Dirty Look - Dark Desires

Tonight, I’m cuddled up, very chastely, with Enzo. We’re in his apartment, where it’s safer. We just finished a pizza between us and I’m glad I changed into sweatpants because I’m feeling hella bloated right now. We're watching a sappy movie. I can’t say I’m really paying attention to it. All my thoughts are focused on the man cuddling me close — but not too close, because we have to be careful and also not have sex.

Sometimes, this feels like torture. Other times, it feels perfect. Right now, it's something different. Almost… normal? Like, the way most people live their lives?

I guess this is as normal as any relationship I could have with a man twice my age. Enzo’s mature, but he's not just normal-older-guy mature. He's mafia mature, and that's on a whole other level. This life ages men hard. I think I might be starting to get to know him, but it’s mostly superficial stuff. Enzo is used to keeping to himself. I guess I am too, but he already knows all about me thanks to his relationship with my father.

It's a little twisted to acknowledge this, even to myself, but Enzo has effectively known me since I was born. He’s worked for my father for over two decades. I could have met him when I was a baby, for all I know. Maybe that's why this attraction is wrong...and so powerful.

For the five thousandth time this evening, he checks the feed on his cellphone. He's been doing it every five minutes. He can’t just relax and enjoy the movie. He's constantly vigilant, always on high alert.

“I do not fucking believe it,” he growls under his breath. “Stay here.”

I sit up on the couch, half-worried, half-thinking it's going to be no big deal. Maybe it’s Emilio. Maybe it's my father. Shit, I hope it isn't my father.

There's some banging around outside. I hear a squeak, like a mouse, but louder and then the door flies open and Enzo drags Davo into the apartment.

“I thought I told you to never come back here,” he growls, cuffing Davo over the head.

“Dude!” Davo squeals, grunting when Enzo hits him again. This time, his fist is closed.

My dealer is no match for Enzo. Davo’s maybe a hundred and twenty pounds on a good day, and he doesn’t have a violent bone in his body. Right now, Enzo is laying into Davo like Davo owes him money. Davo tries to curl up to avoid the worst of the body blows, but Enzo’s holding him and beating the shit out of him and there's only so much the fetal position can do to save a man from severe internal injuries.

“Stop!” I launch off the couch and run toward them, catching Enzo’s powerful arm before he can punch Davo again. “Fucking stop! Enzo!”

“I warned him,” Enzo growls. “Twice. You don’t get a third fucking warning.”

“Listen, mate, you’re going to want to hear what I’ve gotta say,” Davo says. One of his eyes is half closed and there's a trickle of blood running from his nose. I feel a horrible sick churning in my stomach. I knew Enzo was dangerous and violent, but there’s always a gap between knowing and seeing.

“Go into the other room, Mia,” Enzo growls.

Oh my god. He’s going to fucking kill Davo.

“No! Enzo, please!”

“Mia. Go. Now.”

Even though he expects me to obey him and I don’t like going against what he tells me—hell, I’ve spent days doing just that, learning to let the bossy guy have his way—I make myself stand my ground. I know Enzo hates Davo, but the kid’s done nothing to get himself killed. I don't know why he’s here, but I know he doesn't need to die tonight.

“Make him listen to me, Mia!” Davo begs.

“Enzo!” I push my way in between them and face Enzo, catching his gaze, which is black with protective fury. I place my fingers gently on his jaw to redirect that gaze toward me, where it softens slightly.

“He’s dangerous, Mia,” Enzo says, as if that makes cold-blooded intent to kill acceptable.

“He's not. He's a dumbass," I say, keeping my voice level and our gazes connected. And for once, I don’t feel younger than him. We’re peers. We’re both survivors in the game called mafia life, and maybe surviving means not selling your soul. “He sells to all the dorms. He’s not the enemy, Enzo. He’s not on your level. He’s got nothing to do with this.”

“I came to tell you something,” Davo sniffs.

“Fucking hell, he's like half your size, Enzo," I say. “Let him go."

Enzo’s eyes narrow, and right then and there I want to kiss him, bloody hands and furious gaze and all, because this is what I love about him. “I don't care if he’s two inches tall, he's lurking around you, Mia. I don’t tolerate men sniffing around my woman.”