Hexed (Never After #6)

45. Venesa

FORTY-FIVE

VENESA

Scotty brought me to Enzo’s penthouse, which…I’m not thrilled about, since I thought I made myself clear on where I stood on staying here when Aria’s tainted every piece of furniture.

Still, objectively, I can admire how badass the place itself is.

It’s immaculate, really. Again, very high up in the sky with a lot of windows, but maybe he just likes to torture himself.

Clearly, we’ve figured out a way to get him to conquer those fears, and as soon as this apartment doesn’t feel like Aria’s space anymore, I’ll let him fuck me up against these windows too.

Scotty didn’t stay, just brought me here and then said he had errands to run, taking Bastien with him and letting me know they’d be back later to keep me company.

I’m thankful for the alone time, honestly. Gives me a chance to walk around and get a sense of Enzo. It quickly becomes obvious that although he was engaged to Aria, she didn’t live here because it screams sophisticated single man .

The lines are very straight and narrow, with lots of monochromatic schemes. Black couches and white tables.

Expensive artwork on the walls and expressionist sculptures.

There’s no personal touch. No pictures of family or friends.

Not that I had any either. I just always assumed he would.

I studiously avoid the bedroom, not ready to face it, and I make my way back to the living room and sit on the couch. I take out my phone and send another text to Fisher.

Are you okay? I’m getting worried. Call me!! I have so much to tell you! Miss you, Gup.

Surprisingly, three dots pop up before I can put my phone down.

Hey, I’m good. Just missing you. Wanna chat?

Call me!

He sends a video request, and I answer immediately.

“God, I was thinking you’d been abducted,” I say.

He laughs and leans back in the driver’s seat of his car.

“What are you up to?” I ask.

“Just trying to take a few minutes. Things have been wild since you’ve been gone.”

My brows draw in. “How so?”

He shrugs. “Just running the Lair, which your uncle is still letting me do, if you can believe it. It’s like he’s trying to replace you with me.” He runs a hand down his face. “I don’t know how you did it.”

I’m not surprised. He wouldn’t get rid of the Lair because of the money it brings in, and Fisher’s the only one who knows that place like the back of his hand. Uncle T might hate me now, but he’s not someone to miss taking advantage of simple situations if they present themselves.

“But I don’t want to talk about me,” Fisher goes on. “Where are you? What’s up? I miss you, Short Stack.”

“I miss you too. I’m in New York…with Enzo.”

“Yeah…I heard about you and him.”

I’m speechless. He heard, and he didn’t immediately call and yell at me for not telling him myself?

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” I ask, trying to make sense of things.

He clears his throat. “You mean, does it hurt to know my best friend is having this whole-ass Romeo and Juliet affair and didn’t even bother to tell me? I had to find out from your cousin, who, by the way, is not handling it well.”

“Aria’s still there?”

“Yep.”

I wasn’t sure if she’d come back to New York or bide her time. It’s good if she stays, since it makes it easier to kill her and my uncle at the same time. Two birds, one stone, and all that.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just…this was something I wanted to keep close to my chest, you know? It felt too new or something.”

His mouth twitches. “I’ll forgive you if you tell me one thing.”

“Anything,” I reply.

“Does he have a big dick?”

A grin spreads across my face. “Almost too big.”

He scoffs. “No such thing.”

“There is!” I argue, laughing. “Anything over nine inches is pushing it, and sometimes that’s too much. It will shove into your cervix, and it’s painful .”

“Ugh, whatever. So, what, you and him are together now, or…?”

“I don’t know what we are. He makes me feel…I think I—” My heart skips because of what I almost just said out loud. “Look, I can’t say much, but just hang on, okay?”

His brow arches. “What’s that mean?”

I chew on my lip, trying to figure out what I can tell him over the phone. “It means things are about to change…things are changing, and when they do, I won’t just forget about you.”

“Changing where, exactly? Here? Or in New York?”

“Both,” I admit. “You just have to trust me. Can you do that?”

He runs a hand over his mouth and sighs. “I worry about you, Short Stack. But yeah… you know I’ve always got your back.”

“Good.” Relief flows through me. “And hey, stay away from my cousin, okay? There’s no good that comes from it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves me off, and then his eyes flick beyond the camera, and he frowns. “Hey, I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you later, Short Stack. Love you.”

Click.

I stare at my phone for a few seconds, because what the hell? He hung up on me.

Tossing the cell on the table, I lean back and close my eyes, calming my mind and trying to center myself. I haven’t been able to meditate properly in weeks, ever since Enzo came into my life, and I feel like I’m losing my grasp on the delicate balance of my spirituality and reality.

Even now, I can’t get it together, the conversation with Fisher sending prickles of unease sprinkling along my skin like microneedles.

The elevator that opens directly into the foyer of the penthouse dings, the doors sliding wide.

I shoot up straight, everything in me going immediately on guard because I didn’t think anyone else could get in here without the elevator key to unlock this floor.

Again, I’m alone and without a weapon. Bastien would murder me himself if he knew.

A beautiful woman with curved eyes and golden skin walks inside, her outfit screaming class, and her face warm and welcoming. She smiles, a giant three-ring binder tucked into her side. “You must be Venesa.”

