So, as much fun as it would have been to spend the last week and a half fucking with Rayne, he hasn't. He's all but ignored her existence, his focus singular on finding the coward who nearly killed Enzo. For the first few days, Rayne had—unsurprisingly—barricaded herself in her room. Eskil had left her alone. Even when she'd finally gathered the courage (or got hungry enough) to tiptoe her way into the kitchen, he'd just eyed the video feed running on one of his screens, a slight smirk ghosting over his lips.
Naturally, one of the other displays has featured the Vincenza manor on a loop. He's been monitoring Lorenzo closely, aware of every minute change in his status; wisely, he spends much of the time sedated, allowing him to just rest and heal—especially considering what he'd done without it. Eskil would pay to see Luciano Vincenza get punched in the face again. Repeatedly. In person, preferably, though his cameras certainly don't lack for video quality.
By the tenth day, Enzo is well enough to travel. Far from recovered, but he's been able to stay awake and alert the last few days, and he can walk with the assistance of a cane. And he's getting restless. Eskil knows it. Knows he's had Omar hunting for any traces of Rayne. Knows he's going to blow a fuse soon if he doesn't get answers. He sits back in his office chair, clipping a stilled image from early this morning, when the cresting sun's rays had streaked her skin and hair in golden patches where she slept, undisturbed.
It's dark now, and Eskil has been up working for a few hours—forever a creature of the night.
Huffing a breath, because he is very aware that Enzo is going to come in here like a hurtling storm, he steels himself as he fires off a message.
The picture of Rayne.
An address.
Lifting his gaze over the rim of his glasses, he watches Lorenzo in real time on the computer screen, opening the message. Eskil returns his attention to his phone, and as soon as the read receipt comes through, he purges the message—from his phone, from Enzo's, from any traceable path. Like magic, that text will vanish right in front of Enzo's very eyes. Good thing Eskil knows he's a quick study.
He stares at the text message in a mixture of disbelief and something he can’t quite put his finger on. The image came from an unsaved number. At one point, he wouldn’t have doubted that it’s one of Eskil’s many phones. But things were different now. The text was nothing more than an image and an address. It’s not even a conscious thought for him to memorize it, it comes naturally. In the image, she sleeps seeming undisturbed but this life has stripped Enzo of any and all naivety. The bed is room is unfamiliar, just as the address. This could be from a video, one in the room of wherever she’s been staying. It sets his skin on fire. Nostrils flare as his jaw clenches.
The image could be one of a million things. And not a single one is good.
Then it’s gone. Erased from his phone like it was never there.
He’s on his feet in an instant - well, as fast as he can currently. A cane supports a majority of his weight. His body still isn’t quite ready for him to be up and about, but Lorenzo Vincenza has been a terrible patient. The moment he didn’t want to immediately vomit upon standing, he was attempting to return to work. Now, adrenaline flooded his system, minimizing the pain he felt as he left the house, sliding into the driver seat of his car.
After recent events, Enzo isn’t traveling alone. A change that he didn’t put up much of a fight against, not with the mole still breathing. The apartment building isn’t out of the ordinary, it’s in a nicer part of the city, but not so flashy as to draw attention. It seems benign.
The front door is kicked in - by someone who wouldn’t black out from pain for even trying. Enzo steps inside, his gun already in his hand as he clears the room. His chest heaves with effort and he knows he will pay dearly for this outing later. Blood rushes in his ears and he religiously ignores the sliver out doubt that races up his spine. The last time his gun was in his hand, he nearly died. In his profession, he can’t afford that doubt or would most definitely cost him his life.
It’s two fold though. He has no idea what he’s going to find in this apartment. For all he knows, Rayne is playing him and will come strolling down the hall with a self satisfied grin. Unlikely as that is. He hasn’t laid eyes on her since before he was shot. And he’s nothing but time to think. About her. About the way she ran that day. About the way Luciano threatened her life. About her immediate disappearance. It’s been eating him alive. The not knowing. The complete utter lack of control he had over anything and everything in his life.
Eyes land on Eskil and in that moment, he honestly considers shooting the bastard. It all falls into place. Eskil has been keeping Rayne. ”What the fuck have you done?” Enzo snarls, immediately stalking towards the older man. A flick of his wrist has his security detail disappearing into the hall, the broken door shutting behind them. ”Where is she?” He seethes. If it were anyone but Eskil, he’d be searching the apartment. But he doesn’t doubt that she’s safe. Unharmed. Which leaves him time to throttle Eskil.
