Hexed (Never After #6)

11. Enzo

ELEVEN

ENZO

I’ve been trying to figure out Venesa since the second I laid eyes on her, but after a day of being beside her, I’m just more intrigued.

She’s clever. Confident. Kind of a smart-ass. And today, I saw another side, one where she was so goddamn real, it made me forget who she is—who she’s related to—and why I’m out with her.

Now that I’ve been sitting here in this booth for the past hour with no Venesa in sight, feeling like I’m swimming underwater from all the goddamn fish around me, I’m remembering.

I glance down at my phone, sucking on my teeth, when I see another missed call and a text from Aria.

I miss you! xoxox

She’s been blowing up my phone for the past few hours, and I’m sure she’s wondering where I am since I never told her, but she knows better than to ask. It’s not in her nature to push; she just accepts open and willingly. It’s a trait my pops says is perfect for me, and honestly, he’s probably right. A mob wife isn’t supposed to speak out of turn. They keep their mouths closed and their eyes shut to anything other than what we decide to tell them.

Aria is a perfect fit for that. It’s just starting to feel like she’s not the perfect fit for me, and that’s unacceptable. I won’t chain her to a life like the one my ma had.

Another night of Pops coming home and losing his temper.

He’s always been a harsh man, but it’s only been in the past couple of years that he’s started to bring his work home with him, taking it out on Ma and anyone else who’s in his way.

In a few years, I’ll be right behind him and Peppino, doing my part for the family, but I’ll never be like him: A man who prefers fear over respect. A husband who sticks his dick in anything that walks and then flaunts it in front of the woman he promised his forever to.

He’s stolen the light from Ma. She’s a fucking disaster, if I’m being completely honest.

Peppino, the selfish motherfucker, stopped coming around the second he turned eighteen and moved out, no matter how many times I try to tell him that she needs help. That Pops is slowly killing her by coming home smelling like cheap perfume and tossing benzos in her lap to keep her sedated and pliable.

Tonight’s bad though. She drank three vodka martinis at dinner alone, and even when I tried to get her to stop, she waved me off.

Vodka makes her handsy, and Pops doesn’t like it when Ma punches back.

Eventually, like every other time, the yelling stops, ending with Pops storming out the front door, slamming it behind him. My ma’s soft sobs are all that’s left behind, filtering through the cracks of the walls and painting themselves on my chest and in my psyche.

Some nights, even my dreams are filled with nothing but that sound.

Sighing, I stand up from my bed and make my way down the hallway and into their bedroom, knowing exactly what I’ll find before I find it.

Ma’s sitting at her white leather vanity, a half-drunk bottle of vodka at her side and a bottle of pills open and splayed out on the table in front of her. She’s hunched over, her black hair fanning across her arms and her head resting on her hands, her back heaving from the cries.

“Ma,” I whisper, moving toward her.

She stiffens, straightening up, her mascara-streaked face staring at me in the mirror as she quickly wipes her cheeks. “Hi, baby boy, I didn’t mean…”

Her words are sloppy, stringing together and tripping over each other, and my heart squeezes as I take her in.

Fuck Pops for making her this way. I tried once to stand up to him about it, but all it got me was a busted lip, a black eye, and a gun to my temple.

“Shhh,” I soothe, coming to stand next to her and brushing her hair off her face. “You okay?”

Her bottom lip trembles, and she shakes her head, another sob pouring from her mouth.

“Come on, Ma. He ain’t worth it.”

“Don’t speak about your father like that,” she hisses. “He does his best.”

I grit my teeth, not wanting to argue.

Silently, I watch as she grabs the bottle and tips it back, swallowing. I want to take it from her, but who am I to take away the only source of her comfort on the lonely nights?

“That bastard!” she suddenly yells, slamming the liquor down until it sloshes out of the top.

“What can I do?” I ask.

“Go find that puttana your father’s fucking and put a bullet in her head.” She looks to me with big eyes. “Can you do that?”

I swallow because we both know I can’t.

She goes to tip the bottle back again, and this time I do grab it from her. “Come on, Ma. You’re killing yourself with this.”

“No, stop,” she slurs, trying to yank it back.

“Don’t make me be the bad guy,” I plead, a vise wrapping around my middle and constricting. “Let’s go watch a movie. I’ll even let you put on that one you love. What’s it called?”

More tears roll down her face. “ Casablanca .”

“Yeah.” I roll my eyes playfully. “The things I do for you, honestly.”

