Hexed (Never After #6)

6. Enzo

SIX

ENZO

There’s nothing more uncomfortable than being a guest in somebody else’s home, but there’s also no better way to learn about someone than being immersed in their environment, and my goal is to find out everything there is to know about Trent Kingston and his ragtag gang of criminals. The way he threw around Peppino’s name just doesn’t sit right with me.

The fuck was Peppino doing, making business deals in the South without telling anyone?

When we first found out my brother had been murdered, I was determined to uncover who exactly it was that put the hit out on him. But every place I looked was a dead end. Nobody knew anything. Or at least nothing I could force out of them. And then my pops went off the deep end, the fists of power chipping away at his reason one knuckle at a time until he became so volatile, even I couldn’t predict his moods.

Now Pops is almost impossible to control, and that’s dangerous for someone in his position. One misstep and it’s all over.

The past few years, I’ve been spending so much time trying to protect our family, I barely have time to breathe . But if I don’t do it, we’re toast. There are plenty of guys who would love to reinstate the commission my pops so violently tore apart. To keep the old laws of the land in place in a way that my father doesn’t seem to care about.

If anyone actually asked me, I’d agree with the fact Pops is disrespecting both our history and tradition. But no one ever does, assuming I’m the mouthpiece for my father through and through. Technically, they’re not wrong.

He’s tarnishing what it means to be Mafia, but it’s not my place to question him—not unless I want him to kill me for the disrespect. I’m barely hanging on to his approval as it is, the less feathers I ruffle, the better.

Still, weirdly, finding out Peppino was doing business deals with shady people outside of the family—maybe even without my pops’s permission—makes me feel a little less like the Marino fuckup.

I breathe out a heavy sigh and crack my neck, looking around the room. Much to my dismay, Aria and I are staying in her childhood bedroom and not in the mother-in-law suite. I wonder if Venesa lives in the guesthouse and that’s why we’re in the main one instead. Or maybe Trent wanted to keep a close eye on me. I know if the situation were reversed, I’d do the same.

There’s a canopy-style queen-size bed with baby-pink sheets in here and so many things everywhere that they’re overflowing from the shelves lining the peach-colored walls. French doors lead to a small balcony overlooking the private beach, and it’s very obvious no one has touched this room since Aria left.

It’s outdated. A time capsule filled to the brim with stuff . Aria loves to collect things, that’s for sure. There’s no way I’m letting her clutter up my penthouse back home, though, so she’ll need to get a handle on that before she moves in.

Maybe we can live separately.

Aria fell asleep shortly after we settled in a few hours ago, but not me. I don’t sleep well when I’m in a place that isn’t my own. Lowering your guard is a quick way to get a bullet in your dome, and I didn’t get to where I am by being comfortable in my surroundings.

I send a text to Scotty, whom I had my assistant, Jessica, set up at a little bed-and-breakfast a few miles down the road, telling him to be here in the morning at nine, and then I glance at Aria while she burrows deep under the comforter. I head to the left side of the bed, staring down at the small space beside her. Aria likes to cling to me in her sleep, and when she does, I feel suffocated, like the walls are closing in, so she doesn’t spend the night with me often.

I’ve never been a cuddler. Makes me itch.

Grimacing, I slip beneath the covers and blow out another breath, my mind racing like it always does when the world goes quiet. Before I can stop myself, my thoughts turn to Venesa. She’s just…I’m not sure what she is exactly, but I do know guilt drips like a steady leak every time I try to push her from my brain and she drops back in.

Especially when I’m picturing her while lying next to my fiancée.

Aria shifts and murmurs something before opening her sleepy gaze and locking it on me. She grins softly, and I close my own eyes, pretending to be asleep.

It doesn’t fool her.

“You’re not still mad, are you?” she asks, her voice thick.

I blink slowly, then stare at the top of the canopy. “Who says I was mad?”

She giggles, scooting over and placing her head on my shoulder. Immediately I feel stifled, but then I think of the way Ma used to get, after Pops started staying out late at night and coming home in the morning smelling like other women’s perfume. How she’d cry in their bedroom, trying to stifle the noise so I wouldn’t hear her break apart through the thin walls. How she’d walk around the house looking so goddamn lonely, so broken from his betrayals.

That memory is all it takes to finally push Venesa from my thoughts and focus on the woman next to me instead.

“Please, E, you practically choked the life out of my arm when Fisher and I were interacting.”

Ah.

“You’re sexy when you’re jealous,” she murmurs, her lashes fluttering as she gazes up at me.

