Chapter Six-The Reason I Returned-Enzo
1363 Words
I knew exactly what I was doing.
At least, that was what I told myself.
The moment I left the café, I got into the back seat of my car and closed the door.
“Drive.”
The car pulled away.
I leaned back against the seat.
Silence filled the vehicle.
But my mind was nowhere near the business meeting I was supposed to attend.
It was back in that café.
Back at the table.
Back with those eyes.
Blue.
And gray.
I closed my eyes.
I could still see him.
Azul Bellini.
Standing behind the counter with flour dusted across his hands.
Long black hair falling around his face.
That quiet, almost delicate expression.
And those eyes.
Especially those eyes.
I had gone there intentionally.
I could have sent one of my men.
I could have asked Raffaele to handle it.
I could have simply forgotten about the café entirely.
But I hadn’t.
I had gone myself.
And I knew why.
I wanted to see him again.
That realization irritated me.
I opened my eyes.
“Ridiculous.”
My driver glanced at me through the mirror.
I gave him a look.
His eyes immediately returned to the road.
Good.
Nobody needed to know.
I looked out the window.
Palermo passed around me.
People walking.
Cars moving.
Shops opening.
Normal life.
But I kept thinking about the man who had barely spoken a word.
A man who couldn’t speak at all.
The first night, I had thought his silence was suspicious.
Now I knew the truth.
Traumatic mutism.
An accident when he was nine.
Fifteen years without speaking.
I had spent years learning that weakness could get a man killed.
But Azul’s silence didn’t look like weakness.
It looked like survival.
That bothered me.
Because I understood survival.
Better than most people.
⸻
“Boss?”
I looked toward the front.
Raffaele was sitting beside the driver.
“What?”
“You left something.”
He held out a small paper bag.
I frowned.
“What is that?”
“He gave it to me.”
“Who?”
“Azul.”
My entire body became still.
I took the bag.
It was small.
Plain.
I opened it.
Inside was another croissant.
I stared at it.
Raffaele shrugged.
“He said nothing. He just pointed toward the bag before I left.”
I looked at the croissant.
For some reason, it made me smile.
Barely.
But I smiled.
Raffaele noticed.
I immediately looked out the window.
“Don’t.”
He cleared his throat.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Good.”
I held the bag in my hand.
A stupid pastry.
That’s what it was.
Nothing more.
Yet I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away.
⸻
By the time I reached the office, I had already made my decision.
“Raffaele.”
“Yes?”
“Bring me everything you have on Azul Bellini.”
“I already gave you the basic file.”
“I want more.”
He nodded.
“How much more?”
“Everything.”
He hesitated.
“Family?”
“Yes.”
“Friends?”
“Yes.”
“Business?”
“Yes.”
“Where he goes?”
I looked at him.
“Yes.”
Raffaele understood.
He left.
I walked into my office.
The same dark room.
The same desk.
The same files waiting for me.
But something was different.
I couldn’t concentrate.
I opened a contract.
Read two lines.
Closed it.
Opened another.
Same thing.
I picked up the croissant.
Took a bite.
I stopped.
It was good.
Very good.
Flaky.
Buttery.
Warm.
I understood immediately why people kept coming back.
Azul wasn’t simply running a café.
He was good at what he did.
Really good.
I took another bite.
Then I laughed quietly at myself.
“What the hell are you doing, Enzo?”
I had millions in investments.
Men who would kill for me.
People who feared me.
Businesses across Italy.
An empire waiting for me to inherit it.
And here I was, sitting behind my desk eating a croissant made by a man I couldn’t stop thinking about.
Pathetic.
I finished it anyway.
⸻
An hour later, Raffaele returned.
He placed a thick folder on my desk.
“That’s everything we found.”
I opened it.
The first page had his name.
Azul Bellini.
Age: twenty-four.
Occupation: Baker.
Business owner: Il Forno di Azul.
Residence: Bellini family farm.
Parents: Luca and Elena Bellini.
Sibling: Mateo Bellini.
I continued reading.
Mateo.
Gambling.
Debt.
A history of trouble.
My eyes narrowed.
Then I reached Azul’s section.
Accident.
Age nine.
Severe psychological trauma.
Traumatic mutism.
No criminal history.
No connection to any organization.
No suspicious financial activity.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
He was clean.
Completely clean.
I leaned back.
“So he really knows nothing.”
“No.”
I looked at Raffaele.
“Then why was that antique shop being watched?”
“We’re still investigating.”
I nodded.
Then my eyes returned to the photograph.
Azul.
Even in a photograph, those eyes were impossible.
I stared at them.
“Has anyone been bothering him?”
Raffaele paused.
“Not that we know of.”
“Find out.”
“Yes.”
“And the men from two weeks ago?”
“They won’t go near the café again unless you order it.”
“Good.”
Raffaele nodded.
He started walking away.
“Raffaele.”
He stopped.
“Don’t let anyone touch him.”
There was a pause.
“Yes, Boss.”
The door closed.
I remained alone.
I looked at the photograph again.
I couldn’t explain it.
I had no reason to care.
Azul wasn’t part of my world.
He wasn’t involved in my business.
He wasn’t connected to my family.
He wasn’t useful to me.
He wasn’t a threat.
He was simply a baker.
A quiet twenty-four-year-old man who lived with his parents and spent his days making bread.
Yet somehow, he had managed to occupy more space in my mind than people who had known me for years.
I didn’t like it.
But I couldn’t deny it.
I wanted to see him again.
⸻
That evening, I stood in front of my office window.
Palermo glittered beneath the night sky.
My phone rang.
I answered.
“Enzo.”
My father’s voice.
“Come home.”
“I have work.”
“You always have work.”
I said nothing.
He sighed.
“You’ve been distracted.”
I looked down at the city.
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
My father knew me too well.
I changed the subject.
“The antique shop.”
“What about it?”
“The café wasn’t involved.”
“I know.”
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
I turned sharply.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried.”
I clenched my jaw.
“You sent me to the wrong place.”
“I sent you to the location I was given.”
Silence.
Then my father said something that made me pause.
“You’re interested in the boy.”
I said nothing.
“Enzo.”
“What?”
“Stay away from him.”
My expression hardened.
“Why?”
“Because he has nothing to do with us.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It is the only answer you need.”
I stared through the glass.
For some reason, his warning made me want to know even more.
“I’ll handle it.”
“That’s exactly what worries me.”
The call ended.
I remained standing there.
Stay away from him.
Those words should have been enough.
They should have made me forget him.
Instead, they made one thought settle firmly in my mind.
I was going back.
Not because I needed information.
Not because of the antique shop.
Not because of business.
Because I wanted to see him.
And I knew it was dangerous.
Not for Azul.
For me.
Because I had spent my entire life making sure nobody could get close enough to matter.
And somehow, without saying a single word—
Azul Bellini had already begun doing exactly that.
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