She sighs and nods, gripping my forearm as she stands. Suddenly, she covers her mouth and keels over, vomiting at my feet. The stench is enough to make me want to throw up, but I bite it back.

This isn’t the first time it’s happened.

“I’m sorry, Enzo,” she cries, dropping to her knees, gripping my arms like I’m her lifeline. “He just… I’m so…”

“It’s okay, Ma.” A knot lodges itself in my throat. “Do you want to just lie down?”

She nods, whimpering, and I maneuver us around the mess and take her to her bed. Gingerly, I help change her into fresh pajamas and then slip her under the covers, brushing her hair back and pressing a kiss to her head.

“I should kill him for doing this to you,” I whisper.

Her eyes widen, and her voice is clearer than it’s been all night. “Don’t you ever say that again out loud.”

“Ma…”

“You promise me right now you won’t ever, ever go against your father. He’s dangerous, and he’s your family. You hear me? You don’t step out of line, and you don’t give him any reason to hurt you.”

Her words settle in my gut like a boulder.

“Promise me,” she repeats, her words slurring again.

“Okay, Ma. I promise.”

That was the last promise I ever made her because the next morning she was dead. Swallowed a bottle of pills and ended her own misery.

A fresh drink is placed on the table and snaps me out of the memory, even though I didn’t order one, and I glance up at the server who set it down, nodding my thanks. She smiles, a cute little sprite of a thing, most likely an attempt to keep me distracted from the fact Venesa is nowhere to be found.

But clearly, I can’t forget Venesa, no matter how much I wish I could. I’d love to get her out of my goddamn brain for a single second.

“This place is nicer than it looks from the outside,” Scotty notes, sipping from his club soda and bobbing his head to the live singer. “Good jams too.”

I hum my agreement, although I’m not a big music guy—so what would I know about if it sounds good?—but I keep my eyes on the stage, where some dude with a guitar croons anyway.

Where the fuck is Venesa?

I should never have let her disappear, but it didn’t cross my mind she might ditch me.

She should know there’s no place she can hide, especially since she told me there’s virtually no security keeping people away from where she works and where she lives.

Although maybe she was lying about that. I’m still not sure what her game is.

I sip my drink, focusing on the burn as it sears down my throat instead of the anxiety scraping at my insides. She’s got about five more minutes before I tear the place down to find her.

“So this is Venesa’s, or is it a Kingston spot?” Scotty asks, looking around the room.

“Kingston, I think.”

My eyes ghost over the patrons again. It’s about half-full, which isn’t that surprising since it’s a Wednesday night, but you’d think Trent, being the actual owner of the joint, would try harder to bring in more business.

“You know, all Betty talks about is how much she hates that motherfucker,” Scotty says.

I huff out a breath and lean back in the booth, glancing around for Venesa again.

“Fascinating,” I intone.

“I know .” Scotty’s eyes light up, thinking I actually want to hear about it. “Never shuts up about him and how all he does is bring in those ‘New Jersey Italians’ to the area.”

My head snaps to him.

He lets out a chortle. “Says it right to my face. Can you believe that? Like she doesn’t realize I’m Italian. And I tell her, ‘Hey, lady, you gotta watch your mouth around me,’ you know? I’m getting offended.”

“What do you mean, ‘New Jersey Italians’?”

I’m curious because the De Lucas, a New Jersey family, are under our control, but I’ve never heard a single peep about any of them coming down here or dealing with Trent Kingston.

Scotty shrugs. “Just what I said, I guess. I didn’t ask, because once Betty yaps, you can never shut her up. And you know what else? She’s always shoving food down my throat. Every time I walk in the front door of the fucking place, she’s trying to feed me.”

I smirk. “You could use some meat on your bones, kid.”

Scotty puffs out his chest. “I work out.”

“Listen, I want you to keep an ear out, and if she says anything else about New Jersey, you let me know, understand?”

He nods. “I can do that.”

I cock a brow and lean in. “And stop listening to so much gossip, or you’ll end up in the kitchen cooking Sunday dinners with your mother instead of on the streets for me.”

“It’s not my fault everyone likes to tell me their business.” He waves me off and then looks around. “I am surprised Kingston lets a bitch run this place for him, though.”

“ Stai zitto ,” I snap, the word bitch grazing across my skin like a razor and putting me back in my bad mood.

Scotty’s eyes widen, and his back hits the booth in surprise. “ Jesus , what crawled up your ass?”

