Chapter 22 Chapter 22
Enzo
The tracker moved across black water like a pulse that refused to die. Thirty-five hours. Thirty-five hours since she walked out of his house without a word. Thirty-five hours since he’d realized she hadn’t just left a room, she had left him out of something. The Strip burned beneath the rooftop in electric arrogance; music drifted from hidden speakers, glasses clinked, laughter rose and fell. Enzo heard none of it. The whiskey in front of him had been refilled twice. He hadn’t asked for it. He hadn’t stopped it. It hadn’t touched the anger. The dot on the screen inched toward Nevada airspace. She had been gone long enough for fury to cool but it hadn’t, it had condensed: turned dense, pressurized, sharpened.
His phone vibrated.
“She’s two hours out,” Jake said. No preamble. “Landing at oh-three hundred. Smooth flight. No deviations.”
Enzo’s eyes never left the screen. “Copy.” He ended the call.
Gino leaned back in the chair opposite him, forearms resting on his thighs, watching Enzo the way a man watches a storm cell deciding whether it’s going to touch ground. “You look like you’re about to level the city,” Gino said.
Enzo didn’t answer. The dot kept moving.
Gino exhaled slowly. “She’s coming home.”
“She shouldn’t have left.” That was the first honest thing Enzo had said out loud all night.
“She didn’t leave you,” Gino said carefully.
Enzo’s jaw flexed. “She left without telling me.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is to me.”
His fingers tightened around the glass, not enough to shatter it but enough to feel the threat of it.
“She turned off her phone, Gino.”
That one cracked through.
Gino held his gaze. “Yeah.”
“She took a plane. Alone.”
“Yeah.”
“She knew I would stop her.” Enzo stood abruptly, pacing once to the railing and back; his jaw flexed. “You know what that means?” he snapped. “It means she decided my protection was optional.”
“She didn’t decide that,” Gino said.
“She did.”
“She decided you would follow.”
Enzo’s head snapped toward him. “I didn’t,” he said coldly.
“You couldn’t.”
The silence that followed was thick.
Gino leaned back in his chair. “She’s a wild card, Zo. You knew that when you put the ring on her finger.”
“She’s not a card,” Enzo growled. “She’s my wife.”
“And your wife has never once moved like anyone else.”
That landed because it was true.
“She doesn’t calculate like you,” Gino continued. “She calculates like her. And sometimes that looks like insanity.”
“She walked into another country alone.”
“She walked into a solution.”
Enzo laughed once — sharp. Disbelieving. “You don’t know that.”
“I know she doesn’t burn bridges if she plans on walking back across.”
“She burned this one.”
“No,” Gino said quietly. “She trusted you to be waiting when she came back.”
That hit differently. Enzo turned toward the railing again. Thirty-five hours. Thirty-five hours of imagining the wrong call. The wrong step. The wrong person seeing her first.
I buried Nico. I lost Dom. I will not bury her.
The thought sat low and feral in his chest.
“You’re not mad because she went,” Gino said after a moment. “You’re mad because you couldn’t go with her.”
Enzo didn’t deny it. He didn’t need to. The tracker dot crossed into Nevada; Enzo picked up his jacket. “Car.”
The hangar lights burned white against the dark Nevada sky, harsh and clinical, throwing long shadows across polished concrete. Enzo stood beneath them with his hands in his pockets, still, immovable. The jet’s engines wound down into a low mechanical hum that vibrated faintly through the floor beneath his shoes. He did not move closer. He did not look eager. He did not look relieved. He looked like a man waiting to pass judgment.
If I move first, I forgive her. If I forgive her, she’ll do it again.
The cabin door opened. The stairs descended with a metallic sigh and then she appeared.
Lola stepped into the frame of the doorway as though she hadn’t detonated thirty-five hours of silence behind her; head high, shoulders back and eyes locked directly onto his. She didn’t search for him. She already knew where he’d be.
Damn it.
She looks—
Alive.
That was the first thought; not fragile, not shaken, not braced. Alive. Like something heavy had burned out of her system and left nothing but clarity in its place.
You’re safe. You’re here. Thank God.
Relief struck hard and fast; visceral, possessive, primal. The part of him that had watched her heart rate spike through a monitor while men hurt her. The part that had stood powerless while her EKG screamed through speakers he couldn’t shut off.
