Enamoured (The Enslaved Duet 2)

Giselle’s mouth opened and closed, useless with anger, before she finally found her voice and her forgotten Italian instincts. “Cosima!”

I crossed my arms, braced my feet apart like a general impatient with his given orders being flagrantly disobeyed, and waited for Giselle to yield.

It took longer than I thought it would, but finally, with one last wounded, confused look, she whispered, “Cosima…”

It was an entreaty to know more, to trust her with the weight of my secret so I could share the load.

She had no idea how heavy the weight of my many secrets was, and there was no way, if I had any say in it at all, that she ever would.

“Parta,” I ordered. “Go.”

I hated the wrinkle between her red brows as she backed away so much that I turned before she could, focusing on sorting through the med kit so I wouldn’t have to watch.

“So strong, tesoro,” Dante said quietly, his voice tender as the hand he swept down my back. “Do you ever wonder if one day, you’ll break?”

“Stai zitto,” I muttered at him, telling him to shut up.

His chuckle fanned softly over my face as I bent down to clean the wound with alcohol and antiseptic.

He didn’t move an inch when the burning liquid encountered his ragged flesh because this was not his first bullet, and it wouldn’t be his last.

“Call Salvatore,” he gritted out between clenched teeth as I pressed fresh gauze to the wound and efficiently wrapped it around the sloping v of his torso.

I nodded, moving into the bedroom to grab my phone so Dante wouldn’t hear me tell his pseudo father what a fucking idiot he was. Vaguely, I was aware of Dante moving past the view through my open bedroom door, but then the phone connected, and Salvatore’s rough Italian accent came through the phone.

“Cosima, mia ragazza. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

I let myself close my eyes for a moment to feel the gravel of his voice in my ears. He lived outside the city on a vineyard in upstate New York where he led a quiet life under the name Deo Tore, so I didn’t see him as much as I would have liked. He visited infrequently because he was smarter and more diligent than most. Being dead in the eyes of the Order and the law was important to him and to whatever plans he had with Dante, so even though I knew he would rather live in the city, if only to see me and pester Mama until she took him back, he stayed away.

It seemed silly to say I missed him. I really barely knew the man whose DNA I shared and wore so proudly in my features, but I did miss him with an acuteness that didn’t slacken even in his presence.

Perhaps, I still ached for the loss of him in my early years, and I didn’t think that would ever change.

“Dante got himself shot,” I tattled, somewhat joyfully because I always felt like a child around him.

He huffed out a chuckle. “Not badly, I’m sure. For such a big buffoon, he is a hard one to target and kill.”

“Tocca ferro,” I muttered, the Italian equivalent of knocking on wood to avoid tempting fate.

Tore laughed. “He can’t be too bad if you’re speaking to me so calmly. What happened?”

I moved into the kitchen again, frowning as Dante walked through the living room from the front door with a gun in his hands.

“Don’t you think you should put the gun down? I’m still not convinced you didn’t accidentally shoot yourself,” I told him solemnly.

He flipped me the finger and then winced as he settled himself on the stool again. “Give me the phone. I’ve had enough of your sass. Can’t you see I’m injured? Why don’t you try healing it with some sugar instead of this vinegar?”

“Raggazzi,” Salvatore’s voice sounded loudly through the phone, and we both grinned as I put it on speaker between us.

“What happened, capo?”

Dante’s humour evaporated, and the air went hot with rage.

“di Carlo’s boys,” Dante sneered at the name of the Cosa Nostra capo. “They’re becoming fucking bold. Walked right into the Bronx warehouse and demanded they be cut in on the Basante Colombian deal.”

Salvatore laughed, a rough exclamation of incredulity. “Guiseppe di Carlo was always a stronzo. How did they get to you, huh? Are you losing your edge out here in cushy America?”

“Vaffanculo, vecchio,” Dante cursed light-heartedly as he called Tore an old man.

“Listen, boys,” I cut them off before their banter could escalate further. If left to their own devices, I’d known the two of them to continue insulting each other for hours. “Yes, Giuseppe di Carlo is a prick, but he’s also the leader of the biggest crime family in New York.”

Both men snorted indignantly at my assertion, but I powered on. “Is there no way to make nice with him and his? As much as you both love power, you can’t want a mob war right now. Not with everything else going on.”