It's Better If You Don't See Me

Enzo Moretti

I stepped forward cautiously, my hand hovering in the air. If I hadn’t seen her lash out earlier, I might have rested it on her shoulder.

“I’m really sorry,” I said.

She turned to face me, tears streaking her face, though she tried to push them away.

It wasn’t my fault for thinking she was married. The way she was dressed screamed 'date night.' Her brown hair in soft ringlets, rose-colored lipstick, and a dress meant for special occasions. My gut told me she was heading to meet someone important, maybe her husband, before she got roped into helping me.

If I was right, I needed to know immediately. If someone saw her leave with me and started looking for her, my safety was on the line.

She might’ve helped me, but I wasn’t going to risk my life over a misstep.

“I want to go home,” she said, her voice trembling.

My instincts flared. This was survival. My life depended on dissecting every word, every move, because trust was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Everyone had a price, and hers was obvious—her son. If someone took him, she’d sell me out without hesitation.

“Why? Is it because of what I said?” I pressed.

She wiped her eyes. “I came to help you. I’m done now. I don’t know why I’m still here.”

“You’re here because I want to make it up to you,” I said smoothly.

Isa frowned. “I don’t—”

“Do you have a date waiting for you?” I interrupted, throwing out the bait. "Ethan's father maybe."

If I had pushedher into a moment of sadness, my question might have just irritated her. “We are divorced. I want to go home to be with my son.”

“Is Ethan alone?”

Her eyes closed, reluctant to answer. “He’s with my sister, but—”

“Then you’re welcome to stay the night since it's already late,” I cut in. “I make the nastiest pasta you’ve ever had. There’s hot water, electricity, clean clothes. You can shower, change, and meet me in the kitchen in twenty minutes. I’ll be cooking the best dinner you've ever had."

Her lips twitched at my playful tone, and she shook her head, a faint smile breaking through.

“Come on,” I coaxed, “you know you want to stay.”

Her chest rose and fell as she weighed her options.

“I told my sister I had a date earlier. It was an excuse to get out for a minute.” she admitted. “If I stay the night, she’ll think my date went really well.”

“Oh, this is a date,” I said, closing the last bit of space between us. I leaned in and brushed a soft kiss on her cheek, just enough to be intimate without pushing too far.

Seduction was manipulation, and I was a master at it.

Her skin flushed. Lips tight, she relented.

“This isn’t a date,” she countered, voice firm. “I don’t even know you.”

“You had your hands inside me, Isa,” I replied calmly, holding her gaze. “That’s all you need to know.”

Later  in the kitchen...

I was boiling the pasta when Margo called.

“How’d it go?” I answered immediately.

“Better than expected,” Marco grunted.

Marco was my best friend, my partner, and the face of our legitimate businesses. I trusted him with everything. Though he wasn’t supposed to be on the frontlines of this deal, we had no choice.

We needed to find the breach in our organization.

“We were right—someone’s playing smart,” I said, stepping away from the stove.

I glanced toward the door. Isa was still upstairs.

This call was top secret, nothing her ears should pick up on.

I also didn’t want her to see the monster I became when business took over.

“Yes,” Marco agreed. “And I have a hunch. How are you holding up?”

“I’ve got a bullet wound, but I’m alive,” I replied, wincing as I adjusted my hand. “Sent the boys to clean up the mess.”

Marco sighed. “When we confirm it’s him, I’m handling it.”

I paused, then grimaced. “I won’t stop you.”

A door creaked upstairs—Isa was coming down.

“I’ll call you when we have more info,” I said quickly.

“No. I’ll call you,” Marco said. He hung up before I could ask what he meant.

Marco cooked up plans I didn’t always know about, and knowing him, they were always impulsive.

I had to slip my phone away. Turning up the stove, I started to make my sauce.

Isa walked in, wearing my shirt. Her soft, disheveled look made the shirt look better on her than it did on me. I had to pull my thoughts back from dangerous territory. The shirt barely reached her thighs, and her hair framed her face in those damn majestic curls.

