DELUCA

TWENTY

When Enzo was eleven, people had already begun calling him "hound dog," but not for reasons one might expect. He had an uncanny talent for sniffing out what others wanted, and if the price was right, he'd track someone to the ends of the earth—Mariana Trench, if necessary.

This knack for getting to the bottom of things is exactly why Francesco assigned him to investigate the theft that had rocked their world.

Enzo started his search in all the usual spots, turning over familiar stones. He'd hoped to avoid the last option he dreaded.

Everything had been running smoothly for years, almost too perfectly.

Then, as if by cruel irony, a newcomer from another country arrived, and everything fell apart.

His investigation had been distasteful from the start. He spent hours combing through everything he could find on Eleanor, dreading what he might uncover.

As he clicked through files and followed leads, he silently prayed for a dead end. After all, Eleanor was more than just a newcomer; she had become an ally.

In a family where everyone held secrets close, she had been someone Enzo could trust. He was fond of her, more than he was of his own blood sister, Giselle.

For the first time in a long while, he didn't feel like the outsider anymore, and Eleanor had been the reason for that.

So, when his search yielded nothing—no criminal history, no suspicious connections, not even a parking ticket—he felt both relieved and frustrated. He hadn't found his mole, but at least Eleanor was clean. Or so he thought.

It was almost by accident that he stumbled across the manila folder. He had been sweeping the house for bugs, figuring if there wasn't a mole within the family, perhaps someone had planted a listening device. With the wedding having just passed, there were plenty of places to hide one.

As he searched, his attention was drawn to a random closet. There, tucked away beneath old suitcases, was the folder. It wasn't what he was looking for, but something about its hidden location made him pause.

Curious, Enzo opened the folder.

His heart sank as he flipped through its contents. The label on the suitcase tag had read "Eleanor Shields," scrawled in messy marker, and the folder itself contained months—years—of meticulously gathered information. Bank statements, screenshots of payments, all moving through untraceable channels.

Highlighted connections linked everything together, and to Enzo's horror, it was disturbingly accurate. Whoever had compiled this had been watching them closely for at least four years.

There were even articles about unsolved murders, many of which involved people Enzo knew personally.

And why was it handed off to Eleanor?

Enzo's mind raced. He had been scouring the family for a mole, and now, standing in Francesco's office, he felt a sick sense of betrayal. Not from Eleanor, but from whoever had pulled her into this mess.

He knew what he had to do next, though his heart was heavy with dread. He took Eleanor by the wrist and dragged her back into the office, ignoring her protests.

She barely had time to start her excuse before Enzo slammed the folder onto Francesco's desk, cutting her off.

"I can explain," she finally managed, her voice small, almost pleading.

Enzo gave a wry chuckle, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm not the one who cares to sit through any explanations. Imagine me out here hunting for a mole, and I find out it's you."

Eleanor's eyes widened in genuine shock. "Mole? What are you talking about?"

"Who gave you the folder?" Enzo snapped, ignoring her question.

"You can't just answer a question with a question," she argued, her frustration building.

Enzo leaned forward, his voice low and dangerous. "Eleanor, if you've read anything in that folder, you'd know better than to test me."

She sighed, her shoulders slumping as though the weight of the entire situation had crashed down on her. "I got it on the day of the wedding," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Jemma gave it to me right before I walked down the aisle. She said I deserved to know the truth—that everyone else in this family had been lying to me."

Enzo felt a flicker of irritation. Of course Jemma was behind this. "She isn't as virtuous as she'd have you believe."

Eleanor shook her head, her voice trembling with emotion. "She's the only person who told me the truth. You've all been lying to me."

"For good reason," Enzo interjected, his frustration rising. He knew the family had been trying to protect Eleanor, but they had gone about it the wrong way.

Eleanor crossed the room and grabbed Enzo's arm, her eyes pleading. "I'm not a mole. I just found out a minute ago that you're all still active."

She turned away, running her hands through her hair, her entire body trembling with the shock of the revelation. Enzo's anger drained from him, replaced by something softer.

He could see the truth in her eyes.

Eleanor wasn't a liar. He had been trained to read people, and Eleanor was genuinely blindsided by this.

He took a moment to step outside of himself, imagining what it must feel like for Eleanor. She had walked down the aisle knowing her past and her new family's didn't align. He couldn't tell whether that was bravery or stupidity. Given how she and Francesco always sought each other out with their eyes, how they constantly mentioned one another in conversation, Enzo figured it was love. And love, in his eyes, was just another kind of foolishness.

"I believe you," he said quietly, his tone gentler now. "But you have to listen when I tell you that Jemma wasn't trying to help you."

Eleanor looked at him, confused. "Then why give me the folder?"

The fact that she had to ask only proved to Enzo how badly the family had failed her. They had shielded her from everything, treating her as someone fragile when she was anything but.

He sighed, walking over to an antique liquor stand by the fireplace and grabbing the most expensive bottle he could find.

"What are you doing?" Eleanor asked, watching him with growing concern. When he walked toward the door, she followed, her voice rising in confusion. "Where are you going?"

"We're getting drunk," Enzo grumbled, not caring if she understood. "And then I'm going to tell you everything you need to know about this damned family."

When Eleanor realized it had been Enzo who caught her and not Francesco, she initially felt relief. But it was replaced by the anger in his eyes as he dragged her from the room, closing the door behind him.