She had done well to keep herself locked away in the room, only emerging when necessary for food or a drink. Each time, though, she did so without uttering a word to Eskil. It felt as if the last reins of control she’d clung to were slipping through her fingers. She tried, repeatedly, to reach Enzo through the cameras, but each attempt ended in silence, Eskil must have known she would try. All she was left with was watching him improve day by day, until the moment came when he was finally off bed rest and walking with a cane. It hurt to see him like that, a shadow of the man he had been, but there was also a bittersweet relief knowing that, despite everything, he was alive. He had defied the odds.
Her clothes, the ones she had been wearing before being kidnapped, were long past clean. After a week in Eskil's house, they were filthy, and the discomfort of sleeping in jeans only added to her restlessness. Reluctantly, she’d given in, wearing one of his oversized t-shirts to sleep, and every night, she washed her underwear by hand, making sure they were ready for the next day. She had no idea that, in the dead of night, Eskil had taken a photo of her like that—one that he would send to Enzo, sparking a rage that would send him into a downward spiral.
Another sleepless night dragged on, and with every passing minute, the question in her mind grew louder—how, and when, was she going to escape this nightmare? Speaking to Eskil was useless. He offered no insight, no guidance, the silence between them felt suffocating. She had begun to plan her escape, much like she had done when she first found herself entangled in this mess with Enzo. But before she could get too far into it, she flicked open the laptop to see what Enzo was doing.
To her surprise, Enzo wasn’t in the room. Her brows furrowed. Had he gone to get something to drink or eat? But she quickly dismissed that—she assumed the maids would have brought him his meals. She ran a finger across her lips, pondering, when a loud bang shattered the stillness of the room. She jumped to her feet, heart pounding, and made her way to the door.
Could it be? Was Eskil finally letting her go?
She didn’t waste time changing, her only desire now to get the hell out of this place. She threw open the door, only to be met with the sight of Enzo standing in the opposite room, a gun drawn and aimed straight at Eskil. Her heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach at the sight.
"Enzo..." she breathed in disbelief, her mind racing. How did he know where to find her?
A tidal wave of emotions hit her. She wanted to run into his arms, to collapse against him and cry. But the cold, hard gun trained on Eskil kept her rooted to the spot. If Enzo looked at her closely, he would see that she was relatively unscathed—no bruises, no marks of abuse. She was thinner, yes, but otherwise, she was fine. And yet, the shock of the moment left her paralyzed, the overwhelming realization sinking in—she was finally going to leave. But at what cost?
"What the fuck have you done?" Eskil's expression is neutral as Enzo stalks closer, his weapon in one hand and a cane in the other. "What you couldn't," he answers, leaving the rest unsaid but lingering in the air between them: kept her safe. Not for Rayne—for Enzo. It's quite possibly the most selfless thing he's ever done, and it still might get him killed. The following question, naturally, is where she is, and he inclines his head to the side, gesturing at the closed doorway just behind his shoulder.
Neither of them have to move an inch, though.
Rayne's door opens with almost as much enthusiasm as the front door had.
Naturally, Eskil's head tips the rest of the way in her direction, casting a quick glance over her blanched features, struck dumb like a deer in the headlights. His eyes snag a second longer than they ought to on her long, bare legs, though his lingering stare is out of surprise—definitely just surprise, and nothing else. Jesus fucking christ, why isn't she wearing pants? The slow slide of his gaze back towards Lorenzo is wary, far from convinced he isn't about to get shot for Rayne's half naked state, and murmurs in a low voice, "you're scaring her."
He has no disillusioned belief that Rayne's anxiety is for him.
He just knows that unlike the two men facing off in front of her, she isn't a fucking psychopath, and is logically horrified at the idea of someone dying right in front of her.
At least take the dog out back if you're gonna put him down, Enzo.
What you couldn’t.
