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A guard breezes by us, and my pulse kicks up. Nervously, I glance around, suddenly aware that I’m in the middle of enemy territory, talking to a fed. “Aren’t you worried about what happens if they find you here?”
He smirks, his gaze darting among the guards. “The good thing about places like this? The help is invisible.”
His response does little to reassure me, and I feel a surge of anxiety. “Can you get me out of here?”
“I can’t,” he bites out through clenched teeth.
“Why not?”
“Because Enzo D’Angelo is staring at you like you’re a shiny new Bugatti.” I down my champagne and glance back at Enzo and the men I assume are his brothers, feeling a knot form in my stomach.
Knox leans in. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and Enzo D’Angelo,” he hesitates, “but does this have anything to do with your father?”
Stunned, my eyes snap to his. My father’s death changed the trajectory of mine and Riley’s entire world, and not just because he died. He was killed. Murdered in cold blood, his body turning up like a slab of beef at the medical examiner’s office. “Why would it have anything to do with my father?”
“Shit. I—” he cuts himself off. “Just be careful. Enzo is a wild animal in a three-piece suit, and he’s giving me a death glare. I have to go.”
Panic grips my chest. “You can’t go.”
“Kennedy, listen to me. I’ll be keeping an eye on you. If you need help, two fingers. If you’re fine, one. Got it?”
“Yes,” I squeak out.
With a subtle motion toward the tray, I realize he’s offering me his card. “Take it, Kennedy,” he urges, his expression grave and nonnegotiable.
Reluctantly, and without telling him I don’t have a phone, I slip it under a napkin and take it as I return the empty glass. Knox heads off in the opposite direction, and I feel the weight of Enzo’s gaze on me.
Heat flares along my skin. Buzzed on champagne, I head his way, and straight to the mouth of hell.
Chapter Twenty-Six
ENZO
Two Hours was all the text said. The last text from my uncle. The twelfth I received and ignored.
Today is not about him. It’s about my brother, Smoke. It’s the happiest day of his life. His wedding day. With more pomp and circumstance than an inaugural ball and more firepower than the Mossad.
“Just wait. There’s a woman for each of you out there who will bring you to your knees.” Smoke chuckles. Or threatens.
“As long as she’s in six-inch heels,” Dante says, toasting the air.
“And brings a friend,” Dillon adds. “The more, the merrier.”
Mateo crosses his arms. “The only way you got a woman to marry you was to kidnap her.”
Smoke shakes his head. “Rescue. The term is rescue. Get it right.”
I catch a glance across the vast lawn and see her arrival. Her new haircut is ravishing, and her body...
I indulge in lingering on her body. But before I get too far ahead of myself and fuck her right in front of all of Smoke’s wedding guests, I make a decision. “I’m getting married,” I announce as I take a long sip of my brut.
Horrified, every one of their faces falls.
Mateo’s elbow nudges mine. “Let me guess. The Feds have caught up. You found some smoking hot baroness who’s willing to make you her 90-day fiancé. Granted, she’s still figuring out how to deal with all your fetishes.”
I clink my glass to his. “I assure you, Mateo, this girl has no money or status at all. And I’ll give her my fetishes the way I give her my dick: slowly. One painful pleasure at a time.”
They all gag.
