Hexed (Never After #6)

2. Enzo （Ehn-zo）

TWO

ENZO (EHN-ZO)

ONE YEAR LATER

TWENTY-NINE YEARS OLD

Everyone expects me to marry.

The “acceptable” next step for a man of my stature and family. Back when I was a kid, I looked forward to it. Dreamed of it, even.

When I was really young, I’d be kept awake at night by Ma giggling like a schoolgirl and Pops murmuring dirty words, muffled through the thin walls of our small two-bedroom apartment in Trillia, Brooklyn.

Usually, the next morning, I’d come out to a big breakfast of sausage and eggs and the smell of coffee, while Pops ignored everything and buried his nose in the day’s paper. Back then, Ma always had a certain look. A flush to her cheeks and a sparkle in her blue eyes, identical to mine. Pops would wink and play grab ass when she walked by, and it would make her light up like a kid in a candy store. Warmth would suffuse my chest, providing a stable, dependable comfort.

In every other aspect of life, my pops was a hard-ass. When it came to my mother? He was the quintessential lovebird, and she was too. Watching them made me sure that true love was out there waiting for me, just like theirs.

But as I got older and Pops moved up in the ranks of the syndicate, Ma’s giggles morphed into arguments punctuated by his yells and her screams. And then one day, she popped too many of those pills Pops brought home to “keep her calm,” and those screams turned into silence.

My belief in love was tainted, like a scent evoking old emotions I’d rather forget.

Love equaled the pain of my mother’s death.

So Pops arranging for me to get married to the girl I’ve been fucking for the past year? It’s no big deal for me.

A piece of paper, really.

I glance down at my phone.

Your dad wants you to call him. Something about him being watched again.

Groaning, I debate what to say back. Pops has always had a hard time trusting people, but the past few years after my brother’s death, he’s been particularly unhinged, paranoid in a type of way where there’s no calming him and no way of knowing how he’ll react to any situation.

“Babe, are you even listening to me?”

I glance at my fiancée, Aria, who’s sitting next to me in the car. I skim my gaze down her frame, past the ends of her brightly dyed red hair, over her small but perky chest, then to those killer legs flowing out of a pastel-pink skirt. Her skin is smooth as butter and pale as hell, despite her being half Italian and baking herself at my penthouse’s rooftop pool back home. When I meet her baby-blue eyes, my irritation at her interruption fades.

She snaps her fingers, the thin gold bracelets on her wrist clanking together, and just like that, my soft feelings harden into stone.

I take her hand, moving it from in front of my face, and kiss the back of it. “Of course, princess.”

Her pinched features smooth out, and she grins, one of her eyebrows arching. “Then what’d I say?”

My temples throb, and I drop her fingers to grip the inky-black strands of my hair, tugging on the roots to keep the burgeoning headache at bay. “Christ, Aria, what is this, twenty questions?”

She sinks into her seat, crossing her arms and giving me a sweet smile. “No need to be snippy. You know I’m not trying to upset you. I just wanted some attention, is all.”

I tense my jaw and glance toward the front, locking eyes with my younger cousin, Scotty, in the rearview mirror. I don’t think he really wants to be here, listening to domestic disputes and being my glorified chauffeur for the next couple of weeks, but he’s a cugine , trying to make his bones while he waits for the books to open, so he came along for the trip.

He averts his gaze quickly, but I see the flash of something there, and I bite back the groan. Scotty’s always been a fucking gossip, and the last thing I need is it getting back to Pops I’m being an asshole to Aria.

For some reason, he loves her. Enough that he demanded I marry her anyway. Not that Aria knows it’s at his request. Or that her father approved the arrangement immediately.

Guilt worms its way through me when I remember I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for Aria. I owe her my life. Marrying her is the least I can do.

It’s not like she’s hard to look at.

Decent fuck too.

Aria’s already-plushy demeanor softens even more when I angle my body toward her and cup her cheek. My thumb rubs against the smattering of freckles across her nose, and she leans into my palm like a kitten desperate for my touch. She looks beautiful, her skin dewy and the sharp angles of her face highlighted perfectly by the soft pastel-colored LED lighting that lines the interior of the Mercedes Maybach.

“Princess, let’s not pretend you’re with me for my listening skills,” I say.

She scoffs. “Don’t be a jerk, babe. I’m with you because I love you.”

I don’t know why I’m being such an asshole, especially when she’s done nothing to deserve it. Maybe I’m hoping that for once, she’ll bite back. Give me something to feel while I’m stuck in a stuffy thousand-dollar suit, pretending to be an upstanding citizen about to meet my bride’s father.

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt any type of fire .

I sit back and adjust my cuff links. “Come on, Aria. You knew who I was when you agreed to marry me.”

