CHAPTER 3

LORENZO

I finally got him. The object of my desire, my sleepless and ire— the love of my life. I never thought I’d see him again, not after he nearly ruined my life of course. 

Of course, he wouldn’t recognize or remember me. My case was one of the many Jovan Rosfrith dismissed with the wave of a hand, the same manner he treats his women. Only that this nearly kicked me out of the mafioso. Everything I’d spent years building nearly crumbled—so much that I had to get a nose job to alter my identity.

It started with the diamond mine deal. That bastard Sigmund Delacroix had also been involved. That land belonged to my family, but no one knew it possessed any valuables and we milked it off. 

When the government found out, Sigmund stepped in and promised immunity. But that wasn’t enough. I couldn’t lose or settle for the lousy 3 million dollar settlement the government shoved in my face.

So, what did I do? I blew up the mine. I arranged my men and had them scoop out every valuable that was left in the rubble.

But that didn’t come without consequences. The government came hot on my heels. But I had converted the jewels to cash by then, a total of 3 billion dollars. 

And I need that fool Jovan to do only one thing—hide it for me.

I upgraded my existing account I had with his bank and worked out a change of name: Matteo Rossi. Hell, how I wanted to say that name to his face that day at the hotel. But it would ruin it all. 

So, I transferred the 3 billion into the account.

When I brought up the idea of a meeting, Jovan didn’t decline, and that was the genesis.

My descent into bittersweet desire, longing and finally, anger. 

"The cold is quite gentle on the skin tonight Mr Rossi, or don't you think?" Jovan began that night, twirling a glass of wine. I wondered how a man as careless as he was managed to command respect in every room entered. Not to mention his net worth and his bank being the strongest in America. 

"The weather is good Mr Rosfrith." I answered. "But let's talk business."

Oh, I should have taken the fact that he seemed carefree with everything as a sign to flee. My troubles would never have happened.

"You'll have 5 million dollars, just hide the money from the government. The search should take roughly six months afterwards, the government will grow tired and then we'll be free." 

"Uhm really? That sounds risky." 

"Of course it does and I'm currently on the run. There are surveillance cameras in my house as we speak. But this means too much to me, and you'll forever be rewarded if you just help me." 

"Okay," he reached for the glass of wine and swallowed its content in one gulp. "You can send the money over. Matteo Rossi, right?" 

"Yes,"  but I expected him to suspect that it was a fake name. Another bad sign ignored. But just then the defining moment happened, it lingers in my mind as clear as day. 

"You have my phone number Mr Rossi," he said, turning to leave. "You can always give me a call."

" Yes," I stood up and stepped out of my seat,

preparing to see you him to his car when he suddenly stopped and turned around. 

The impact was sudden. We collided, he stepped on my leg, our foreheads clashed and—our lips touched. He was either awestruckt or stunned but I didn't wait for him to move back. We kissed. Slow, agonizing, heart wrenching.

"Oh, my bad. I'm quite sorry about that." 

That was all he said as he walked away, and it took all my self-control not to grab him by the shoulder, and run my arms through your chest. You were just like me I was sure. Beneath that sleek suit and clean cut was a heart pounding with desire. And it took one to know one.

"What's going to happen now Enzo, what are we doing?" 

The question suddenly jolted into my mind. The images faded and I was back to reality. I looked to my side and saw that Grayson, my right hand man had stopped the car. 

"What's happening?" 

"You haven't answered my question Enzo, what are we doing with this guy." 

He pointed to the backseat where Jovan now laid, knocked unconscious. But even then, he looked like a plastic doll, innocent and vulnerable, his lips red and inviting. 

"Oh what the hell!" Grayson shouted again.

"What do you want Grayson?" 

"The plan was to shoot this man in the hotel room and make it look like a heart attack. Why the hell are we bringing him along?"

"Well that wasn't foolproof." I replied. "There are cameras in that hotel, and a number of people saw us enter the room. Not to mention the girl who ran away. Before we know it, we'll have the police trailing our backs again!" 

"And who told you they aren't!" Grayson fired back. "The police are still looking for Matteo Rossi because of this idiot over here. I can't believe you haven't smashed his head to pieces Enzo, this man didn't protect you! He delivered that money to the Secret Service without a second thought! Where you would be without that fake nose, and what happen if your real name comes out‽"

Grayson’s voice was still echoing in the car when silence fell again.

A dangerous silence.

The kind that made even my men keep their eyes forward. I didn’t answer him immediately.

My gaze stayed on the rearview mirror — on the man laid across the backseat like stolen art.

Jovan Rosfrith. Unconscious, breathing slow, lips slightly parted. 

