The suitcase clicked shut with a finality that made Amelia’s heart stutter.
She stood at the edge of the bed, watching Enzo slip his phone into the inner pocket of his tailored black coat. His movements were clean, precise, and calculated—just like everything else about him. There was always something simmering underneath his control, like a storm contained in crystal.
“I still can’t believe I’m doing this,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.
Enzo turned, eyes dark, scanning her face like a puzzle he was finally willing to put together. “You are.”
“I know,” she breathed, lowering herself onto the mattress.
His shoes echoed against the marble as he crossed the room to her. He stopped just before her knees, crouching so they were face to face. The hotel suite around them was lu