It’s years of history that keeps him from pulling the trigger. But even that isn’t quite enough to stifle the way those words slice into him. So painfully accurate. His eyes immediately go blank from it. Intentional or not, Eskil poured salt in an already open and festering wound. Enzo is well aware of his current state, of the weakness that he can’t help. His doctor keeps assuring him that he’ll be better in time. But in this life, time is a precious commodity few have. The lack of malice in his poor choice of words offers little comfort. A part of him does know what Eskil meant. All this time, he’s kept Rayne safe. Up here in his tower, where he has eyes everywhere. He’d bet his life that Eskil watched him all the way to the door. He’d also venture so far as to say Eskil wasn’t keeping her safe for her own sake. It’s out of character for the hacker - such selflessness - and that it has Enzo regarding him with a cooling, though now guarded, expression. It’s enough, just barely, to soothe his explosive temper, to have his gun lower.
Until a door behind Eskil is ripped open and Rayne steps out. Enzo... Dressed in nothing but Eskils shirt. Both men’s attention snapped to her immediately but it only takes a heartbeat for Enzo’s stare to turn murderously back to Eskil - whose stare noticeably lingers. And his gun to lift. Eskil has the decency to look wary by the time he looks at Enzo again. ”Thats what you’re worried about?” He snaps, once again looking like he’s considering where to bury the hacker. But he immediately tucks his gun back into its holster in his waistband. He doesn’t truly believe that Eskil has fucked her - as fuckable as she looks-, he knows Eskil far too well. Not that that does anything to quell the feral possessiveness that rips through him. She’s still wearing another man’s clothes. And not just any man’s shirt. Eskils shirt. Who Enzo also fucks… Its maddening that Rayne looks sexy as fuck wearing it.
She stands like a deer in the headlights, just barely having stepped into the hall. Her eyes wide and uncertain, her face pale. Otherwise, she looks just as she did the last time he saw her. She’s still all long legs and fuck me eyes. He realizes then just how much he’s missed her. Both in and out of his bed. The urge to touch her, her wrap her in his embrace is startling in its potency and he only half wonders what that means. Relief is there too, she's been safe all this time, nothing terrible has happened to her. Blowing out a breath, he extends a hand in her direction. Curling two fingers slowly, he beckons her closer. ”Come here, Rayne.” He forces the softer tone into his voice. Enzo is painfully aware that while Eskil doesn’t balk under the heat of his temper, Rayne does. Exhaustion and recently being shot has him working overtime to control his aggression, to rein it in, to keep it all together. She doesn’t know this life he’s dragged into her and she’s seen far from the worst of it without any explanation. Rayne still has no idea who he is. She doesn’t know what the Vincenza name means. And in his world, that will get her killed. Her blissful ignorance is about to come to an end.
As the adrenaline dissipates, he’s acutely aware of every movement he’s made since he stood up. Thank fuck for this damned cane. His weight sinks onto it almost imperceptibly. Any painkillers that were in his system, are fading far faster than he’d ever admit, much to his intense disappointment. Thankfully, masking his suffering is not a new skill for him to master. He did until the day he was bigger than Luciano. Until both her and his father learned who was stronger now. All those years, it gave him a damn good poker face. Most of the time anyways. He waited, with seemingly endless patience. Though inwardly he thought he might explode if she didn't get her ass over her.
For a moment, there's an understanding between them.
And then Rayne had distracted them both, and when his eyes shift back to Enzo, the gun is in his face again—much like he'd expected. His snapped question is met with a shrug of Eskil's shoulders, as though to say "kinda." His placation has the intended effect of lowering Enzo's hackles, and the tension limning his muscles eases when the weapon is finally tucked out of view and out of hand. Eskil isn't fond of guns; despite his...dark proclivities where the mafioso is concerned, he doesn't enjoy true violence, and he fucking hates hand-to-hand combat. There's a reason he would rather wield his weapons from behind the safety of a screen and anonymity.
The breath that huffs free from Enzo relaxes him further, and Eskil shrugs his way around him, heading through the living room. "Sit down before you pass the fuck out, asshole," he grouses on his way past, waving a flippant hand towards the loveseat and armchair positioned around the coffee table. His tone is gruff, but it's Eskil's way of showing that he cares—that he worries. Unlike Rayne, he doesn't have the freedom of wearing his heart on his sleeve; even if he could, he wouldn't know how. Every iota of warped affection and profound trust between Lorenzo and Eskil lives in the things they never say.
He disappears a moment later into the kitchen, allowing Rayne and Enzo their moment for a—no doubt disgustingly sappy—reunion while he busies himself making drinks.