“Buh, buh, buh.” I open and close my hand like it’s a mouth. “You’re like a bird, always chirping about nothing . I didn’t bring you here to talk my fucking ear off.”

Scotty mimics zipping his lips closed, then throws his hands in the air like I’ve got him at gunpoint. “Just trying to make conversation. You know, you’re a real grump lately.”

“You’re telling me you like being here?”

He sits back in the booth. “It ain’t so bad. Little hot, but that just means the girls wear fewer clothes.”

I chuckle when he waggles his eyebrows. Scotty may annoy me, but I remember ten years ago when I was nineteen and ready to take on the world. “Yeah, well, if you want to have any hope of ever getting a girl to go from fewer clothes to no clothes? You gotta stop calling them bitches. They don’t really like that, you know?”

Suddenly, I see Fisher, his ridiculous blue-tipped hair sticking straight up and shiny like it’s got a glass coat locking the mohawk in place.

“You see that guy over there?” I jerk my chin toward Fisher.

“Yeah,” Scotty replies.

“I want to talk to him.”

Scotty salutes me dramatically and slips from the booth, buttoning up the front of his suit jacket and maneuvering through the room until he’s standing next to Fisher.

I’m not sure what it is about this guy, but he makes my skin crawl, and seeing him here ? I don’t like it.

Are he and Venesa really together?

My chest burns at the thought.

Fisher straightens off the wall when Scotty approaches, crossing his arms and frowning. Scotty leans in and says something, and then they both look my way.

Is he going to make things difficult? I’ll be forced to make an example out of him for the disrespect, and the thought of it makes me hum with anticipation. It’s been a long time since my knuckles have felt the sting of flesh hitting flesh.

I wish the motherfucker would.

That hum fizzles quickly into disappointment when Fisher makes his way over without a fight before stopping in front of my booth.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he says in singsong when he reaches me, slipping his hands in the back pockets of his ripped jeans. “You here for the entertainment?”

I take a slow sip of my drink. “Where’s Venesa?”

Fisher tilts his head, like he’s assessing me. “If she didn’t tell you, then maybe she doesn’t want you to know.”

I give him a blank look. “I didn’t ask what she wants. This is about what I want, and what I want is to know where Venesa is and why she’s wasting my time making me look like a fool sitting out here for nothing.”

Fisher grins. “She has always been good at knowing exactly what someone is.”

I smile thinly. “Scotty.” I look toward my little cousin while he leans up against the edge of the booth. “We’re being rude, don’t you think?”

He crosses his arms. “Starting to think so, E.”

Fisher’s confidence deflates, and he fidgets, shifting on his feet. “It’s all good.”

“Nah, see…where I come from, we introduce ourselves properly.” I slide out of the booth until I’m towering over him and place my hand on his shoulder, squeezing until he flinches. “I apologize I haven’t done that. Now, take me to Venesa, or I’ll make sure you know exactly who I am. You get me?”

Fisher’s nostrils flare, and he grits his teeth as he jerks his head up and down in a short stiff movement. “She’s downstairs.”

I release his shoulder and wave my arm. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

Scotty shakes his head and laughs, straightening up and slapping Fisher on the back. “You’ll get used to E’s sweet nothings. It’s how he got his nickname, you know? He likes to kiss you a bit before he fucks ya.”

We follow Fisher around the tables scattered throughout the room, past the bar and the main stage, and into a corridor that’s lined with wooden walls. It’s dark and narrow and smells like stale air, and I assume it’s where the offices and storage areas are. Maybe the coolers too.

Fisher doesn’t stop until we’re at the back of the building, the exit sign casting a dim red glow across the darkened hallway. There’s a small spiral staircase to the left of us that winds up to a door.

“I thought you said she was downstairs.”

“She is,” Fisher replies. He presses on one of the wooden panels lining the wall, and it opens, revealing a staircase leading down and disappearing into the shadows.

Interesting.

I turn to Scotty. “Stay here, and if you don’t hear from me in ten minutes, you know what to do.”

He eyes the basement and slicks his fingers through his dark hair before leaning back, his left foot kicking up and resting against the wall.

Fisher grins. “Nervous?”

I don’t reply.

Our footsteps echo off the concrete as we make our way down the stairs, and then we’re in a large hallway, closed rooms lining each side. We pass by all of them, heading straight to the back, where a large steel door set in the wall. Fisher knocks twice, and someone slides a small panel open, their eyes peering out before they unlock it from the other side.

