Hexed (Never After #6)

4. Enzo

FOUR

ENZO

When I finally make it inside the Kingston estate after calling Gio back, Aria’s waiting in the foyer for me.

My footsteps echo off the tall, coffered ceilings, and the sparkles from Aria’s five-karat oval ring ricochet off the marble floors.

There is nothing about this place that doesn’t drip with wealth.

“Ready?” she asks.

I nod.

She beams at me and turns to walk down the hall, our fingers intertwining as she drags me behind her, passing by what looks like a chef’s kitchen, until we reach an oversize chestnut door nestled in the back of a hallway.

“Daddy’s office,” she whispers before knocking twice. I take my hand from hers before we walk in.

Trent Kingston is across the room, surrounded by dark wooden bookshelves and a large desk, his attention focused solely on us.

“Daddy!” Aria squeals, racing over to him.

Trent stands, grabbing her up in a hug. It’s been a while since they’ve seen each other, and I’m not sure they ended on good terms, so I hang back, allowing them their moment and taking in Trent’s office.

It’s nice. Classic. All oak wood and deep burgundy leather.

There’s an interesting painting hanging on the back wall that doesn’t quite mesh with anything else, though.

“Ah, Mr. Marino,” Trent says, releasing Aria and nodding toward me.

I appreciate the respect he’s giving me, and I walk forward and shake his outstretched palm. “Call me E.”

“I thought you’d keep my girl away forever. I appreciate you finally bringing her back.”

“Daddy,” Aria complains.

I grin but don’t reply.

“I hope the trip down was all right?” Trent continues.

“E has a private jet,” Aria says. “You should get one, Daddy. It’s as smooth a flight as you can get.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” someone chimes in.

The hairs on my neck stand on end because I know that voice . My mystery woman from a few minutes earlier glides into the room, her footsteps slow and unrushed as she comes to stand next to Aria. She locks eyes with me for a brief second before glancing at my fiancée. “You can always crash and burn.”

“Venesa,” Aria greets, her tone flat. “How…unsurprising you’re still here mooching off my family.”

Venesa.

Satisfaction pours through me from learning her name.

“Well…someone had to stay behind and take over the job once you ran away,” Venesa replies.

Aria scoffs. “Revisionist history at its finest.”

“You really want to speak on revisionist history?” Venesa hits back.

Aria’s lips thin. “I don’t know why I’m surprised when all you’ve ever done is?—”

“Girls, that’s enough,” Trent demands, narrowing his gaze on Venesa. “We have company.”

She looks at me and allows her stare to linger, dragging it from my eyes down to my feet and back again. I feel every single inch of her perusal.

“Oh, I apologize,” she says. “I hadn’t even noticed you were there.”

We both know that’s a lie. “Don’t worry about it.”

She moves toward me, reaching out her hand. I grasp it in mine, pinpricks of heat lancing beneath my skin as I bring it to my mouth and brush my lips across the back. It’s the same thing I’ve done with a thousand other women, but it sure as fuck feels different.

“What a gentleman,” she murmurs.

“It’s a pleasure, Venesa .” My thumb ghosts across the top of her knuckles.

“Is it?” She slips her fingers from mine.

I wrap an arm around Aria’s waist, simply to offset the inappropriate interaction I just had with this other woman.

“It appears you have me at a disadvantage, Mister…” Venesa says.

“Marino.” I play along.

“Marino,” she repeats. “Italian, then?”

“Very.”

“An important one?” Her lips curve up.

“Depends on who you ask.”

“Hmm.” She cocks her head, trailing her gaze slowly up and down my frame for a second time. “Can’t say I’ve heard of you.”

“Guess that makes two of us.”

“ Venesa .” Trent’s voice is a thunderbolt, and it straightens her up immediately, her spine stiffening and grin dropping, an impenetrable mask falling over her face.

“I apologize for my niece’s behavior,” Trent says. “She’s been with us for years, but her mother wasn’t known for civility, and I’m sure you can imagine how difficult things like that are to train into a young woman once she’s been taught another way.”