I raise a brow at her. “Depends on who you are, I suppose.”

Again, the elevator dings behind her and opens, men pouring out of the small space and walking into the room, filtering through the penthouse.

“What the hell is going on?”

“I’m Vivian, Mr. Marino’s interior designer.” She walks in farther, places her binder down on the coffee table, and claps her hands once. “Gentlemen, we need every piece of furniture taken out, immediately. Thank you!” she says in a singsong.

I blink at her.

Her smile drops. “Did he not tell you to expect me?”

“He did not, I’m afraid.”

“Well, maybe he wanted it to be a surprise. It’s not every day you get to go on a shopping spree and furnish a ten-thousand-square-foot penthouse.”

I squint at her, still unsure, and then I pick up my phone and dial his number.

“Piccola sirena.”

“I think you’re being robbed.”

I’m being serious, but all he does is laugh. “I sent her. Pick out whatever you like, make the place your own. Erase your cousin and everything she’s ever touched.”

I lift my brows, shocked he’s willing to get rid of what must be an exorbitantly expensive amount of furniture just to make sure I’m comfortable.

But you won’t hear me complaining.

After a lifetime of not being anyone’s first choice, it’s nice to be spoiled like this, and with the way he continues to keep spoiling me, it’s something I could get used to. Quickly.

Honestly, I deserve it. I’m done with not putting myself first. And I know this thing with Enzo won’t last forever, but I’m sure as hell going to enjoy it while it does last. Besides, I’ve never really lived in the lap of luxury, even though I’ve been a prisoner, forced to watch it from the inside.

“You’re sure?” I ask.

“Yes, baby. I’m sure. I gotta go, but I’ll be home tonight, and we’ll break in the new stuff.”

“You’re getting furniture I choose here today? How is that possible?”

He chuckles over the line. “How many times do I have to tell you I own this city before you believe me?”

I don’t know why that sentence turns me on, but it does. “That’s…incredibly attractive to me.”

“Oh?” His voice lowers. “What are you wearing?”

“Do you want the truth or want me to lie?”

He sighs. “The truth. I don’t have time to handle you the way I want right now.”

Emotion overwhelms me as I watch the movers take out furniture piece by piece. “Thank you for this. It’s…it means a lot. I’m not sure how to thank you properly.”

“You’re welcome, baby. You can thank me by spending as much as you can.”

I smile, and three words almost trip off the end of my tongue, but I bite them back at the last second.

When I hang up, Vivian is back in my face with a beaming grin and that thick binder. “Ready to spend his money?”

Enzo wasn’t lying when he said the furniture would be here today, because as soon as I pick items, Vivian is on her phone, and then they’re here within hours, showing up like magic.

By the end of the day, right after sunset, she’s gone, and the apartment is filled with new things. Nice things. And most importantly, things I picked and that I know Aria never would.

Scotty and Bastien are back, having gone to the grocery store and bought enough food to feed an army, and we’re all in the open kitchen right off the living room.

Scotty’s cooking dinner—his homemade meatballs—and Bastien is sitting at the island next to me.

It’s comfortable, and for the first time in forever, it feels like I have a place. A family. Like I’m home . It doesn’t have to do with blood—not really—and maybe that’s where I’ve always gotten it wrong. I’ve been searching for things in the wrong places. But there’s a part of me just waiting for the other shoe to drop, and that makes it impossible to grasp the comfort fully.

It’s rare that good things last, and people are great at being their own downfalls, myself included.

Scotty’s droning on about some new people who moved in a few floors down, but I’m not paying close enough attention to care about what he’s saying.

“Let me ask you something, kid.” Bas finally cuts him off. “How the hell do you know so much random shit?”

“I pay attention, Bastien. Something you should try every once in a while, you know? It’s good to listen to your surroundings. Women love a listener.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Scotty stops forming his meatballs and turns to Bastien with a frown. “You know I don’t like it when you call me that. We’ve talked about this a hundred times already.”

“Yeah, Bas. Be nice to Scotty.” I reach over and smack him on the arm.

He gives me a wide-eyed look and then sits back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the countertop.

“What did you two all day anyway?” I ask.

Scotty shrugs. “Just burned daylight.”

“ Burning daylight? ” I ask, because what the hell does that mean.

“You know…shooting the shit. Wasting the day away until night falls and the real fun can begin.” He waggles his brows and then asks, “So what’s up? You all moved in now, or what?”

“Like I’d tell you, the world’s biggest gossip,” I joke. But I don’t feel the amusement.

What am I going to do, move to New York and become a mob wife?

He pats the meatball he’s forming and grins. “That hurts, V. Honest. You’re killing me. I gotta deal with this knucklehead all day”—he gestures to Bastien—“and now I deal with you too? How’s a guy supposed to feel the love with all this animosity?”

“I’m not focusing on things I can’t control, Scotty. I’m only focusing on the right here and now.”

He purses his lips and bobs his head. “E know you feel that way?”

I studiously avoid Bastien’s gaze. “You let me worry about Enzo.”

Bastien snorts.