I just got you back. You have no idea what that did to me.
He did not let it show.
She descended without hesitation. no apology in her posture, no guilt in her pace, just certainty. She crossed the tarmac and stopped directly in front of him. Close enough to feel her heat. Close enough to see the faint flush beneath her skin. Close enough to confirm she was whole.
I should be kissing you. I should be pulling you into my chest. I should be thanking every god I don’t believe in.
Instead, his voice came out cool and level. “You left.”
No greeting. No embrace.
Her chin lifted slightly. “You would have tried to stop me.”
Of course I would have. I would have chained the plane to the runway.
“That’s not the point.”
She didn’t look away. He hated that she didn’t look away.
“You turned off your phone.”
“Yes.”
“You knew I would stop you.”
“Yes.”
Measured. Steady. Not defensive.
Why are you so calm? Do you have any idea what you did to me?
It poured gasoline on something already lit.
“You don’t disappear without telling me,” he said, voice tightening. “You don’t remove yourself from my protection like it’s optional. I just got you back, Lola. You have no idea what it was like watching you get tortured through a screen and being able to do nothing.”
That landed.
Her composure shifted, barely but enough.
You remember. Good. Because I will never forget it.
“You don’t get to make me relive that,” he continued, lower now. “You don’t get to make me wonder if I’m about to lose you again.”
Wind pulled at her hair but she didn’t step back.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
Then why does it feel like you ripped something open?
“Then why did you leave me?”
The question hung between them.
“For thirty-five hours,” he continued, voice roughening despite his control, “I imagined the worst. Every possible version of it.”
He swallowed.
I imagined burying you. I imagined standing at your grave. I imagined explaining to the people we love that I failed.
“You don’t get to make me feel that,” he said quietly. “You don’t get to make me stand on a rooftop watching a blinking dot over open water wondering if it’s the last place I’ll ever see you.”
Silence stretched wide and fragile between them. The jet ticked as it cooled behind her.
He studied her again, searching for fracture. Instead he found clarity.
“You look different,” he said.
You look like yourself. You look like fire again.
“I feel different.”
That unsettled him more than anger had.
What did you do?
The question that had been coiling inside him surfaced. “Are you regretting this?”
Her brows drew together.
“Our marriage,” he clarified. “Did you leave because you feel trapped? Because you decided you married the wrong man?”
Tell me no. Tell me I didn’t cage you. Tell me I’m not too much.
Hurt flashed across her face.
“You think I would run if I wanted out?”
“I think people run when they feel suffocated.”
And I know I can suffocate. I hold too tight.
“I am not suffocated.”
“Then why did you leave me?”
The real question.
She held his gaze, then she reached into her bag.
His spine went rigid. “What are you doing?”
She pulled out something small, white, plastic. Pressed it into his palm.
Two lines.
His brain stalled.
No. Yes. No. Yes.
“I needed the city to be safe for our family,” she said quietly. “There wasn’t time for a war if this came back positive.”
His head lifted slowly. “You’re—”
“Yes.”
The word detonated.
Mine. Ours. God.
“You suspected?” he asked.
“Since the Academy,” she admitted. “But I couldn’t confirm it. Not while everything was unstable. Not after weeks in that chair. If that test came up positive, I needed to know this—” she guided his hand to her abdomen “—was our only priority.”
His palm flattened there instinctively, reverent, possessive.
There’s a life there. There’s a future there. You were carrying this while you boarded that plane.
“And you still went.”
You still walked into danger.
Her head tilted slightly. “Well,” she said softly, a flicker of menace in her calm, “technically I wasn’t alone.”
Her hand covered his over her stomach.
You are unbelievable. You are insane. You are mine.
The hangar lights caught something on her finger; platinum, a heart-shaped pink diamond.
The ring. His ring.
His jaw tightened. “Where did you get that?”
She didn’t look down. “Rafael returned it to me on the flight over there. Said he’d been holding onto it since he took it from me at the hospital after the Russian incident.”
A quiet beat.
“And Marco?” he asked.
“He won’t threaten this city again.”
Understanding settled into him slowly. Heavy. Final.
You ended it. For us.
He pulled her into him then, hard, arms wrapping around her with restrained ferocity.
Alive. Both of them.