The air around them is thick with tension. Rayne can only look back and forth between the two men, the gun still drawn in Enzo's hand. She bites her lip, afraid that any words she speaks might tip the scale, pushing Enzo closer to pulling the trigger. Her throat tightens as she swallows back the lump that forms there, her heart pounding as the silence stretches between them. After what feels like an eternity, Enzo motions for her to come to him. She doesn't hesitate. Her bare feet slap lightly against the floor as she hurries to his side, a hand instinctively wrapping around his back as she tucks herself under his arm.
His scent hits her, familiar and grounding. In his arms, despite everything, she feels safer than she has in a long time. Her eyes shift slowly to the cane beside him, and a quiet pang of concern stirs in her chest. She knows the injury is still fresh, but seeing it in person, it hits her harder than she'd anticipated. She can't even begin to imagine the pain he's in, but she's learning more of the life Enzo leads, a life that she was ignorant to. His father in a monster, and even the describing word is an understatement.
Rayne's been naive at times, but she's not blind. She knows, deep down, that Enzo walks a dark and dangerous path—one he pulled her into, whether she wanted to go or not. She can no longer deny the gnawing truth that he's not the man she would willingly choose. Still, there’s a part of her that can’t shake the intimacy, the time they've shared only made her heart grow fonder, even when she was ignorant to who he truly is.
The thought comes uninvited, but she can’t ignore it. Could she really live this life with him? Could she stay here for him, because pf the feelings she has? Is that enough to drown out the dark truths she’s learning about his world? A soft sigh slips from her lips as she watches Eskil motion for Enzo to sit. She doesn't know the extent of their relationship, but she's tried—tried to understand, tried to ask questions during the time she spent with Eskil. She knows he's a skilled hacker and might have worked with Enzo in the past, but the hostility between them made her wonder what she didn’t see.
Rayne watches Eskil leave the room to fetch drinks, then turns her attention back to Enzo. She waits, letting him sit first, even though every instinct in her wants to help him. She knows he doesn’t need that right now, though— she doesn't need her to treat him like he's weak, even if his injury has left him less capable than before. After a moment of steadying her breath, she slips onto the chair beside him, draping her bare legs carefully over his thighs, careful not to jostle his wounds. The tension of the room seems to settle, and when Eskil finally leaves them alone, Rayne leans forward, brushing her lips against Enzo's.
The kiss is soft, tentative, but her heart pounds in her chest as if they were never apart. She leans back into him, her head resting on his shoulder as she melts into the safety of his arms. She could stay here forever, she thinks, if not for the nagging "what ifs" in the back of her brain.
“He didn’t hurt me,” she murmurs into his ear, her voice quiet but sure. “He’s a little... weird, but I stayed in the room most of the time.”
She doesn't need to elaborate further. Enzo knows her better than that. She knows he understands. That they didn’t sleep together, that she’s not that kind of woman she is. But more than that, she knows she has nothing to hide from him, no secrets between them, at least on her end. It’s a strange kind of comfort, one she was still trying to figure out for herself.
Rayne doesn’t hesitate. She closes the distance between them the moment he speaks. A slow, half smile lifts one corner of his mouth. His arm curls around her as she tucks herself into his side. There he presses a kiss to the top of her head and he feels some of the tension ebb from his shoulder. He doesn’t like the chaos the has invaded his world. The added danger to those around him that he cares about. None of it sits well for a type A control freak. But having Rayne back at his side takes one thing off his list to worry about. Things are different now, the rules of the game have changed. Her position in his life would need to change too. He couldn’t leave her in the dark anymore.
Not because Eskil told him to, Enzo sits and he nearly sags into the couch with relief. Rayne sits beside him, throwing her bare legs across his lap. Staking her claim. His hands immediately find her legs, sliding up her shins, across her knees and up her thighs. It’s not inherently sexual, but he won’t deny that he’s missed the feel of her. From the kitchen behind them, he can hear the soft clink of glasses as Eskil makes himself scarce. Not that Enzo is bothered by his presence. Eskil could sit across from them and watch if he so desired. It’s not a thought he hangs onto for long, not when Rayne leans in and presses a kiss to his lips. His mouth curls into a smile. He doesn’t let her escape with just a quick peck either. Threading his fingers through her hair, he cups the back of her head as he deepens the kiss. Only when he’s explored every inch of mouth does he let her go, letting her head rest on his shoulder.