That was kind of an asshole thing to say.

Aria leans into me and asks her father, “I’m starving. Is dinner ready yet?”

“Actually, I’d like to talk to E before we eat. You go on ahead. We’ll meet you in there.”

Aria nods like an obedient little mouse and pops up to kiss me before she prances out of the room.

For someone who claims to not enjoy it here, she sure seems spritely to be back.

I turn around, moving to sit in the chair. I’m not surprised Trent wants to chat. It’s his power move to let me know we’re on his turf, in his house, and it’s his daughter. It’s the same thing I would do in his position.

Unfortunately for him, I don’t give a fuck.

My turf is wherever I decide it is.

The door clicks when it closes, and Trent plants himself down behind his desk.

I’m surprised when Venesa follows him and perches on the corner. She crosses one long leg over the other, the slit in her dress making the fabric fall to the side, putting every inch of that delicious thick thigh on display.

Blood rushes to my groin, and I shift in my seat, tearing my eyes away and willing myself to not get a hard-on. This is beyond inappropriate, and although cheating is a normal thing in the Mafia way of life, it’s never something that’s interested me.

I saw the way it tore my mother up from the inside out, and no one will ever convince me it wasn’t the final nail in her coffin.

“I’m glad you finally made it down, E. Would have been nice to have received an earlier visit or at least a phone call before you popped the question, but I guess we can’t have everything.” Trent smiles around the cigar he just placed in his mouth.

I smirk. We both know he was in the marriage negotiations with my father. “I’m not really in the business of asking permission. You understand.”

Trent’s eyes narrow, his broad forehead creasing. “I knew your brother, you know.”

His words are a punch to my gut, but I don’t let the hurt show on my face. Giuseppe—or Peppino, as we called him—has been gone for a little over three years, but sometimes it still feels like yesterday.

That’s the thing about grief, I guess. It steals the air from your lungs just as you’ve finally figured out how to breathe.

“Oh?” I cross my leg over my knee.

Venesa sighs, and I flick my eyes to her briefly, trying to ignore the buzzing between us. We’re not even that close, and yet the energy zaps so strongly, it feels like her skin is rubbing against mine.

“He was planning on opening up a hotel down here, did you know that?” Trent continues.

“There are a lot of things Giuseppe did that I wasn’t aware of.” I keep my tone relaxed, even though I’m internally wondering how the fuck I didn’t know that.

Growing up, I always let my brother and Pops do their own thing. I was never interested in the ins and outs of Peppino’s business or the way he ran it. It was only after he passed away and I took his place that I realized maybe I never really knew him at all.

Almost immediately, I discovered his shady business deals—even by our standards—and illegitimate children with multiple women. None of them claimed publicly, of course, so none who are taken care of or get to see a cent of the fortune he left behind.

Peppino wasn’t a good man, and I always knew that. I guess I just never paid attention to how shitty he was until after he was gone. There’s a difference between a man who does bad things and a bad man. Not that it really matters. He may have been a shit human being, and we may not have been close, but he was still my brother.

Trent runs a bulky hand over his white beard. “I’d like you to consider doing the same now that you’ve taken over his company. Opening a hotel down here, I mean.”

I nod toward his cigar case. “You don’t mind?”

He waves his hand. “Please.”

“Here, let me.” Venesa reaches out before I can, grabbing a cigar and bringing it to her mouth, then flicking open the top of the Zippo and circling it over the end until it lights up cherry red.

I’m transfixed on the sight of her lips forming perfectly around the cigar, and visions of them leaving a red ring around my cock the same way make my dick twitch to life. I’m like a goddamn teenager around this chick, and a brief thought of her possibly doing it on purpose courses through my mind.

I wouldn’t put it beyond Trent to be testing me.

She pulls the cigar from her mouth, blowing out a plume of smoke before leaning forward and passing it to me with a wink. Our fingers brush as I take it, and the exhilarating feeling of being served by her rushes through me.

