Chapter 3

Enzo leaned back in the tall, expensive leather office chair at the center of the long conference table, the cool material creaking faintly under his weight.

 The room smelled of polished wood, aged whiskey, and the faint undercurrent of expensive cologne from the men seated around him. 

Their voices rose and fell in heated discussion, but the words barely registered. His mind was elsewhere, tangled in the chaos that had stormed into his life like a hurricane.

Lokie. That woman wasn’t just a handful—she was a goddamn wildfire wrapped in unpredictable madness. He couldn’t shake the image of her at the altar: those wild eyes gleaming as she sank her teeth into his lip, then slowly, deliberately licking the blood from her own mouth like it was the sweetest victory. 

The spark of fearless hunger in her gaze had sent a chill down his spine even as rage boiled in his chest. And the way she spoke—loud, unfiltered, cutting through silence like a blade. He still couldn’t believe he was shackled to her. Worse, there was no clean way to get rid of her.

This marriage wasn’t born of convenience or desire. It was a brutal necessity to bury the endless, blood-soaked war between the Martins and the Carusos, the two dominant mafia families carving deep scars across New York’s underworld. Refusing hasn’t been an option. As the eldest son, the responsibility crushed down on his shoulders alone. 

Cristiano was buried deep undercover in a cathedral, playing priest to unearth enemy secrets. Luca walked a razor’s edge inside the FBI, feeding them just enough to stay ahead of the law. 

Michello, the wildcard, was too stubborn, too untamable—and openly uninterested in any arranged union with a rival’s daughter. He lived by his own rules, consequences be damned.

Then there was Romano’s relentless pressure, the old man’s voice echoing daily about securing the bloodline with a grandchild before it was too late.

Enzo had always prided himself on choices made without regret. Yet sitting here in this vast, sunlit room with the city skyline gleaming through floor-to-ceiling windows, regret sat heavy and sour in his gut. 

*Fuck the Martins.* A brutal, all-out war would have been simpler, cleaner. Instead, his once-sacred home—his refuge of silence and control—now felt invaded, tainted. Peace had become a distant memory, stolen by the unpredictable storm that was Lokie.

“The shipments can’t stay out there much longer,” Paul was saying, his voice strained and edged with panic as he gestured sharply at the documents spread across the table. “The FBI’s already tailing us too closely. If we sit on our hands, we’re looking at over fifty billion down the drain. Who the hell is ready to swallow that kind of hit?”

Mark nodded vigorously, face flushed. “We need to handle the FBI problem now. We can’t keep running operations with this constant sword over our necks. If those shipments get seized…”

“Our reputations would be in ruins,” Milton snarled, slamming a heavy fist onto the glossy black table. The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot. “Enzo, fix this. That’s what you’re here for!”

The others murmured their furious agreement, fear flickering behind their polished masks. These were men who commanded boardrooms and public adoration—wealthy, connected, seemingly untouchable. Yet here they sat, sweating at the thought of their illegal empires crumbling into public scandal and prison cells.

“You boast about those great connections of yours,” Roland exploded, veins bulging at his temples. “Where the fuck are they when we need them? This is your mess!”

Enzo let the storm of complaints wash over him for a moment longer, his expression carved from stone. Then he spoke, voice low and steady, slicing through the noise like a knife.

 “I thought this wouldn’t be an issue for men as *reputable* as you all claim to be.” His gaze drifted slowly across each face, holding their eyes until they shifted uncomfortably. “We never forced any of you into this partnership. You joined because you trusted our strength. So why the sudden lack of faith now?”

He leaned forward slightly. “My brother Luca is out there risking his life every single day inside the FBI. Have some goddamn gratitude and stop acting like...”

The heavy door to the conference room swung open with a decisive bang that echoed off the walls.

Lokie sauntered in without hesitation, bare feet padding softly against the cool marble floor. She wore one of his crisp white dress shirts, the fabric oversized and hanging loosely just above her knees, sleeves rolled up messily to her elbows. 

Her hair was gathered into two loose, messy buns atop her head, with soft bangs framing her face in a way that gave her an almost disarmingly cute, puppy-like innocence. But the sharp glint in her eyes shattered any illusion of harmlessness.

“Miss me?” she called out brightly, her voice ringing clear and cheerful through the tense space. She completely ignored the dozens of hostile, heavy stares boring into her from every direction, the air thickening with disbelief and outrage.

She moved with casual confidence toward the far end of the long table, her gaze locking directly onto Enzo’s. A happy, mischievous smile played across her lips as she stopped across from him.

“I didn’t think you’d just leave me behind for some boring meeting like this,” she continued, tilting her head with a playful pout that didn’t quite hide the edge beneath it. “We’re married now. That makes us family, doesn’t it? It kinda hurts when you shut me out like that, you know?”

The room froze. Milton’s face twisted in disgust, his eyes raking over her disheveled appearance. “Who the hell is this pathetic nuisance?” he growled, voice dripping with contempt. “Daring to interrupt our discussion dressed like some cheap slut? Have you no shame or basic manners, little girl?”

Lokie’s bright smile died instantly, wiped away like it had never existed. She tilted her head slowly toward him, one brow arching slightly. “Pathetic… nuisance?” she repeated softly, the words rolling off her tongue as if she were savoring a bitter flavor.

Then the smile returned—slow, sweet, and laced with something far more dangerous. She placed her hands on the edge of the massive rectangular black table and slid onto it with fluid, predatory grace. Her knees pressed into the smooth surface as she crawled forward toward the center, the shirt riding up slightly but never losing its edge of control.

She stopped directly in front of Milton, leaning in close. Her smile widened, almost affectionate. “You know what? I think I like you.”

“Excuse me?” Milton barked, his face turning an ugly shade of red, body tensing in his seat.

“Oh, you’re excused,” Lokie replied lightly, almost sweetly. In one lightning-fast motion, her hand slipped beneath the hem of the shirt to the leather sheath strapped high on her thigh. Steel flashed. She drove the knife down hard, straight through the back of his hand, pinning it viciously to the table with a wet, sickening thud.

Milton’s scream ripped through the room—raw, agonized, guttural. It echoed off the high ceilings, shattering the fragile arrogance of every man present. Blood welled up instantly around the blade, dark and spreading across the glossy surface.

Lokie leaned in even closer, her voice cheerful and calm amid the chaos. “Hope you like your little gift. Now… can we have some quiet here, please?”

Milton gasped and whimpered, his free hand trembling as he tried futilely to pull away. Sweat beaded on his forehead, pain twisting his features into something pathetic. His wild eyes darted desperately toward Enzo. “Are you just going to sit there and let this crazy bitch do whatever the fuck she wants?!”

Lokie’s entire face lit up with pure, unfiltered delight. A soft, happy laugh bubbled from her throat. “There it is,” she murmured, savoring every syllable. “Crazy bitch. I really like the sound of that coming from you.”

She glanced sideways at Enzo, meeting his carefully blank expression with a bright, challenging smile that dared him to react. Her voice dropped into something almost intimate, teasing. “Oh, and by the way—you don’t expect him to interfere, do you?” She held his gaze steadily. “A husband always stands by his wife, right, Enzo?”