“You are never doing that again,” he said into her hair, voice rough but controlled. “You do not walk into something like that without me.”
She pressed her face into his chest. “I didn’t want this”—she tapped lightly over her stomach—“to start in chaos.”
You were protecting us. Even from me.
He pulled back just enough to look at her.
“And Bellandi?” he asked quietly. “He hiding somewhere back there?”
A faint smile touched her mouth. “You don't trust him.”
He ignored it.
He doesn't get proximity.
“What did you do?”
She held his gaze. “I made sure we don’t have to fight that battle later.”
His hand returned to her stomach without him realizing it.
“You terrify me,” he said quietly.
Because you didn't leave anything unfinished.
She smiled faintly. “I know.”
They’re were standing on the tarmac, Enzo’s hand is still on her stomach. The realization is still settling in his bones.
Then—
His brain replays:
Academy chair
Electrodes
Her heart spiking on a monitor.
His jaw hardens. “You were in that chair,” he says quietly.
She nods once.
“You flew thirty-two hours and you haven’t seen a doctor.”
“…Not yet.”
That’s the trigger, he turns sharply. “Gino.”
Gino straightens immediately, his eyes flick once to Enzo’s hand, then to Lola, then back to Enzo.
Something clicks. “…Oh,” he says softly.
“Call Alvarez,” Enzo orders. “I want him at the penthouse. Portable ultrasound. Full labs. Cardiac. Hormone panels. Everything he can carry.”
Lola exhales. “Enzo—”
“No.” Not loud. Final. “You made every decision to keep this safe.” His hand presses more firmly against her abdomen. “My turn.”
Gino is already dialing. “Yeah,” he says into the phone, walking a few steps away but very clearly not far enough for privacy. “Change of plans. Bring everything. Yes, everything. Portable setup. If it plugs in, pack it. No, I’m not joking.”
A pause.
He glances back at Lola.
“…Yes.Yes, that one. The spawn of Satan herself.”
Lola lifts a brow. “I heard that.”
“Good,” Gino mutters, still on the phone. “You know it's true.”
Enzo ignores them both. His focus is locked, protective, instinctive, grounded.
“You don’t get to carry this,” he says quietly, eyes never leaving hers, “and think I won’t go feral about it.”
She studies him for a second. Gino slides his phone back into his pocket and walks back over. “He’s mobilizing,” he reports. “Also, if this kid inherits her decision-making and your control issues, I’m moving to another country.”
Enzo doesn’t even look at him. “Buy a bigger house.”
Lola huffs a quiet laugh.
And that laugh—
That’s what undoes him.
His hand shifts again over her stomach, thumb pressing slightly as if confirming reality. “Car,” he says.
But this time it isn’t command. It’s containment because if he stands here another minute, he’s either going to fall to his knees or start planning a war against an institution that no longer exists and neither option is appropriate on a runway at three in the morning.
The SUV is already running when they reach it.
Gino is in the driver’s seat, he doesn’t say anything when Enzo opens the rear door for her, just looks forward like he didn’t feel the air shift.
Enzo waits until she’s seated before climbing in after her. He pulls her closer immediately; not dramatic, not possessive for show, just enough that her hip presses into his and his palm settles low against her stomach. That’s where it stays. Grounded there.
The SUV pulls away from the hangar. Gino adjusts the rearview mirror once. “…So,” he mutters dryly, eyes still forward, “I assume I’m driving very carefully now.” Lola huffs the smallest laugh.
Enzo doesn’t respond, he leans in and kisses her.
His thumb spreads slowly over the curve beneath her shirt as if memorizing the shape.
“You’re never doing that again,” he says quietly.
She exhales against his jaw. “Enzo—”
“No.” His hand presses slightly against her stomach. “You handeled your side," he said quietly "now it's my turn."
His free hand is already pulling out his phone dialing. “Patel,” he says when it connects. “Penthouse. Now. I want a full scan. Yes, tonight. I don’t care. Coordinate with Alvarez.”
He ends the call and immediately dials again.
“And clear the lower floor,” he says into the second line. “No staff traffic. Medical only.”
He hangs up. His hand never leaves her.
“You’re spiraling,” Lola says softly.
“Yes.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
He looks at her then, really looks.
The image of the chair flashes again, this time it isn’t fear but urgency.