He didn’t hurt me. I know. Eskil wouldn’t harm a hair on her pretty head. his chuckle is low and he winces slightly at the movement it causes. ”Weird.” He echoes, thoroughly amused. Of all the ways to describe Eskil. Rayne didn’t know the half of it. ”Eskil won’t hurt you.” Now or ever. His expression sobers with the truth. Eskil isn’t winning any host of the year awards but she’s always been safe here.
Enzo would ever admit if it’s intentional or not, but his thumb draws lazy circles on her thigh, circling slowly as his palm rests on her leg. ”Are you okay?” He didn’t mean in the physical sense. She’d come face to face with his father and managed to walk out alive. He’s not sure she understands the damn near miracle that is. Then Eskil locked her in another gilded cage. Concern softened the lines around his eyes, he genuinely wanted to know. Surely she had questions too. Tonight, Enzo is an open book. He rests easily against the couch cushions, casually keep Rayne in place across his lap while he waits. Waits for her to answer his question, to voice her own.
She keeps her head against his shoulder, letting the warmth of him settle into her bones, her body aching for that comfort. She’s so close to falling asleep, to surrendering to the relief of being near him, but the restless nights she’s endured since being held here threaten to pull her under. Her mind, however, won’t stay still for long. When he speaks again, mentioning Eskil, his concern for her, it pulls her from her thoughts, jolting her back to the present. She knows what he means—it’s not just about Eskil, not just about this moment. It’s deeper than that.
Rayne lifts her head from his shoulder, her eyes scanning the side of his face. She watches him intently, something shifting inside her as she tries to read him. There’s a softness to him now, a vulnerability she hasn't seen before. It's subtle, but it's there. A crack in the armor. Maybe it's because he nearly died, or maybe it’s because he didn’t know if he’d ever see her again. How she left him—no, how she ran—wasn't the best decision, she knows that now. She just needed space, needed time, but if she had known it would cause him to be shot, she would have done things so differently. Her heart tightens at the thought.
There is one question she wants answered. “How do you know him?” The question is simple, but her voice is unsure, the weight of it hanging in the air between them. She had tried to get the answer from Eskil, but he always danced around it, never giving her a straight response. Rayne inhales deeply, her hand resting on the top of his wrist, fingers curling slightly as she watches him draw slow, deliberate circles with his thumb on her thigh. She can tell he’s lost in thought, his mind somewhere else, but she knows he’s trying to focus on her the best way he knows how.
She struggles to find the right words, unsure how to voice the storm of emotions inside her. “I’m...” Her voice falters, trying to make sense of the tangled mess of feelings. “Confused... I guess.” She chews on her lip, feeling the edges of her own uncertainty press in around her. “I didn’t think it was normal, how we met, the circumstances, but as the days went on, I just pushed that part of it away, buried it.” She exhales, her breath shaky. “But then... Your dad. The way he hit your sister. The way he threatened me. You getting shot. Eskil. This whole situation is just... too much."
She unconsciously starts picking at the skin of her thumb, a nervous habit, though she doesn’t even realize it. She can feel her heart racing, her body almost trembling with the intensity of the words she’s trying to say, the fear of what it all means.
“I don’t feel like I really know you, Enzo.” Her voice is quiet now, raw in a way she didn’t expect. She looks at him, eyes tracing the sharp contours of his face, the hardness that had always been there, now softened by something else—something she can’t quite place. There’s an undeniable pull to him, an attraction she can’t ignore, but it’s more than just that. It’s the intimacy, the quiet moments, the banter that cuts through the tension between them. And even still, despite all of that, she feels like she’s only just scratching the surface of who he really is.
She bites her lip again, a mix of desire and uncertainty churning in her chest. “I don’t think I know you at all—not like you know me, at least. Or what this is." Her gaze locks with his, the tension between them thick and palpable. There’s a question there, unspoken but clear. Would everything change if she knew him? Really knew him? Would security she built crumble if she saw the truth of who he is? She has no idea. But she can’t ignore the ache inside her. She wants the chance to find out. To see what’s on the other side of that mask he wears. To know the man behind the cold exterior.
She just doesn’t know if she’s ready to face it.
Blowing a slow breath from his nostrils, the moment he'd allowed himself to be vulnerable comes to an end, and he pushes off the counter to start collecting supplies from cabinets. Eskil can hear the low murmur of their voices in the room beyond, but he can't make out what they're saying as glasses clink and liquid pours. By the time he returns to the living room, Rayne is unsurprisingly curled up against and across Enzo like a cat, and there's a mixture of self-satisfaction and steely resolve in the mafioso's features that all but promises this night is far from over.
