Part 2
The silence in the room stretched tense.
Suffocating.
Enzo did not move.
He stood like a statue carved from shadow.
His gaze remained fixed on her back. On the history written in raised, pale lines against her skin.
She felt the weight of his eyes.
It felt heavier than a physical touch.
Slowly, her hands trembled against the white silk of her gown.
“Please,” she whispered.
The word was small.
Miserable.
It was a plea for him to look away, or perhaps a plea for the earth to open up and swallow her whole.
Enzo didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he took a step forward.
The sound of his leather shoes against the hardwood floor sounded like a drumbeat in the quiet suite.
She flinched.
Her eyes closed tight, expecting the worst.
Because the men in her life only approached her when they wanted to take something.
But Enzo didn't take.
He reached out, his large, warm hand hovering just inches away from her shoulder.
He didn't touch her.
He simply reached past her, grabbing the dark silk robe that lay on the edge of the bed.
With a fluid, surprisingly gentle motion, he draped it over her shoulders.
The dark fabric covered the map of her suffering.
Covered her shame.
She opened her eyes, blinking through a sudden rush of tears she refused to let fall.
“Button yourself up,” Enzo commanded quietly.
His voice had lost its edge of mockery.
It was flat.
Cold.
But it wasn't directed at her.
She quickly pulled the robe around herself, tying the sash with fingers that wouldn't stop shaking.
When she turned around to face him, he was already walking back to the window.
He poured another amber liquid into his glass.
This time, he drank it.
The burn of the alcohol did nothing to ease the sudden, sharp anger tightening in his chest.
He had prepared for a chess match.
He had prepared to break a spoiled princess of the rival family to feed his own vengeance.
Instead, they had handed him a broken soldier.
“What is your name?” he asked, looking out at the city lights.
She blinked, caught off guard.
“You know my name,” she said softly. “It was on the license.”
“I know the name your uncle sold you under,” Enzo corrected, turning his head slightly to look at her over his shoulder. “I want to know what you call yourself when you are alone in the dark.”
She swallowed hard.
The room felt like it was shifting under her feet.
“Elena,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Just Elena.”
Enzo turned fully to face her.
The light from the chandelier caught the sharp angles of his jaw.
“Well, Elena,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “Your family thinks they played a trick on me.”
She looked down at her hands.
“They think they gave you a broken liability,” she murmured.
“They think they gave me trash to throw away,” Enzo said bluntly.
The words hurt, even if she knew they were true.
But then Enzo stepped closer, entering her space until she had to tilt her head up to look into his dark eyes.
“But they forgot one thing,” he whispered.
Elena held her breath.
“What?”
“I don't throw anything away,” Enzo said, a dangerous, low promise vibrating in his chest. “I repurpose. And tomorrow, your uncle is going to realize he didn't give me a victim to torment.”
May you like
He leaned in, his breath brushing against her ear.
“He gave me the perfect weapon to destroy him.”
