropping off his face too. “I want to be part of something.”
“Then join the circus,” Enzo says.
"Dude, you were just saying you could use me."
“Yeah, and then I thought better of it. You're a kid. How old are you? Twenty? Twenty one?"
“Nineteen and a half.”
"Yeah. You don't belong mixed up in this.”
Davo frowns, almost a pout. “Wasn't too young for you to beat my face."
“What this Alejandro will do to you will make that look like a massage,” Enzo says.
Davo looks at me. I shrug. I don't know why Enzo is suddenly so concerned about him. I don't know what to make of any of this. I wasn't usually in the room when these sorts of things were discussed. I’ve seen more mafia business unfold before my eyes in the last few days than I have in a lifetime, but I'm not going to say that out loud. I like knowing what is going on.
“I already sorted it with Emilio, so I'm gonna go over there tonight. I’m going to come and check in with you after. See ya guys.”
And with that, the mood is killed for the whole rest of the day. Even when school is over and we’re back at Enzo's apartment, there's no reprieve because Emilio is over, waiting to hear what Davo has to say.
"Stupid fucking idea,” Enzo growls. “Nobody is going to tell their junkie dealer their master plan. We have no beef with the cartels. We shouldn't be starting this. We should keep Mia out of their way and live our lives. All we have right now is rumors. Besides, It’s pretty fuckin’ hard to get any further from Mexico than Boston,” Enzo says.
"It's not 1840 anymore. They have cars. They're not limited to California.”
The conversation tails off. There’s no point in speculating. Until we hear from Davo, we’re all in the dark. We start to talk about ordering some pizza. Nobody feels like cooking and we’re obviously not going out. There’s tension in the air which I’m not used to, but I'm still hungry. I just want everyone to leave. I want to be alone with Enzo. I've been teasing him all day, defying him in big ways and small. He knows I was touching myself after he put me to bed last night, and he watched with that dark stare which promises delicious punishment every time I stole his wine at the restaurant. We have unfinished business, me and Enzo.
As the night wears on, Enzo prowls the room, running his hand through his hair, checking his phone, periodically glancing at me to see if I’m still here. At first, I figured it wouldn’t be a long wait, but the minutes pass into hours and Emilio starts to get on both our nerves.
“What is the Eiffel Towah!" he shouts, watching Jeopardy on Enzo’s television, drinking Enzo's beer, eating Enzo's nuts. I watch him with interest. He likes to portray a relaxed exterior, but he must be lonely here. Mafia life keeps the people in it segregated from the rest of the world. We have family, but that's all we have. And right now, family’s farting on the couch, scratching his ass, and asking if there are any more pistachios.
“Quit fuckin’ eating,” Enzo growls.
“I’m ordering some pizza,” Emilio declares.
I'm just bored and annoyed. This business with the Mexicans doesn't seem that serious. I’m almost starting to wonder if Davo just made the whole thing up to get Enzo to stop hitting him. Wouldn’t surprise me. Then I think about what Emilio said about Davo selling drugs to support his mother. That’s very sad. It’s also how it is for a lot of people in America. They don't have the same kind of support our family does.
“That little shit probably double crossed us," Enzo says. “We should go. If he's told those assholes where our apartments are, then it is only a matter of time before they get here and I don't want Mia in the middle of a firefight.”
“He’s not late yet," Emilio says. “Give him time. You know this shit doesn’t work on a schedule, professor. They're getting high. Having a good time. That’s when the information flows.”
A light tap at the door gets my attention while Emilio and Enzo argue in the kitchen. Pizza already? That was quick. I love that about Boston. You can order anything anytime and get it practically right away.
When I open the door, nobody is there, but there is a bag. The kind you get at Costco, that folds out to hold drinks and stuff. It’s way too light to hold our food. Weird.
I pick it up and bring it in. Enzo and Emilio are still arguing, slipping into rapid-fire Italian every few sentences, then back into English when they want to call each other assholes, which they’re doing almost every other word.
I open the zipper and flip the lid open. There are pictures… lots of them… pictures of Davo, tied up and beaten, bloodied and assaulted.
I don’t scream. I can't scream. I’m frozen, staring. It is too much to process. It doesn't feel real, but I know it is. I need someone to save me from this horror, but I can't make a noise. I can't reach out for help.