I was the one in control here, I reminded myself and looked away from the demanding distraction that she was.

“It smells amazing,” Isa said, running her hands across the kitchen table.

She stopped, sniffing the air.

“It’ll taste even better.”

Before she could respond, her phone vibrated.

“Guess who’s calling?” She grinned, holding the phone up.

“Your ex-husband?”

Her brows shot up. “God forbid, no. It’s my sister. I’m telling her I’m spending the night with my date.”

Her excitement was contagious.

I winked. “Use me as you like,” I teased, turning back to the pot.

I listened to her conversation as I finished with the pasta. She asked about Ethan, reminded him to drink water, then spoke with Cleo, who was her alleged sister, before ending the call.

I placed her plate in front of her then sat down beside her.

Isa stared at the food, then at me.

“Without tasting it,” she said, grinning ear to ear, “I already know it’s going to be good and that is surprising."

“Why?” I feigned hurt, handing her a clean fork. “Because I’m a man?”

She shook her head, embarrassed. “I didn’t say that.” She took a bite, savoring it. 

Quietly, she tucked the converstion away.

But i wasn't offended.

“My mom taught me how to cook,” I filled the awkward silence. “She said it’s a survival skill, just as important as martial arts or intelligence.”

“Ethan loves to watch me cook,” Isa said, sipping her water. She sighed. “He loves to see me do everything.”

Quietly, I reached for her hand on the table. She squeezed my fingers in return.

Isa turned in her seat, her movement hesitant, as though she was bracing herself. I leaned in, ready to listen.

“I hate to ask this, but… are you married?”

I blinked, stunned. My mouth opened, but no words came out.

“Oh my god!” Her cheeks reddened as she hid her face behind her hands. “That was such a stupid question.”

“No. No, it wasn’t,” I said quickly. “And no, I’m not married.”

She peeked through her fingers, biting her lower lip. Her hesitation was almost palpable.

“Dating someone?” she asked softly.

I shook my head, swallowing a chuckle. She was utterly endearing, her nervousness both a challenge and a delight to witness.

“No,” I said simply.

“In a relationship?”

This was where I closed the gap between us, giving in to the magnetic pull drawing us together. Her gaze locked on mine, wide and expectant.

“Isa,” I said, my voice low, “I am completely single. The only date I’ve been on is this one.”

Her chest rose and fell as she exhaled, her eyes sparkling with newfound confidence. “Good. Then we can have our first kiss.”

Before I could reply, she rose onto her toes. My hands instinctively found her waist as she curled her arms around my neck.

Her lips met mine in a kiss that was both shy and burning with intent. My hands pressed against the small of her back, grounding her as the world around us faded.

Five seconds. Five seconds of her breath mingling with mine. Five seconds of fire blazing between us.

Then a deafening bang shattered everything.

Isa jerked away, her eyes wide with terror. My instincts kicked in, and I pulled her to me, ducking under the nearest table.

“Are you okay?” I whispered, scanning her for injuries.

She nodded, but her face was pale, her breathing unsteady.

I quickly assessed the space, calculating exits and cover. My mind raced. Her safety was all that mattered.

“Stay low. Don’t move until I say,” I said firmly.

Her lips moved as if to argue, but I was already moving, sliding to the kitchen cabinet. I yanked it open, feeling around for my piece.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, her voice trembling.

She didn’t know this side of me yet. This wasn’t the man she thought she’d kissed moments ago. But that didn’t matter.

“Stay down, Isa,” I ordered, my tone leaving no room for argument.

I cocked the gun, anger boiling inside me. Who dared to attack me here? This was my safe house. Only Marco knew this location.

The realization hit like a punch. My jaw tightened. Whoever it was wouldn’t get a second chance.

I stepped forward, gun raised, Isa’s frantic whispers echoing behind me.

“Please… don’t.”

But I couldn’t stop. They’d crossed a line, and I wasn’t about to let it slide.

I prayed she’d stay where I told her. She didn’t need to see this side of me.

Hell, even I didn’t want to see this side of me.