I hold back my laugh. Jealous? That’s not an emotion I’ve ever felt in my life. Simply put, there’s nothing for me to be jealous of . Wanting things you can’t have does nothing beneficial. It only muddles the mind and keeps people from achieving greatness.

Besides, if I really need something, I simply take it.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” I peer over at her.

“That’s the deal.” She yawns. “For better or for worse. Forever.”

The words grate against my skin, but I push the feeling away. “Right,” I say, “so what’s there to be jealous of?”

She moves quickly, rolling on top of me, her warm cunt pressing on my lap. My hands fly to her hips instinctively, and when she grinds down, my body reacts.

“My macho man,” she croons. “Pretending you’re not upset at me getting attention from another guy.”

I’m not really in the mood to get my dick greased, but the tension I’ve been feeling all day needs some sort of release, so if she wants me to fuck her, I won’t argue.

I grin. “Why don’t you show me how sorry you are, princess?”

“You have nothing to worry about with him, you know that, right? He’s vermin. Literally the town’s drug dealer since we were kids. I would never stoop so low.”

She smiles lazily, and something about it makes my stomach turn, so I grip her hips tighter and lift her off me, flipping her around until she’s face down and ass up.

Much better.

I spend the rest of the night buried balls deep inside her, but it’s the vision of her cousin underneath me that has me coming so hard, I black out from the pleasure.

The next morning, I’m at the Grotto, a well-known bed-and-breakfast two miles down the road from the Kingston estate.

Like everything else in Atlantic Cove, it’s not to my liking.

It’s too flowery.

Too bright.

Too…sunshiny.

Right now, I’m sitting in a quaint kitchen off the main living area, watching the owner, Betty, dance around and pamper Scotty like he’s her long-lost son.

There’s no one else staying here. I paid a pretty penny to ensure it. There’s a forest-green door off the kitchen that opens to a small paved patio with white metal chairs circling a round table, a strip of ocean just beyond. If I were someone who liked to relax by hearing birds chirp and bees buzz, I’d probably find it soothing.

But I’m not.

The level of calm here makes me uncomfortable, like I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Scotty, however, has made himself right at home.

Betty plops down a steaming plate of biscuits and gravy in front of him, and Scotty, the fucking kiss ass, beams at her like she hung the moon.

“So, Betty, what’s the news today?” he asks, shoveling a giant bite of food into his mouth.

I flip down the corner of the Atlantic Cove Gazette I’m skimming. “Aye, don’t talk with your mouth full.”

He grins at me, his cheeks bulging.

“Now, why would I know that?” Betty drawls.

“Ah, come on, Betty Boop, don’t be shy just because E’s here. He’s my guy. You can trust him.” Scotty takes another bite and then chugs a bit of orange juice. “Everyone excited about the big engagement party?”

Betty swipes a strand of curly gray hair from her forehead. “Trent Kingston’s prodigal daughter come home at last? Of course. It’s the talk of the town.”

“Interesting.” Scotty elongates the word like it’s a song. “You really picked a popular princess, huh, Cuz?”

I roll my eyes. “Eat your food.”

“Hey, how come she left here anyway?” he asks.

I shrug and look over at Betty because fuck if I know why. Aria told me once she didn’t like it here, and I never thought to push for more. Never really cared, if I’m being honest.

Betty raises a thick brow at me and then shakes her head. “Now, I would never talk about a neighbor.” She throws a blue towel over her shoulder and picks up a fresh pot of coffee to fill up mine first and then pour a cup for herself. “But when I was younger, I used to enjoy sitting out front and watching the sunrise with a fresh mug of caffeine.” Betty sighs and leans against the counter. “Nothing like watching the world wake up, you know? And sometimes, in those early mornings, I’d see things.”

Scotty leans in, enraptured by Betty’s tale. I flip a page of the newspaper, pretending I’m not listening.

“What things?” he asks.

“Aria had a habit of sneaking out, and I’d see that rat …Fisher Engle? That boy was no good from the beginning. No parents around to keep him in line. He’d drop her off right at the corner in that Chevelle of his, and she’d slip out with flushed cheeks and messy hair, running up the road back to her place.”

I’m not surprised Aria used to fuck around with him. Neither of them was good at hiding it last night.

“What about her cousin?” I pipe up, because honestly, I don’t give a fuck who Aria used to screw around with when she lived here. This entire conversation is tiring.

Betty straightens. “Her cousin?”

I fold the paper, placing it on the table. “Yeah, Venesa.”