Aside from when he'd first grabbed her, Eskil hasn't touched Rayne, and he makes no effort to change that habit now. Instead, he sets a gin and tonic, ice softly rattling, within her reach on the coffee table. A healthy glass of bourbon is extended to Enzo, waiting for him to take it before Eskil retreats to the armchair, sinking into it and crossing his ankle over his knee; one hand rests casually against his thigh, and the other lifts a clear glass of vodka to his lips. His silence is uncharacteristic of him—at least when he's in Enzo's presence, who he can never help but to jab at relentlessly—and Eskil's expression is deliberately neutral as he eyes Lorenzo over the rim of the glass.
He could easily tell Eskil to fuck off, that this has nothing to do with him—but somehow, he knows he won't. They both know what Rayne is about to learn: they are inextricably tied together, bound by a lifetime of crime and bloodshed that leaves only two possible paths forward.
Absolute, unyielding loyalty.
Or death.
She wants to know everything. Of course she does. He didn’t expect anything less. And it all starts with Eskil. Enzo didn’t want to lie to her, but he also didn’t have the slightest clue how to even begin telling her. His silence isn’t him ignoring her. It’s him trying to find the right words. To tell her his most closely guarded secret. To give her access to a part of his life that only one other knew about. It’s a leap of faith. One he doesn’t anticipate her understanding. How long has it been since the mafia heir was last nervous? Thankfully she continued, giving him time to piece together the words that would irrevocably change their entire relationship. I don’t feel like I really know you, Enzo. The air grows thick with tension until it’s palpable.
Eskil chooses that moment to arrive. He sets down a glass a clear liquid on the coffee table. Gin and tonic if Enzo were to guess. A glass of bourbon is offered, lingering in Eskils between them. Enzo takes it and doesn’t so much as flinch when the hacker makes himself comfortable. There’s nothing he’s about to tell Rayne that Eskil doesn’t already know.
All eyes are on him. Nothing new there.
”You’re right..” He agrees. ”You don’t know me.” It sounds harsh, but it’s true. He’s been systematical in the way he keeps her blind to his life. ”My full name is Lorenzo Vincenza.” Rich Italian tones envelop each syllable as his name rolls smoothly off his tongue. ”And I’m heir to a mafia empire.” To put it in the simplest terms possible. He watches her features closely. ”My father is the current Don.” For now. He doesn’t give her any gory details about exactly what it is he does behind closed doors, only how he handles the legitimate businesses. While he doesn’t broadcast the blood on his hands, he won’t lie if she asks about it. The lives he’s taken - both justified and not.
”I met Eskil years ago, after he hacked into my company.” The hacker had been hired to do the job but the moment he had exceeded the capabilities of his current head of IT, he found himself with an offer at his fingertips. It had served as a sort of application. One that nearly had Enzo blowing a gasket at first. ”He’s worked for me off the books since.” Eskil likes his anonymity, so much that it was part of their agreement. His words are weighted, placing meaning behind “off the books”. Enzo is extending his trust, he’s letting her step into his inner most circle. One wrong move and she’d find herself out in the cold. But that’s not all Eskil is. ”We also sleep together.” There isn’t exactly delicate way to tell her that he fucks Eskil. He pauses there. He regards her warily. It’s not something he shares, with anyone. Eskil is his dirty little secret. Some would call him bisexual and maybe it’s true, but Eskil is the only man to have ever graced his bed.
That’s only part of it. He hasn’t brushed on how he’s kidnapped her. On her running away. Or her coming back. He knows what she wants. She wants confirmation, that there is something between them, that its not just one sided. His thumb still draws slow circles on her skin. And he’s inclined to tell her.
When Enzo begins to speak, she turns her attention back to him. She knows he's thought long and hard about how to explain this to her. She also knows that this conversation will leave her with an unspoken pact she’ll have to carry to her grave. Despite whatever feelings Enzo may have for her, she knows he will do whatever it takes if necessary. Rayne never saw herself as above it all, though she wanted to believe she was different. She just wasn't sure.
He doesn't waste time being blunt, which she expected. But him telling her he's the heir to a mafia empire is a lot more than she anticipated. She knew he was involved in some crimes, but the mafia? Yeah. Telling him she didn’t know him at all now feels like an understatement. She nods in understanding because there are no words to capture how she feels. Scared, for one—she knows that life brings nothing good. She’ll need security wherever she goes, a constant target if they find out what she means to him.