Even now… even now he looked untouched by the chaos he left behind in other people’s lives.

I spoke without looking away.

“You talk too much, Grayson.”

He scoffed. “And you’re not talking enough.”

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

“You’re making emotional decisions. That’s not like you, Enzo. This man betrayed you. Stole your life from you. Nearly got you executed by the council. And now you’re looking at him like—”

“Like what?” I asked quietly.

He hesitated.

That hesitation told me everything. I finally looked at him.

“Say it.”

Grayson’s jaw ticked.

“…Like you want him.”

The words settled heavy in the car. No one breathed..Then I smiled. Slow, unashamed.

“He knows things,” I said finally.

Grayson frowned. “He already handed the money to the Secret Service. What more could he possibly know?”

“Where the rest went,” I replied calmly.

That made him pause. I continued before he could think too deeply.

“You think a man like Jovan Rosfrith moves billions without making private contingencies? Offshore shadows. Silent partners. Insurance accounts.” I leaned back slightly. “If I kill him now, those trails die with him.”

Grayson’s anger shifted into calculation.

“So… you want information.”

“Yes.”

“And torture works better when the subject is alive.” he added.

I gave a small nod. The cold, professional, Mafia logic. Nothing emotional.

Grayson exhaled slowly, tension easing from his shoulders.

“Fine. Then we interrogate him and dispose of him after.”

Dispose.

The word lingered.

I didn’t correct it.

The estate gates opened as we drove in. I stepped out first when the car stopped.

“Bring him,” I ordered.

Grayson grabbed Jovan’s arm to haul him out, but I stopped him with a look.

“I’ll handle him.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his face — brief but noticeable. Still, he released him. I didn’t answer immediately. I opened the back door myself when we stopped. Cold night air rushed in but Jovan didn’t stir as I leaned inside.

Up close, he smelled like expensive cologne… and sex.

My expression darkened slightly at that.

I brushed my thumb across his lower lip, wiping the faint smear of lipstick left behind.

“Still warm,” I murmured.

"We should prepare the cells," Grayson's voice interrupted then. 

I looked back at him then — Grayson. My right hand.

The man who had bled beside me, killed beside me, built this empire with me.

And yet… There was no desire when I looked at him. Only trust, only history.

I lifted Jovan myself, savoring the warmth of his skin against me. We entered through the private corridor — not the lower holding cells.

Not the interrogation hall, or the holding cells. I headed upstairs.

Grayson noticed immediately.

“Enzo,” he called behind me. “Wrong way.”

“No.”

His footsteps slowed slightly and he said again.

“The east wing is restricted.”

“I know.” I answered. 

“That’s where you keep political guests.”

“Yes.”

A beat of silence passed.

“You’re not putting him in the cells?”

I didn't respond. We reached the doors, I pushed them open, warm light spilled out. There were gold fixtures, vellvet drapes, and a king-sized bed.

No chains, no restraints, no surveillance cameras.

This wasn’t a prison, it was intimate, mine.

Grayson stopped walking.

“…Enzo.”

I laid Jovan on the bed carefully — almost respectfully. I straightened his collar, removed the crease from his sleeve, and pulled off his shoes. 

Grayson’s voice hardened.

“This isn’t interrogation housing.”

“No,” I said simply.

“Then what is it?”

I turned to face him. I made my face calm, and my eyes unreadable.

“A controlled environment,” he said. "You keep traitors underground.”

“He’s not a traitor.”

Grayson blinked. The correction slipped out before I could stop it. I recovered instantly.

“He’s an asset,” I amended coolly. “Until I decide otherwise.”

Grayson studied the room again. The bed, the balcony, the absence of restraints. I knew realization hadn't fully formed yet, but suspicion had. 

“You’re keeping him close,” he said slowly.

“Yes.”

“For observation?”

“Yes.”

Another silence, thicker this time. Then Grayson asked the real question hiding underneath. 

“And when you’re done studying him?” I looked down at Jovan — unconscious, defenseless in my space. My answer was deliberately neutral.

“We’ll see if he’s worth keeping alive.”

Grayson lingered at the doorway long after I dismissed the guards. After a long silence, he asked.

“Should I post guards inside or outside the room?”

I answered without turning.

“Outside.”

Grayson swallowed. "And if he wakes up violent?”

I let the silence stretch, long enough to feel intentional. I lit up a cigar and drew a long deep drag I said softly:

“He won’t.”

Grayson’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“How can you be so sure?”

I finally turned back toward the room. Toward Jovan. Toward the man who ruined me…and didn’t even know it.

“Because,” I said quietly,

“He doesn’t realize yet… that he’s exactly where he belongs.”