She huffs, turning her face toward the tinted window, but she doesn’t deny the statement. I know she thinks she’s in love, but for me, this marriage is nothing more than a business deal. One that gives her what she wants and appeases my father.

I owe them both.

“Ah, come on, don’t give me that.” I point to the pout on her face. “What do you want me to do?”

“An apology would be a start.” She lifts her chin and sniffs.

I chuckle. We both know she isn’t getting one of those. “How about that new ring you’ve been drooling over for the past month instead?”

She peers at me from the corner of her eye. “The pink diamond?”

My phone vibrates in my lap, but I don’t pick it up. Instead, I keep my gaze on Aria.

“How much was it again?” I ask.

She uncrosses her arms. “Does it matter?”

Yes. Money always matters, but I know the way to Aria’s heart isn’t through sweet words and apologies. “For you, princess? No.”

And that’s all it takes.

A bright smile crosses her face, and she turns toward me. It’s the same solution every time: I offer a new trinket for her to add to her collection of gizmos and gadgets, and she melts.

“I’m just nervous about how everything will go,” she says. “Daddy is… He and I haven’t… Well, I just want you two to like each other.”

In moments like this, it’s painfully obvious she doesn’t know me, even after a year together.

Originally, I hadn’t intended for it to be anything more than a few satisfying nights of her tight little pussy clamping around my cock. A nice way to thank her for saving me out on the Hudson when I was left for dead by…well, I don’t really know who.

I remember nothing from that night except waking up.

Turns out, Aria Kingston is a media darling, and when it hit the news that she’d saved my life, we became the “it” couple in New York. After my dad found out who her father was, it was game over.

Tying our family to the Kingstons in the South? That means more power and influence for him, and these days, it seems like that’s all he cares about.

If he weren’t so goddamn terrifying, the other families in the Cosa Nostra would be more vocal about how he’s muddling this thing of ours.

Ruining it, if the whispers are to be believed.

However, nobody has the courage to stand up against him, especially after he sat behind his own consigliere in the back of a car and popped him in the head because he had a “feeling” he was about to be betrayed.

Never replaced him either. Instead, the duty of who he trusts falls solely on my shoulders, and every day, that trust thins simply because of his own paranoia.

Especially after the failed attempt on my life.

All trying to kill me did was prod at the beast, and despite his shift in mental faculties, I’m nothing if not loyal, so what Carlos Marino says goes. Besides, it’s never been my job to speak reason back into my pops. That was always Peppino’s thing, and after my brother’s murder, I’m still not sure how to step into the role.

Forcing a smile, I grip Aria’s thigh.

She covers my hand, her eyes fixed on our fingers, probably envisioning the exorbitantly expensive piece of jewelry she is about to gain for her collection.

A few seconds of blessed silence go by before Aria lets go of my hand to open the compact refrigerator hidden behind the rear seats, and pulls out a chilled bottle of champagne, then pours some of the bubbly into one of the crystal flutes before handing it to me.

“Liquid courage?” I bring the glass to my lips and take a sip, hiding the grimace that wants to cross my face. I don’t actually like the taste of overpriced garbage, but after the past few years of sipping on champagne to appease the pompous fucks I do legitimate business with, it’s become a tolerable taste.

“Something like that.” She glances out of the window and swirls her glass. “This trip will be good for you…for us . Atlantic Cove is slower in pace. We can relax, enjoy the engagement party, and you can get to know the area.”

I take another sip. “We’re not moving here.”

“What? God no. I’ve been desperate to escape this place since the second I was old enough to walk.”

“Yet you insist on going back,” I reply.

“Daddy wants to throw us an engagement party, and I’m trying to mend some fences,” she corrects, shrugging.

“Ah.”

I couldn’t give a fuck where we have the engagement party her family wants because everything worth a shit will happen back in New York. I drain the glass of champagne and reply to the text from my right-hand man, Giovanni.

Tell him to pick up his phone and learn to use it like everyone else. Any news on the spot in Brooklyn?

We’ve known each other since we were kids, and after Peppino got himself clipped and I took over his businesses, becoming part of the Mafia’s administration as the family’s new underboss, I promoted Giovanni from soldato to caporegime . Now it’s Gio who runs my crew while I’m stuck hiding behind bulletproof glass in fancy buildings, talking about real estate like a pussy.

Regardless, in this life, it’s important to surround yourself with people you can trust, and he’s the only one I do.

Honestly, I think real estate is boring as fuck.

I’ve always been more of the rough-and-tumble type. Having to legitimize myself to keep the Feds off our case doesn’t interest me, but I learned early on that it’s part of the gig. You have to at least look like your money is coming from aboveboard sources. And these days, a lot of it is. But not all of it.

And the way we get most of our contracts is questionable at best.