"What have you got there, Mia?” Enzo strides over, sees what I see and curses under his breath, pushing me gently away, shielding me with his body from the sight I’ll never be able to unsee.
“What the fuck is that? Holy fuck that’s gross," Emilio curses. “What kind of sick fuck does that? Oh! There’s a card.” He plucks the bloodied cardboard from the bag and lifts it up.
“We're sending you a message,” he reads out loud. "I mean, yeah, these fuckin’ assholes think we're stupid? We send a message, we don’t gotta tell you we're sending you a message. You fuckin’ know you got the message…”
“Mia. Mia…”
Enzo is talking to me, but it sounds as though his voice is coming from very far away.
When I speak, it’s in a voice which is so small and helpless I barely recognize myself. I look into his face and I whisper four words I never thought I’d ever say.
“I wanna go home."
Chapter 14
Enzo
You could say I didn’t expect the evening to go quite this way, but if there’s anything you learn in mob life, it’s that things never do.
“Find him,” I tell Emilio. My first responsibility is to Mia, and it’s about fucking time he did some grunt work to get back in my good graces anyway.
“Fucking great,” he mutters. “Would’ve done the damn dishes, Enzo. But instead, you got me—”
He takes one look at what I hope is my murderous glare, holds his hands up in surrender, and backs away toward the door.
I take a step toward him, ready to throw him down the stairs, but he’s gone. He’ll inform Piero, and when Piero calls me tonight, I better have the answer he’s expecting.
Yes, your girl is safe. No, no one hurt her.
No, no one fucking will.
Though Mia’s been raised in the family and she’s no stranger to the way we operate and who we are, Piero’s sheltered her from more than bills and responsibility. She stares at me unblinking, still frozen in place, and she’s white as snow.
I approach her carefully, my hands palm up so she knows without me saying that I’m not going to hurt her. I wouldn’t, and if she were in her right mind, she’d know that, but she isn’t right now. Right now, she’s operating on instinct and survival, and time will tell how she reacts.
“Baby,” I say, in my softest voice. It’s taking all my self-control not to run to her, pick her up in my arms, and cart her away from here. Where she’s safe, away from any danger that could come her way. Goddamn it, when I get ahold of whoever’s behind this, they will pay for this. I didn’t want this for her. I don’t, still.
Her lower lip trembles when I get a little closer. “Come with me, baby. That’s a girl,” I say, reaching for her hand and taking it in mine. It’s cold and clammy, and when I touch her, a tremor ripples through her. She shivers.
“You’re safe, Mia.” I tell her this because she needs to know this but I do, too. “You’re safe. Come to me.”
So slowly it’s as if she’s waking from a dream, she take
s a step toward me. I draw her closer, to my chest, where it’s warm and she can hear the steady beating of my heart. She’s shaking so hard it breaks me.
I should have shielded her from this.
I should’ve protected her better.
She never should’ve seen that.
And while I hold her, my mind is churning with where we go from here. Davo, the fucking brainless idiot, played with the big dogs and got bit.
I’ve been on the other side of this. I’ve been the executioner, the one sending a warning sign. The one dealing with and executing severed limbs, fingers, tongues. Piero once found one of our own with his woman; that was a beating and execution he ordered me to handle that’ll haunt me until the day I die. I can still hear the fucking loser’s screams in my nightmares.
It’s clear as fucking day: you screw with the family, you pay, and violence is our language.
But now that I’m on the other side of the coin, what we do next isn’t as clear.
I could take her to Logan Airport, catch the next flight to Italy, and do exactly what the fucking cartel wants me to do. Run, with my tail between my legs. But I don’t operate that way, and it wouldn’t solve the greater issue. We’ve got men in every corner of Boston, from the Charles River to the Ritz Carlton. We’ve got business transactions that are the lifeblood of the family, associates and business partners. Leaving now would be a sign of weakness.
You threaten me, you pick a fight. You threaten my girl, you sign your death sentence.
So now I’ve got to keep her safe while I find who the fuck did this and handle them.
I hold her to my chest to still the trembling.
“Is he alive?” she asks.
If he’s still alive, I’ll donate my nuts to fucking science, but she doesn’t need to hear that now.
