VIDAL

SIX

Enzo had spotted her the moment she stepped through the grand doors of Giulia's estate, and the sight of her had been enough to steal his breath.

The cream-colored gown she wore clung to her body in a way that was both elegant and tantalizing, the silk flowing over her curves like water, catching the light in a way that seemed almost ethereal.

Il suo angelo. His angel.

The word came unbidden, surprising him with its sincerity, but there was no denying it. Camilla looked nothing short of heavenly, and he felt the powerful pull of her presence from across the room.

But as he watched, he felt the spark of jealousy rise like a dark tide in his chest. She'd drifted over to Kevin, who wasted no time positioning himself close to her.

Enzo clenched his jaw as he observed Kevin's not-so-subtle admiration, the way his gaze lingered on her bare shoulders, how he leaned in to whisper something that made her laugh. Kevin may not have known it, but he was practically drooling over her, and it stirred something primal in Enzo—a possessiveness he hadn't expected and barely recognized.

It took everything in him to keep his distance, to stay away. The image of her smiling and laughing so easily with Kevin only sharpened his need to be close to her.

And when she'd finally found him on the balcony, it had taken every last ounce of his restraint not to lose himself in the way her lips felt against his, the soft, warm press of her body as he drew her closer.

The kiss had nearly broken him. Her taste, her warmth—everything about her was magnetic, tempting him in ways he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years. And yet he knew better than to surrender to such desires.

His mind drifted to a night from his past, a moment of weakness with Giselle, Francesco's older sister.

They'd been working together on a job, and the violence of the night had set fire to something between them.

He and Giselle had fallen into a reckless affair that had lasted a month, a stretch of time marked by stolen moments and stolen passion.

It hadn't taken long for Francesco to discover their secret, and when he did, Enzo barely escaped with his life.

The betrayal had been intolerable, and for the next year, Francesco had refused to speak to him, a silent punishment more painful than any wound. In an effort to redeem himself, Enzo had thrown himself into the bloodiest jobs, racking up thirty kills that year alone, trying to prove his loyalty.

Loyalty was everything to him, and he'd vowed then never to overstep his place again. Francesco's trust was not something he took lightly, and he'd spent every day since ensuring he remained worthy of it.

And yet here he was again, drawn into forbidden territory, his own desires pushing him close to the edge. Francesco had entrusted him with Camilla, another sister—a final test, perhaps, to see if Enzo had truly learned his lesson.

And he had, hadn't he?

He wouldn't betray Francesco's trust again, not after all he'd fought to rebuild.

As he slipped away from Camilla, the taste of her still fresh on his lips, he felt a sharp pang of disappointment in himself, a reminder that he'd crossed a line he never should have approached.

His resolve hardened as he disappeared into the shadows, the weight of his loyalty pressing down on him, forcing him to walk away. It would be better for them both if he kept his distance. Falling into his desires would only lead to ruin, and he was done sacrificing himself to temptation.

From now on, he would protect her—from afar.

As he descended the wooden stairs of Ivan's mansion, the familiar sounds of laughter and muffled conversation grew louder, mixing with the low bass of background music and the clinking of glasses.

The basement was dimly lit, with a long, lavish table at the center where twelve people sat in varying states of ease and vigilance. Enzo's gaze swept over them, catching familiar faces.

Aleks was there, lounging with a glass in hand, his eyes sharp, though his expression remained unreadable.

Lan, another trusted lieutenant of Ivan's, was nearby, engaged in whispered conversation with one of the others. Boris, however, sat at the head of the table, his expression smug and self-satisfied as though he already owned the room.

Rather than joining them, Enzo made his way to the bar in the corner, helping himself to a drink. He poured a neat whiskey, savoring the brief moment of solitude as he felt the weight of several gazes fall on him.

A familiar figure approached: Aleks. He held his drink with a casual air, but his eyes studied Enzo intently, a hint of recognition flickering in them.

"Enzo, right?" Aleks said, his voice smooth and low. "Have we met before?"