I glare. “Cut it out. Focus on your make-believe stories, not on me.”

He rolls his eyes and throws his hands up in a surrendering gesture.

Faintly, I hear an elevator ding, and Scotty looks into the hallway, then jerks his chin at me. “Better go see who it is. You’re the queen of the castle, babe.”

“What if it’s somebody here to kill us?” I’m only half joking. I don’t really like that an elevator opens directly into the penthouse, despite it only being accessible by a key.

Scotty laughs. “Then I guess you’ll die and give us time to either escape or be prepared.”

“That’s not funny,” Bastien says.

“Babe, it’s a penthouse apartment for one of the most powerful men in New York. You think they let just anyone waltz up here?”

Before I can stand, Enzo saunters into the room and heads straight to me, then scoops me up and takes me straight to the bedroom, not even sparing anyone else a glance.

I let him, because honestly, when he carries me like this or throws me over his shoulder, it’s hot as hell. Even if I wanted to complain, I don’t think my vagina would let me.

When we get to the bedroom, he kicks open the door and closes it behind him before throwing me on the new bed.

I toss a hand out. “Wait! Tell me you like the furniture.”

He ignores me and strips off his suit jacket, then his vest, and then his shirt underneath. And I watch him because I’m never one to turn down a free show, and I’ve been dying to really soak him in topless—to get a better look at his ink—since the moment I saw him at my uncle’s estate. He takes his pants off next, leaving him in black boxers, and then he’s on me, pushing me back on the bed and kissing down my neck, his hand already heading toward my breasts.

“I’m serious,” I tell him. “I want your approval. I’ll just be thinking about it the whole time if you don’t, and then I won’t be able to come.”

Sighing, he sits back, scanning the room. “It’s nice.”

I quirk a brow. “Nice? That’s all I get?”

He grins lasciviously at me. “I’m more interested in this view.” He brushes his hand along my front and dips beneath my jeans, but they’re tight, and he can’t get very far.

He frowns. “I like you in dresses. I need easy access.”

I reach down and undo my button, and he pulls my pants off slowly, leaning over and giving small bites and kisses to my pussy.

“I love that you don’t wear underwear.”

He’s right, I rarely do. It’s constricting, and I hate the way it feels. My girl needs to breathe.

“I’ll never wear them again,” I moan, my eyes going half-lidded as he gets me naked from the waist down and then tongues my clit.

He gives me a few more licks before he crawls up my frame, pressing his mouth to mine.

I can taste myself on him, tangy and a little salty, but it’s incredibly erotic. I swirl my tongue around his and drag it into my mouth so I can suck myself off him, which I’ve realized quickly is one of my favorite things to do. It turns me on, bad.

He groans, gripping my hips, and then he flips us over until he’s on his back and I’m on top of him.

“Ride my face,” he demands, digging his fingers into my thighs and pushing me forward.

And well, who am I to argue?

So I let him move me until my pussy is hovering above his mouth, his hot breath cascading over my center.

He grips my ass in his hands and then smacks one side hard enough to sting.

A sharp jab of arousal slices me in half before settling between my legs.

“Sit on my face, baby. Suffocate me.”

And then he uses his hold on my cheeks to force me down.

I suck in a sharp breath because his tongue is going to work , and it feels incredible. I move my hips back and forth, grinding against his mouth, my eyes locked on where he’s licking me, and I know I won’t last long like this. He’s easily the most skilled man who has ever eaten my pussy, and I’m glad he seems to enjoy the job.

My hands shoot out and grip the headboard so I can ride his tongue better, and his fingers come up and slip through the crack of my ass, then go lower. Teasing. Testing.

It’s enough to make me shatter.

I come so hard, stars dot my vision, and he groans when I flood his mouth, keeping me locked against him while he laps me up like I’m fine wine.

I’ve never felt more attractive to someone than I do at this moment. And it’s…powerful. I move off him after my orgasm ends and try to catch my breath.

“That was amazing,” I sigh, my head lolling to the side. “You really like eating pussy, don’t you? Wear me out with it, honestly.”

After rolling over, I tuck myself into his side, my chest heaving as my lungs try to catch up with my heart. My fingers trace the designs of his ink, ghosting across the letters of his last name tattooed on his neck.

“Do all your tattoos mean something?”

He hums, the vibration deep as it reverberates through his chest and into my body from where I’m lying against him. “Not really. I just like the feel. It’s addicting, getting them.”

He lifts his arm and turns it, nodding toward two different sets of numbers. “These do though.”

I reach out and touch where he’s referencing. “What are they?”

“Dates. One for my Ma’s death, and one for my brother’s.”

His words slam into me like a wrecking ball, and I bite my cheek so I don’t inhale an audible gasp. My stomach rolls and heaves anyway, though. “That’s nice,” I force out.

He quirks a brow at me. “I don’t want to talk about depressing shit.”

I grin at him then, relief washing away the bad feeling that was brewing in my center. “We can talk about how exhausted I am from riding your face instead.”

He chuckles and then rolls on top of me. “It’s adorable that you think we’re done.”

And then he stands, grabs my hand, and moves me in front of the new floor-length mirror I set up in the corner of his room.