But that’s not all.
He starts talking about Eskil—how they met, the kind of work he does. It makes sense, considering the cameras. That part wasn't so bad, so it seemed Eskil had connections after all.
Nope. Wrong.
"We also sleep together."
And then there was silence, followed by an even greater uncertainty as his thumb traced circles on her skin.
Rayne's eyes flick back to Eskil, who remains unfazed by the news. Her brows furrow, because she can’t help but focus on the word "sleep," which implies it’s something happening presently. So, the times Enzo disappeared at night to work, he was probably here with Eskil, while she waited for him? It’s one thing to swallow the fact that he’s the heir to a mafia empire, but to add hypocrisy to the mix? She feels her cheeks flush, her legs instinctively retreating from his lap as she sits up and moves away. It’s all too much. She was right—this wasn’t just about the mafia. He didn't even like the idea of her being here with Eskil in the first place. She sees now that he’s possessive, not just in this moment, but in countless others. She’s a prize to him, yet he’s out there "double-dipping" while she stays home, forced into loyalty.
It’s then that she stands from the chair, almost forgetting that she had questions about them, about why he kept her, about what their relationship even was. In that moment, she doesn't care.
"Your dad was right," she says, a single huff of a laugh escaping her lips. She turns to face him. "I can only imagine what this would look like if I had the freedom to sleep with anyone else besides you, Enzo." She pauses, her voice shaking with a mixture of disbelief and frustration. "Heir to a mafia empire, huh? That’s pretty big news, considering the life I lived before you. Sure, I could die tomorrow, but for some fucking reason, I feel like I would still blindly follow you. But your hypocrisy—wow." She inhales sharply before heading to the room, slamming the door behind her. She grabs her clothes, discarding Eskil’s shirt on the bed. Once dressed, she steps back into the hallway, arms crossed over her chest as she looks at both men.
"I'm ready to leave," she says, her voice firm and resolute. "And not back to your house, Enzo. I’m ready to go home."
Your dad was right. And she laughs. That stings and he can’t quite keep it off his face. He doesn’t need to know exactly what she’s referencing, what his father told her, because whatever it is, she’s decided it’s the truth. It’s like a punch to the gut, because coming from his father, it likely wasn’t good. She seemed to take everything else in easily enough. Her eyes widened slightly when he told her about his mafia connections but otherwise she accepted it. Though he could see the questions swirling in her eyes, the uncertainties that came with this life, the risks that came with being with him. There’s always danger, even with his place in the legitimate side of business. Soon enough, he’d sit at the head of his family and the target on his back would be so much bigger. And right now, the risks are so much higher with a mole on the loose and an attack on his life.
But it’s Eskil that sends her through the roof. Her body stiffens before she withdraws from him. At first, he has half a mind to hold her there, to keep her where he could force her to listen. He doesn’t and she gets to her feet in a huff of anger and betrayal. He realizes then the mistake he’s made, the words he’s chosen, poorly for a man so good with his words. She hurls her anger and hurt at him and he silently takes it, knowing that she’ll eventually burn herself out. Even when she disappears into the room, the door slamming so hard it rattles in the frame, he doesn’t follow her. He lets her process. A heavy sigh passes over his lips as he scrubs a hand down his face. Mismatched eyes flick to Eskil, who sits in silence - for once.
Enzo brings his glass to his lips, dragging in a large gulp that he hopes will numb some of his physical pain.
Rayne returns, dressed in her own clothes now and demands to leave. To go home. She thinks she’s mad now. With her cheeks flushed and her eyes full of defiance, she’s adorable when she’s mad. Something he still refrains from telling her. No need to throw gasoline on the fire. He holds a hand out to her, beckoning her closer despite knowing she’s going to refuse. She’ll stubbornly dig her heels in. And when she does, he’ll stand, a feat that feels impossible until he’s upright. ”I wasn’t done talking.” His voice is surprisingly evenly. ”Don’t make me drag you back here.” A growl enters his voice in warning. She wanted answer and he’s going to give them to her, she doesn’t just get to decide she’s done listening because she didn’t like what he said. Plus he has to tell her why she’s not going home anytime soon.