Enzo looked at him over the rim of his glass, a slight smirk pulling at his lips. "No, I don't think we have." He took a measured sip, then gestured to the bottles behind the bar. "Care for a drink?"

Aleks held up his glass in response. "I've got my fix, thanks," he replied, but lingered close to Enzo. "My father dragged you down here too, huh? How long do you think it'll be until we can be done with him?"

Enzo chuckled, keeping his tone light. "I'd rather not deal with it at all, to be honest."

A brief, mutual understanding passed between them, Aleks's expression shifting to one of reluctant approval. But before they could continue, a booming voice cut through the conversation, silencing the room.

"Everyone, come to the table!" Ivan's command left no room for argument. The men exchanged glances and shifted in their seats, all eyes turning toward the head of the table where Ivan stood, Boris sitting smugly beside him.

Enzo took a place at the table across from Aleks, his eyes narrowing slightly as he focused on Ivan, who was already pouring himself another drink, savoring the anticipation of whatever speech he had prepared.

Ivan placed a firm hand on Boris's shoulder, and as the room quieted, he began.

"My son, Boris," Ivan started, his voice thick with a strange, almost mocking affection. "A product of one of my finest mistresses. She was beautiful, a woman with her own vices, mind you—some I didn't mind, others... well, you know how it is. She wasn't meant to last. But when she gave birth to Boris, I felt a duty to him, a sense of... investment. I sponsored her for eight years, kept her fed and sheltered, until one day, she overdosed and left him with me."

Ivan chuckled, his hand tightening on Boris's shoulder.

"Raising him changed me. Showed me a side of life I'd missed. I may have been ruthless, yes, but I raised this boy with all the care I could muster." He looked down at Boris, who wore a smug grin, clearly reveling in his father's attention. "He's my heir, my pride. At least... that's what I had always hoped."

Enzo's eyes narrowed, catching the subtle shift in Ivan's tone. There was something odd in his voice—a faint note of detachment that didn't match the sentiment in his words.

The others seemed oblivious, their attention fixed on the father-son scene, but Enzo couldn't shake the feeling that Ivan was speaking of Boris in the past tense.Ivan straightened, releasing his grip on Boris's shoulder.

"An heir needs to be many things," he continued, his gaze sweeping over the room. "Loyal. Efficient. Vicious. And most importantly, they must be someone who has proven themselves worthy."

The room grew tense as Ivan's gaze fell on Lan, who moved with calculated smoothness, approaching Boris from behind. Boris, oblivious, looked around the room with a smirk, assuming the spotlight remained on him.

But before Boris could register what was happening, Lan's hand shot out, a glint of silver flashing in the dim light as he slit Boris's throat in a single, precise motion.

Blood splattered across the table, warm and dark, some of it hitting Enzo's sleeve. Boris's eyes widened, the shock flickering briefly before he slumped forward, his life snuffed out as quickly as a candle.

A cold silence settled over the room. Enzo felt the warm, sticky splatter on his skin, his pulse quickening as he realized the depth of Ivan's message. Only he seemed to fully comprehend it, the weight of the revelation pressing down on him.

"Loyalty," Ivan continued, his voice calm, "is earned through action, not birthright." His gaze moved, settling on Enzo with a chilling intensity.

"Enzo, you have proven your loyalty time and again, shown me the efficiency and ruthlessness I need in a successor. Boris was unworthy, too self-assured and careless. You, however, have earned my trust."

Enzo's heart pounded as Ivan's words sank in. Ivan had chosen him as his heir, the weight of that title settling heavily on his shoulders. But this was not an honor he had asked for, nor one he truly wanted. His gaze flicked briefly to Aleks, who sat across from him, his face unreadable.

The tension between them was palpable, the silent understanding that neither of them had anticipated this turn.

Enzo opened his mouth to speak, to perhaps defer the title to Aleks, but a glance around the table reminded him of the threat surrounding him.

He was outnumbered, and Ivan's eyes held an implicit warning. This was no offer; it was an expectation, a command.