She tilts her head, something flashing in her face as she looks to Scotty and then back to me. “Speaking about that girl is none of my business. She could use a good church, though, always walking around doing her witchy spells and wearing all those crystals. Girl needs Jesus, if you ask me.”

Scotty whistles. “Betty’s no gossip, E. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Clearing my throat, I grab my phone and stand. “You two, behave.”

I give Scotty a look and then step onto the back patio to call my pops.

My hair rustles from the slight breeze, and my face scrunches when the smell of salt and sunshine hits my nose.

“ Ciao , figlio mio ,” my father answers gruffly, his Italian accent strong and sure.

“ Ciao , Papá.”

“How are things?”

“Warm,” I reply.

“And your fiancée? How’s her famiglia ? Bene? ”

My father is direct. He also frequently goes back and forth between Italian and English, something he’s done since he moved to Brooklyn with my nonna as a boy from Sicily.

“Did you know Trent was talking shop with Peppino?” I ask, something still not sitting right in my gut about how Trent revealed that information like it was a hidden ace up his sleeve.

My father sighs deeply, the absence of his immediate reply crackling through the phone. “He may have mentioned it.”

My forehead creases. The fuck? “And you didn’t think to mention it to me?”

He chuckles, dark and deep, and it makes my spine bristle. I can’t tell if he’s about to threaten me for speaking my mind or answer my question.

I shouldn’t have phrased it so harshly.

It’s eerie, the way he can do that—put you on edge simply because you never know how he’ll react.

“You never cared about things like this. Too busy with getting your hands dirty in the streets and fighting in those ridiculous cage fights.”

The cage fights that make you a shit ton of money. I don’t say it out loud because I’m too relieved he’s having a conversation about it instead of flying off the rails.

“You know how many people your brother was in ‘talks’ with?” he continues. “Peppino knew enough about this life to know when to involve me and when to handle it himself. Too many questions make me think you’re planning something you shouldn’t be. Are you planning something, figlio mio ?”

My stomach tenses. “Of course not, Papá.”

Pops’s voice is soft and lacking intonation. “There’s a reason for everything we do.”

“And what’s the reason for a hotel down here?” I ask.

“Careful,” Papá replies. “Even if I did want to share, I can’t right now. They’re always watching. I think someone tapped the house.”

“Gio sends someone every morning to check, Papá. Everything’s good.”

“And how can I trust Gio ?” he questions. “I taught you better than this.”

My jaw clenches, but I know better than to talk back.

“Say yes to the hotel, Enzo. Don’t disappoint me, or you won’t like the outcome.”

“Okay, Papá.”

This is bullshit, though. I’ve never wanted to be part of Marino Enterprises. That was always Peppino’s thing. He was the businessman, and I was the muscle. Sure, I had a few things going—a drywall company that got the bids on my brother’s projects and a few clubs throughout the city—but I was where I liked it, being immersed in the true foundation of my family’s legacy, out on the streets and with my guys instead of suffocating in boardrooms and staring at dried-up pussy in pencil skirts.

Back then, I was a capo, and my crew was the work crew of the family. I was the one who got the contracts for the kills and did the shakedowns for people who didn’t remember to send us our cut. But when Peppino got himself clipped, the books opened, and my pops called for me to be the new underboss. I had no choice but to settle into place. It’s my duty to la famiglia .

I stare out over the garden of flowers, watching the sun sparkle off the water just beyond it. “Well, I’ve found Trent’s respect…lacking.”

Pops chuckles. “Then you remind him whose son you are. But you will build a hotel down there. It’s good for business. For expansion. Do your part for this family, you understand?”

“Yes, Papá, I understand.”

“There’s a van that’s been driving by every day, and I know they’re trying to see in my windows and listen to my conversations. Don’t call me again on this line.”

Click.

He hangs up before I can respond, and a hit of annoyance stabs the middle of my chest because his paranoia is always taking my best guys off the streets and having them watch for nothing, just to soothe his panicked brain. Irritation vibrates through me, and I tap the phone against my palm before brushing down the front of my suit.

Christ, it’s hot here.

Aria’s busy today meeting with some party planner, so I have the afternoon to do what I wish. She tried to convince me to go with her, but I’m not wasting my time doing froufrou shit like smelling flowers and tasting pastries.

And suddenly, all I want is to see that firecracker Venesa again. I try to push it down because it’s dangerous wanting something so badly when there’s no rhyme or reason, and she’s something I need to purge from my system before it devours me whole. But if I don’t solve the mystery of why she’s so appealing, then she’ll never leave my head.

So I call Trent and let him know I expect her to meet me at the boardwalk in an hour.