When we walk into the space, it’s like we’ve been transported into another world.

The walls are a deep-brown wood, with coffered ceilings and crystal chandeliers drench the room in a soft yellow glow. There’s a bar that lines the far side with high-end liquors on glass shelving against a mirror backdrop, and gambling tables are interspersed throughout with burgundy chairs and felt tabletops, dealers perched behind every single one.

It’s busy, much busier than upstairs, with groups of people huddled around the tables. Some are in suits, others in button-downs with rolled-up sleeves, and all of them are doing one thing.

Gambling.

My eyes coast over the area, taking inventory.

“There’s our girl.” Fisher nods toward the back of the room.

My eyes zoom in on where he’s gesturing, finding Venesa immediately, and when I do, I almost wish I hadn’t. She’s sitting at the far table, sidled up next to a young guy in a black polo, wearing sunglasses like a douchebag. She’s changed since I saw her, those casual cutoff shorts that stuck to her ass like a second skin gone, but she’s in something just as devastating: a thin black silk dress that flows to her ankles. Her legs are crossed, and the fabric is split, just like it was the first time I met her, framing the smooth skin of her thigh.

An irrational anger rips through my chest, as I realize she’s down here fucking around with other men instead of upstairs with me.

I don’t appreciate how the entire Kingston family thinks it’s okay to waste my time.

Flat-screen TVs line the walls, the buzz of a fight ringing from their speakers and into my ears, but I don’t pay attention to it, and as soon as Venesa throws her head back and laughs, every man turns their attention toward her too. She reaches out and grasps the forearm of the guy sitting next to her. And I’ve had just about enough of being ignored.

“You can go,” I dismiss Fisher.

Fisher inhales, his eyes bouncing back and forth between where Venesa sits and where I am before he acquiesces and leaves, the way I knew he would. He may walk around here like he’s a big dog, but I can spot a coward a mile away.

There’s an empty chair perched against the far wall, directly in front of where Venesa’s sitting, and I take my time crossing the room toward it.

I brush just behind her, so close that her hair rustles as I walk by. Her body stiffens, but she doesn’t look at me.

When I reach the wall, I unbutton my suit jacket and then take it off entirely, placing it on the back of the chair, going for slow and relaxed, like I don’t have a care in the world.

Now she looks, and my eyes lock on hers immediately and don’t let go.

I sit down and roll up the sleeve of my shirt until it’s just above the elbow, my ink making its full appearance from beneath the fabric.

Her gaze drops to watch the movement, skimming along my body and resting on where my gun is on display, holstered at my side. I repeat the motion of rolling up my other shirtsleeve until both my forearms are exposed, and then I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. A lock of my hair falls on my forehead with the motion, and I run my fingers through the strands, pushing it back into place. Then I quirk a brow at her.

She licks her lips, and then, just like that, her attention is back on whoever the guy is next to her. But I see through her mask, and I know she’s rattled because I’m down here, the same way I’m rattled whenever I see her.

I can’t remember a single time Aria’s looked at me with that kind of heat. Or maybe she has and I’ve just never felt it.

My chest twists with self-condemnation, and I tear my gaze away from Venesa, pulling out my phone to text Scotty that he can go wait in the car.

Venesa leans in and whispers something into the guy’s ear, and he reaches out to grip her thigh possessively. A spark of irritation ignites in my stomach.

Still, I sit and wait patiently while they continue the hand of poker.

The longer I watch them interact, the more I’m sure she’s playing him. It isn’t the woman I’ve been with all day. This is someone else entirely.

She’s just as striking to watch, though. Like I’m seeing another layer of her, uninterrupted.

Truthfully, I could stare at her all night in all her forms and never get sick of it.

The man she’s with wins the poker hand, and as soon as he does, Venesa pulls him from the table, linking her fingers with his and dragging him from the room. She looks back once, flashing me a warning glare before she returns her attention to the guy. She stumbles in her heels like she’s drunk, and that confirms it to me, because I may have only known her for two days, but every time there’s been alcohol for everyone else, she hasn’t taken a sip.

Definitely playing him.

And even though I know that, even though I can logically rationalize that I’ve walked into something she’s probably trying to handle without me, it doesn’t stop me from standing and following them out of the room.

Because fuck her if she thinks I’ll allow her to disappear with another man on her arm when she came here with me.