Eleanor hadn't been sure to be terrified or not — Enzo hadn't been mentioned and she knew no truth about him just yet.

But knowing what she knew, she couldn't imagine the full sleeves of tattoos, and jagged scar across his face meant he was white collar.

She followed behind him, following him to the living room where Enzo collapsed on the sofa. He appeared to weigh the world on his shoulders.

"Tell me exactly what Jemma told you when she handed you these papers," Enzo said.

"She just said I should know the truth about everything before I walked down the aisle. She was only there for a moment." Eleanor reiterated.

"Again, that is not in her character."

"From everything I have seen when we have met, it all aligns," Eleanor said.

"That is because she is a liar."

Eleanor watched Enzo take three long sips from the bottle's lip. Realizing he would keep drinking if she didn't ask him a question she spoke, "Why do you hate her so much?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Enzo picked up the folder he had sat on the table and waved it in the air, "This right here is one hell of a reason."

"Do you think that Jemma is this mole?" Eleanor asked, trying to piece together in full the root of his irritation.

Enzo scoffed, "Hell no, if anything she wants everything to thrive so she can steal it all in its prime."

Eleanor sighed, "Enzo, I have no clue what is going on here."

Enzo leaned forward on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees and placing his face in his palms, "Do you know about Francesco's father?"

Eleanor nodded, she had read the articles of his arrest in the folder. At the time she had thought it confirmed that a life of crime and racketeering was far behind this family. How foolish had she been?

"When he was arrested, it blew... everyone's world up. Entire bloodlines were going to jail day after day. It damn near only left elder siblings, with both parents going to prison for the rest of their lives. I mean the guy ratted on everyone, even if it were to only get him out of jail an hour earlier than his total." Enzo explained.

"It all failed in the end, he ended up getting forty years his damned self, basically life at his age. Everyone blamed the Delucas. I watch them lose everything in less than a year."

The more Enzo explained the past helped Eleanor gain a better perspective of who Francesco was as a person.

"Francesco had two options at that point. Nearly get himself killed to get it all back, or to live a life as a normal kid. Go to college, get a boring ass job, get married, and have kids."

"He chose to get it all back in blood." Enzo looked reminiscent, "For that time, we felt like savages often enough. This isn't a thing where you ask kindly for allies, you demand them. The more people pushed, we pulled. Kept telling ourselves it was for the greater good. Saying we would give everything back to those generations before we had forgotten about."

"And you have." Eleanor pointed out.

"We caused far more damage than what a stupid Gala can cover or even a donation to charity." Enzo lamented, "At the very least, we made sure to kill all of the more sinister characters over time."

"Modern-day Robin Hoods," Eleanor said sarcastically, she wasn't finding the bravery in his story. She could only imagine what grotesque pictures lay behind the word 'damage'.

Enzo gave her a dry chuckle, "That all changed a few years ago. As if Francesco was sick of looking at his reflection in the mirror, he began to stick to his word. Instead of peddling drugs, he started doing white-collar crime. Hell, he was so good at it, that is what got him his fortune back. Of course, in this line of work, everything gets violent, but Francesco pulled every hard drug off of the streets in this city, sick of watching it destroy the locals."

Eleanor raised a brow and pointed toward the office, "I beg to differ."

"That's the thing, that s**t isn't his. Someone keeps bringing it in and all he can do is confiscate it, we have holes everywhere in this ship at this point."

Eleanor had to point out the obvious, "Don't tell me this all started when Francesco became close with Paolo."

"I know, I know. I am suspicious of the man myself, but Francesco won't let me touch the guy. I know all of these problems would end." Enzo muttered.

She contemplated silently before she spoke again, "You don't have to touch him, you just have to get proof."

Enzo turned to her and raised a brow, "What do you mean?"

"If Francesco isn't letting you act due to lack of proof, you just have to find proof."

"That is easier said than done, Paolo despises me. His guard will be up the moment I am in his presence.

Eleanor thought back to the eager look in Paolo's eyes whenever he spoke with her. Shallowly flirting with her whenever he had gotten the chance. She also thought of the fact that everyone still thought that she was clueless.

When the two thoughts converged, the idea popped into her head.

"Why don't I do it?"

Enzo stared at her blankly and then began to let out a booming laugh. The humor in his eyes caused the scar on his face to dance. "Pensi che io abbia un desiderio di morte?"

Do you think I have a death wish?

"The moment the man that you married finds out that you know he is going to first blame me, kill Jemma, and lock you in the house for a month," Enzo said.

"Just don't tell him, if you do he may do something stupid and get himself into something with Paolo. We should come to him with proof, not theories."

Enzo smirked, "Damn, he should've hired you."

"If this is as serious as it seems, I demand you let me help you. I only have been a wife for two weeks, I am not going to become a widow over some old man." Eleanor said strongly.

Enzo sighed and leaned back on the pillows, "Girl from America marries a man she doesn't know, finds out he is in the mob and instead of fleeing back home, she wants to help." The words came out of his mouth as though he had been talking to himself.

"She sure is stupid, but I guess love makes you do crazy things." He finished sitting up and offered his hand, "But I have extreme respect for the choices. We are partners."

Eleanor shook his hand, thankful that instead of patronizing her (too much), Enzo had opted to trust her. It was more than anyone in the family had done.

He reminded her of what life would be like with an older brother, and when he mentioned the word love, she ignored it on purpose.

Blaming the alcohol of course, as it was far too soon for the word love.