Trent clears his throat, and Venesa perches back on his desk.

I let the air stay pregnant with silence, a sharp jab of arousal hitting me when my mouth covers the same place Venesa’s lips just touched. I shake off the feeling, trying to get my mind straight.

“I’ll think about it,” I finally say.

Trent frowns.

“You’d be silly not to do it,” Venesa cuts in.

I flick my gaze toward her, amusement sparking in my chest. “And you’re someone I should take business advice from because…?”

“We’re about to be family . I hear that means a lot to you Italians.”

My interest wanes, and I point my finger at her. “Don’t get cute.”

“Think about it, E,” Trent interjects. “I know you’ve only been running your brother’s business for the past few years, but it’s a good choice to expand down here. We’ve got a hold on the unions, and I’ve got the construction company built right in. It can be a…mutually beneficial experience.”

I purse my lips and stare at him because is he really lecturing me on racketeering? I’m from New York. I am racketeering. “Is that right?”

Trent smacks his palms together like he’s dusting them off. “One hand washes the other, you know? Together…we can rule the world.”

Blowing out a ring of smoke, I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “You seem to know a lot about my business, so let me make something clear: I’m not my brother, and I don’t care what deals you may have been working on with him or how good your relationship was. He is not me .” I jab my chest with my thumb.

Trent smiles like I’m throwing a tantrum instead of laying down a law, and honestly, it’s a little condescending. My fingers twitch to curl into fists, but I shake off the urge.

“Sleep on it,” he says. “After all, the important thing is that you’re marrying my baby girl, yeah? And as long as she’s happy, I’m happy.” He cuts me a look. “And so is your father.”

I take another puff of the cigar, hearing his words for exactly what they are: a thinly veiled threat. It’s laughable, really, that he thinks he has the power to go against me in any capacity. His corn bread Cosa Nostra is nothing compared to the real thing. He should feel fucking honored he’s even breathing the same air as me. And if he thinks Pops is someone firmly on his side, then…well, he hasn’t experienced the many facets of my overly suspicious and trigger-happy father.

One thing is for sure after this, though, and that simple truth is this: I do not like Trent Kingston.

“All right,” I agree. I point at Venesa, the smoke from my cigar swirling around her silhouette like even it can’t resist her. “But you’ll have to convince me.”

“Pardon?” She tilts her head, blinking quickly.

“You were so confident a few seconds ago when you were telling me what to do. It’s only fair you’re the one who shows me why Atlantic Cove is worth my time. Business-wise, I mean.”

Fire flashes behind Venesa’s eyes, and her jaw stiffens. “Uh, no thanks. Ask your fiancée.”

I grin like a Cheshire cat, standing up and placing the cigar on the ashtray. “There you go again, spitting orders like I’m your bitch.”

A slight flush dusts her cheeks, and it makes my smile widen.

She crosses her arms. “Yeah, well, I’m not a tour guide.”

I brush a piece of lint from my sleeve and move toward her until we’re closer than what’s socially acceptable. In my peripheral vision, I can see Trent frowning at us from his chair, but I don’t give a damn. My words aren’t meant for him. They’re meant for Venesa alone. “You better brush up on your history, piccola sirena, because those are my terms.”

Her eyes flare, and adrenaline pumps through my veins like a drug.

“Your terms suck. But I’ll do it if it means you’ll stop swinging your dick around, acting like you’re the biggest man in the room.” She slips off the corner of the desk, her gaze dropping to my belt before rising again. “Compensating for something?”

A laugh escapes me, and I step back to take her in fully.

Goddamn, she’s interesting.

I don’t know a single person in the world who would dare speak to me the way she just did. It’s both refreshing and off-putting in equal measure. I definitely don’t think I can trust her.

Venesa walks past me and leaves the room, and I follow, heading back to the woman I’m about to marry. But my thoughts are filled with her , and the realization that I can’t get her out of my mind makes me sick to my stomach.