I brush my thumb over the knuckles of my opposite hand, remembering what it used to feel like when I could use them as an outlet, reveling in the fresh cuts and bruises that would sting long after I got whatever point I needed to get across.

About to handle that situation right now, actually. How’s South Carolina?

I glance out of the window. Right now, we’re driving through what looks like the heart of Atlantic Cove, passing by a large white Ferris wheel and some small shops lining the boardwalk and the ocean just beyond. They’re surrounded by planted palm trees, hotels, and residential buildings; tall, glassy skyscrapers disappear into the low-hanging clouds that cover the sky. It’s an odd mix of old and new here, a war between conserving history and gentrification. I wonder which part Trent Kingston handles: the tearing down of buildings or the preservation.

There’s a long wooden bridge that disappears out into the water, with a wrought-iron arch that says “Atlantic Cove Boardwalk” in faded steel writing, a vibrant pink seashell at the very top. As we continue to drive, it’s impossible to miss the kids running around the sandy beach with gigantic smiles on their snot-covered young faces.

My chest smarts, and I reach up to rub at the dull ache, then text Giovanni back.

Kitschy.

What the fuck does kitschy mean?

What am I, a dictionary? Look it up.

Stronzo

I smirk at him calling me an asshole.

Aria’s foot bounces, and even though I can only see the rhythmic motion from my periphery, it’s enough to irritate the fuck out of me.

“It’ll be fine.” I smile widely, trying to soothe her anxiety. “Parents love me.”

Her posture relaxes, and she grins back. “ I love you, and that’s all that matters.”

I don’t respond.

We drive past the beach until the tourism thins, the crowds dying out until they don’t exist. Skyscrapers change to small single-story houses with mobile homes sprinkled in, and not long after, I stop being able to see much at all. Eventually, we make it to a large gated entrance with a sweeping driveway.

Aria rolls down her window, showing her face to the camera, and then the fence is opening. Perfectly manicured trees line both sides of the windy pathway until we reach the circle drive in front of an old-school estate, which has big shutters on the windows and large white pillars that frame a wraparound porch. There’s a stone fountain with a mermaid sculpture right in the center, her mouth and hands pouring water continuously into the pond below.

“This is where you grew up?” I ask Aria.

I’m not sure why I’m surprised. She was born into luxury, which is honestly just another glaring difference between us. My family built our fortune and power from the ground up, but it wasn’t until I was in my twenties and Pops became capo di tutti capi that we really lived like kings. Before that, I was just a kid of a soldato , running loose around the streets of Brooklyn, causing trouble and using my pops’s name to get out of it.

Aria hums, nodding.

I step from the car and take a second to stare at the mermaid fountain before walking around to meet Aria as Scotty helps her out.

“Bring our bags in,” I tell him.

He nods, his thin fingers tapping against the side of his thigh as he glances around. “You got it, boss. You want me to just wait around after, or…?”

“Go grab a bite or whatever. Check into the bed-and-breakfast spot I hooked you up at.” I wave him off. “Just keep your phone close.”

“You ready, babe?” Aria asks, her eyes sparkling up at me as she grabs my hand.

I nod and escape the death grip she has on my fingers, placing my palm at the small of her back as we walk between the white pillars lining the wide concrete steps and up to the wrought-iron double doors.

My phone rings, and I pull it from my pocket, Giovanni’s name flashing across the screen.

“E…” Aria starts.

“Don’t. I’ll be right behind you.”

She stands still for a second, defiance flashing through her gaze, before she gives in and walks into the house without me. My jaw clenches as I watch her go, and then I’m swiping the screen of my phone and heading back down the stairs.

“Kitschy,” Gio states before I even say hello. “‘Considered to be in poor taste because of excessive garishness or sentimentality, but sometimes appreciated in an ironic or knowing way… ’whatever the fuck that means.”

“And your dad said you’d never amount to anything.”

“Yeah, well, what’s he know?” Gio replies.

“You’d better be calling to tell me good news.”

“Do I ever call with bad news?”

He has a point. In our line of business, we can’t handle bad news over the phone, especially in this day and age where everything is susceptible to tapping.

“They accepted our offer on that Brooklyn Heights spot,” Gio continues.

“Excellent.”

“And your pops is hounding me for you to call him.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll call him.” I sigh, running a hand through my hair again. “As soon as I settle in here.”

“Good. You know, it makes me nervous when he uses me to teach you a lesson.”

“He’s not teaching me a lesson, you fucking goon. He’s just checking in.”

“Oh!” Gio lets out a laugh. “I’m just saying, I don’t like being the go-between. Your pops ain’t all there these days, you know?”

“Careful,” I warn.

“How’s it going out there anyway?”

“Define ‘it.’” I look up at the gaudy estate and cringe.

