Chapter | Twelve 🔞

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        I can feel Enzo behind, wrapping his arms around me, pressing his chest on my back

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

        I can feel Enzo behind, wrapping his arms around me, pressing his chest on my back. I jerk in surprise.

"I'm sorry, amore. I've scared you," he says, pressing his forehead on the back of my head. (Love)

He's still angry. I feel his arms shaking while holding me, and he's breathing heavily.

I turn around in the circle of his arms and face him, cupping his cheeks with my hands. His eyes are squeezed tight, and I brush my thumbs over them, begging him to open them.

"Enzo, open your eyes, baby. Please," I whisper, and I slide my thumbs on his temples with a decent amount of pressure just as you do when a headache bugs you.

His black, burning eyes stare back at me and search for something in my glare.

"Is everything alright?" I ask him in a soft voice, running my fingers through his silky hair and trying to make him relax his stiff muscles.

"Yeah. It's just... work," he replies, leaning against my right palm and planting a kiss in the middle.

I know what uncle's Enzo work is. The same work my father does, and I know how much stress comes with that.

They do business together and I have always been amazed at how my father has managed to give me and my mom the closest life to normality, and that while being part of the mafia and having tight businesses with grandpa Marce and uncle Enzo.

Don Enzo, that is.

I lift myself on my toes and kiss him softly, curling my arms around his neck, hanging myself in there, and doing my best to make him loosen up.

"I'm hungry," I tell him, hoping I've taken his mind away from the phone call, and it has almost worked.

He peckers my lips a few more times before he pulls himself out of my grip to take out some cooking pots.

We start cooking in complete silence because his mind is still miles away, forcing me to keep myself quiet too.

"Why don't you bring us something to drink while I set the table?" I ask when our dinner is ready.

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