So he nodded, swallowing down the resistance that rose within him. The men around them burst into applause, raising their glasses and toasting, their celebration masking the tension that settled like a storm cloud over Enzo and Aleks.

The two men sat in silence, absorbing the turn of events, their thoughts heavier than any drink could numb.

This was a role neither had wanted, and yet Enzo found himself pulled into a world he could no longer escape, his loyalty now bound to Ivan in ways he had never foreseen.

~*~

In the dim light of his office, Aleks sat back in his leather chair, letting his mind drift, replaying the events of the previous night.

A low thrum of bass from the club's music pulsed through the walls, matching the simmering frustration in his chest. He barely noticed the woman on her knees before him; she was nothing more than a fleeting distraction, a temporary balm for the chaos spiraling in his mind.

The image of his father, Ivan, standing over Boris, praising him even as he prepared to end his life, kept replaying itself.

Aleks clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he tried to drown out the sting of humiliation.

I'm his only real son, he thought bitterly.

Born of his blood, the closest thing to true lineage Ivan had. And yet, that hadn't made Aleks worthy in his father's eyes. He could still hear Ivan's words, his voice heavy with admiration—for Enzo. Ivan had looked at Enzo as though he were the son he'd always wanted.

Aleks's hand tightened on the edge of his desk, his knuckles turning white. He had waited, holding back his rage and resentment, pushing down his jealousy out of respect, out of love even, for his father. But that night had shown him the truth.

Patience was getting him nowhere. Ivan would never see him as anything but unworthy, tainted by his mother's blood—a woman Ivan had chosen to discard along with any hope Aleks had of earning his rightful place. The realization twisted his insides like a blade, leaving a cold, hollow ache in its place.

His thoughts darkened further, and he found himself picturing his father's blood—thick and dark—spilling over him, covering him the way Boris's blood had splattered over Enzo.

He could almost feel it now, a possessive, vengeful urge building inside him.

With a growl, Aleks snapped, his control breaking as he seized the woman, flipping her roughly onto her back.

The brief flicker of shock in her eyes only fueled him, a dark release for the rage roiling beneath his surface.

He took her roughly, letting his anger bleed out into the physical, needing the sensation to drown out his thoughts. She yielded beneath him, a willing vessel, though his movements were far from gentle.

As his anger ebbed, he released her, leaning back as she caught her breath. She looked up at him with a smirk, as if waiting for him to say something, to soften. But Aleks's mind was far from softened.

Aleks leaned back, catching his breath, the woman adjusted herself, smoothing down her clothes with a casualness he found grating. She looked up at him, a coy smile playing on her lips.

"So, about my payment?" she asked, her tone light, clearly expecting him to be generous.

Her words hit Aleks like a slap. He could still feel the weight of his father's rejection, the lingering sting of watching Enzo walk away with what he had believed should be his.

The last thing he wanted was a reminder that, even here, he was nothing but a transaction.

His jaw clenched, and before he realized it, rage flared through him. In one swift motion, he grabbed her by the arm, his grip harsh.

"Payment?" he spat, his voice low and venomous, each word laced with contempt. "You think I owe you?"

Her eyes widened in surprise, then flickered with fear as his grip tightened. "Aleks, I—"

But he didn't let her finish. The frustration and resentment that had been simmering under his skin erupted, his patience snapping as he lashed out, his hand striking her cheek with a force that made her stumble back.

She cried out, but he barely registered it, too consumed by the anger that had taken hold, the relentless need to reclaim a sense of control over something, anything, in his life.

He stood over her, his breathing harsh, his fists clenched as he watched her scramble back, her eyes wide with fear.

For a moment, he was aware of what he had done, a faint pulse of regret flickering in his mind. But the anger was stronger, pushing any hesitation aside.

Without another word, Aleks turned away, his hand already reaching for his phone. His voice was cold and controlled as he made the call, ordering his men to "take care of the mess."

Hanging up, he took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his own actions settle over him as he stood alone in the quiet of his office, his anger momentarily sated yet leaving a hollow ache in its wake.