Small pebbles crunch beneath my shoes as I hit a gravel pathway that leads into the back. I squint, looking into the distance. There’s a giant infinity pool that drops off with nothing but ocean beyond it, but to the left of that, there’s what looks like a two-story mother-in-law suite bigger than any house in the neighborhood I grew up in.

“That thing you’re marrying, for starters.” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, but I hear the truth between the words. Giovanni’s never been a fan of Aria, claims she’s untrustworthy and shallow. Which, to be fair, she probably is. But she’s a good person deep down. Bad people don’t save strangers from bleeding out on riverbanks.

Besides, what do I care if she’s shallow? I’m not marrying her for deep conversations; I just need her to keep her mouth shut and her legs open, let me put a couple of kids in her belly, and look good on my arm in public.

“Calm down,” I retort.

“She’s a vain bitch with a pretty voice and killer legs. What’s there to calm down about?”

I grin. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

A snapping sound makes my heart jump. I glance up and twist around, looking back at the mansion. There’s nothing there, but when I face forward again, there’s a figure in the distance.

It’s a woman, leaning against the brick of the mother-in-law suite, and she’s staring directly at me. I lift a brow as I meet her gaze, and she straightens, running her nails down the front of her lengthy, tight black dress.

She’s… I don’t even know how to explain it. Her long hair is bright, so light blond that it’s a silvery white, the ends of which kiss the top of her ample cleavage perfectly, and when she moves toward me, her saunter makes everything touching her skin seem like silk cascading down her fine-as-fuck body.

Jesus Christ.

Giovanni’s mumbling something in my ear, but I’m definitely not listening.

The woman stops a few paces in front of me, and her bloodred lips spread into a slow smile, accentuating the dimples that crease the apples of her cheeks.

“Is there a point to your call, Gio?” I interrupt Giovanni’s rambling.

“Listen, you rude motherfucker?—”

“Reception’s bad here,” I reply, still keeping my gaze locked on the mystery woman. Her eyes spark like two swirling black whirlpools, sucking me down until I can’t break for air.

She swipes her tongue along her bottom lip, and my stare drops to her mouth.

I hang up before Gio can say anything else.

And then we’re both just standing there, silent, watching each other, and it’s the strangest thing, but I swear every time one of us breathes, the air grows taut like a rubber band, pulling and stretching until it’s about to snap.

“No need to rush off the phone for little ol’ me,” she finally says.

The way she enunciates every syllable in a slow, controlled way makes her voice trickle over me like a heat wave. Her Southern accent is strong, and I don’t know why it surprises me, other than the fact Aria doesn’t have one at all.

I slip my phone into my pocket. “Well, you seem like a woman who demands my full attention.”

She grins.

My stomach lurches forward violently.

“Enzo Marino,” she states.

Usually, I hate hearing my full first name. It reminds me of being a kid with my ma yelling that as long as I was under her roof, I’d have to follow her rules.

But the way this woman says it feels like honey dripping onto my skin.

“I think I’m at a disadvantage,” I remark.

She takes a step closer, peering up at me from beneath long black lashes. “I can’t imagine a man like you ever being at a disadvantage.”

I’m not sure if she’s stroking my ego or insulting my stature, so I tell her as much.

She shrugs. “Up for interpretation, I guess.”

The corner of my lip twitches, and I take inventory of her again, soaking in the soft angles of her body and how even the breeze seems to cling to her plentiful curves.

“You’re interesting,” I voice.

“That’s what they tell me,” she replies.

“They?”

“That’s right.”

I slip my hands in my pockets and rock back on my heels. “Do you keep your name from them too, or am I special?”

She laughs, and it tugs me in like a scarf around my neck. “You’re a man, honey. I’m afraid there’s nothing special about any of you.”

Grinning, I step closer, and the space between us hums like a string being plucked until it vibrates a deep, dark note. “Sounds like you haven’t met the right man.”

She smiles back, and her eyes dance with mirth. “Sounds like something the wrong man would say.”

My grin grows wider, even as a pinch of guilt tries to weave its way into the moment. It’s not like me to be so forward with a woman when I’m in a relationship with another, but there’s something here…something about her that makes it impossible to resist. “Tell me your name, piccola sirena.”

Her pupils flare, but the sound of tires crunching on loose gravel interrupts our moment, and her gaze slides past my shoulder, locking on something in the distance. The tension breaks, and I feel like I’ve been sucker punched in the chest by this woman who’s robbed my breath and bruised my lungs.

“See you later, Lover Boy.”

She walks past me.

I turn to watch her go, surprised she knows my nickname and irritated by the way it makes my mind fire with interest.

“Tell me your name,” I call to her back.

She spins slightly and gives me a bright white smile, her eyes flashing with amusement.

And then she disappears around the corner and out of my sight.