Her expression doesn’t change as she watches him, but he doesn’t budge. The longer he just sits there, blankly staring at her, the more her anger grows. She feels it simmering beneath the surface, slow and relentless, a storm gathering in her chest. Her head is pounding, a dull throb that amplifies every passing second, and her blood feels like it's bubbling under her skin, burning. Eskil remains silent, still. She doesn't know him well enough to understand why he’s so damn calm, but maybe he thinks it's easier this way. Either way, she doesn’t care. She’s done with this—done with him, done with all of it.
There’s nothing he, or Enzo, could say that would change her mind now.
When he doesn’t move, instead extending an arm and gesturing for her to come back, her cheeks grow hotter. Her teeth grind together, her jaw clenching until it hurts. Her heart is a loud, furious drum in her chest, thumping with rage. She’s furious, and it's written all over her face. "No," she snaps, her voice cold, the word a final declaration. Her feet are firmly planted where they are, refusing to move an inch. "I don’t care what you have to say, Enzo. Seriously, fuck you. You’re so fucking selfish," she adds, each word sharp and dismissive.
Rayne knows he’s going to get up, but now, she’s curious. How far is he really willing to go? Part of her doesn’t want to test him because deep down, she already knows the answer. She’s not going home. He’ll come up with some reason—some excuse—why she can’t, and once again, she’ll be locked in a cage of his making.
It’s like Enzo, she thinks bitterly. Always denying her those simple pleasantries.
The thought makes her laugh—sharp, almost manic. She’s losing it, and she knows it. Her anger is a thing of desperation now, tightening its grip on her chest. In this moment, him being in the mafia means nothing to her. She’s already lost control of her life. The best thing she can do is test that mafia bloodline—and maybe, just maybe, that’s the only thing that will ever truly set her free.
The angrier she gets, the redder her cheeks turn. No. Her voice is chilly and the singular is spoken like it’s gospel. Like no one could get her to bed to their will. It’s a trait that would serve her well at his side. It’ll keep her alive. For now though, it’s the name of his existence. He swallows a half sigh, half growl. It’s as infuriating as it is arousing. But he knows how far he’s pushed her tonight. He knows he treading a thin line with her. For once, Rayne is almost as sharp and dismissive as he is, but she’s no longer mentioning his father so he’ll take his tongue lashing in silence. She calls him selfish and he doesn’t deny it. She hits the nail on the head.
”Yes, I am selfish.” He stalks towards her. ”Haven’t I been since the night I took you home?” To his home. Where he locked her up in a gilded cage and made her his. Surely she’s not just now seeing it. She’s known this all along. He lives above the rules of society, a prince in his own right, Enzo has always done whatever he damn well pleases. Now they are in deep, his desire for her extends beyond the door corners of his bed. Now he’s not entirely sure he can let her go. Enzo stalks ever closer, his pace slow, mostly because it takes a hell of a lot more effort to stand on his own than he’d ever care to admit. In front of her, he exhales a harsh breath. ”I know you don’t believe it, but I do care about you.” The vulnerability he lays at her feet is an offering he doesn’t expect her to take. ”You aren’t just a shiny new toy for me to play with, Rayne.” She stopped being that awhile ago. "You're more than that." He pauses, reaching for her hand, something she tries to avoid. "So you don't get to run from me." He pulls her towards him despite her trying to jerk her hand free. Rayne snarls angrily at him, demanding to be let go. When will she understand, he's never letting her go? Every sharp movement she makes rolls up his arm and across his chest, it hurts. His body screams to let her go, but he reels her in until he holds both her tiny, clenched fists against his chest.
"Again." He growls in her ear.
Straightening, he keeps her in his grasp. "Especially when I have a mole." The words are a bitter taste on his tongue. "You can stay here, or you can stay at my apartment." But either way, she'd be far away from the family mansion. This will undoubtedly just make her angrier. Again, he closes the door on her cage. Except this time, its for her own good.
He's not said everything to her. Not yet. Not when she's mad enough that she sees red. He wants her to hear everything he has to say. Right now, all she'll hear is that he's stripped her of her freedom, placing her back in her cage and locking the door behind her. Looking down at her, he drinks her in. It feels like a lifetime since he's last seen her and in some ways it was. She'd bolted and then he'd nearly lost his life. When he came to, she was gone again. A ghost in the wind. He hadn't been sure he'd ever see her again. "Don't fight me on this." His tone softens and if one listened hard enough, it just might sound a little pleading. Or as close to pleading as Enzo ever gets.