His jaw tightens. His hand shifts slightly.
And then—
He feels it.
A faint movement beneath his palm.
He stills instantly.
“…Did you—”
She freezes too.
There it is again; small, quick, real.
His breath leaves him. “Oh.” Not dramatic, just stunned. He presses his hand there more gently, reverent now. “That’s real,” he murmurs.
Another flutter.
His eyes lift to hers. “Did you feel that?”
“Yes.”
Something in him breaks open. He leans forward, forehead brushing hers, thumb tracing slow circles over the place where life just announced itself. “That’s ours.” Recognition settles deep in his voice. “I’m going to be a dad.” He says it like he’s trying to understand the size of it.
Up front, Gino clears his throat. “Don't even think about asking me to babysit."
Lola shifts slightly, looking toward the front seat. “I can already tell,” she says lightly, “you’re going to be the favorite. Uncle Nino.”
Silence.
In the rearview mirror, Gino’s jaw tightens like he just got punched somewhere tender.
“…Don’t call me that,” he mutters but his voice is wrecked.
And Enzo sees it. He sees the way Gino’s grip tightens on the wheel. Sees the way his cousin swallows once and stares a little too hard at the road; protective, instinctive.Enzo’s hand remains steady on her stomach.
This is real.
And for the first time since she stepped off that plane, he isn’t furious, he’s terrified and incandescently happy.
The SUV hums steadily through the late-night Vegas streets. Enzo’s hand remains anchored over her stomach. Up front, Gino glances into the mirror again. “…So,” he says casually, “are we feeding her?”
Lola doesn’t hesitate. “I am absolutely famished.”
The word is dramatic. The tone is not, it’s factual.
Enzo’s head turns slowly toward her. “Famished?”
She nods once. “Starving. I could eat something irresponsible.”
Gino snorts. “There’s an In-N-Out two exits up.”
Enzo immediately shakes his head. “No.”
Lola gasps like he’s insulted her ancestry. “Excuse me?”
“You’re not eating drive-thru garbage.”
Gino scoffs. “She’s carrying your kid. She can eat the menu if she wants.”
“She can eat something balanced.”
“She can eat what she’s craving,” Gino shoots back.
“I am craving a cheeseburger,” Lola says helpfully.
Enzo exhales slowly. “You just got off a sixteen-hour flight.”
“Yes.”
“You were in a foreign country twenty hours ago.”
“Yes.”
“You are—” he lowers his voice slightly “—growing a human.”
“Yes.”
“And you want fast food.”
“Yes.”
Gino nods once. “Sounds decisive to me.”
Lola laughs, actually laughs and the sound of it, bright, unrestrained, cuts through the last of Enzo’s remaining tension. He looks at her, she looks lighter, happy. His shoulders drop a fraction. “…Fine,” he mutters.
Gino grins. “That’s what I thought.”
“But no fries,” Enzo adds.
Lola stares at him. “No fries?”
“You’re not filling up on salt and oil.”
“I want fries.”
“You don’t need fries.”
Gino pulls into the exit lane. “She’s getting fries.”
Enzo glares at the back of Gino’s head. “She is not.”
Lola leans closer to Enzo, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I’m also getting a strawberry shake.”
Enzo closes his eyes briefly. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m pregnant.”
“That doesn’t mean you win every argument.”
“It absolutely does,” Gino says.
They pull into the drive-thru. Lola places her order through the speaker with zero hesitation. “Cheeseburger. Animal style. Fries. Large. And a strawberry shake.”
Enzo watches her like she just declared war again. “You’re going to regret that.”
“I regret nothing.”
Gino laughs outright now. “Welcome to fatherhood, big guy.”
Enzo’s hand tightens slightly over her stomach. “…She’s not drinking the whole shake.”
Lola turns slowly. “Enzo.”
“Yes.”
“If I don’t get this shake, I will burn this city down.”
A beat.
Gino, dry as ever: “She’s not joking.”
Enzo stares at her. Then at her stomach. Then back at her. His voice drops, softer, almost helpless. “…What am I going to do when there’s two of you,” he murmurs, “and I’m powerless to both?”
Lola’s grin turns lethal.
Gino laughs under his breath. “You’re already screwed.”
—
Five minutes later she’s in the backseat with a burger in one hand, fries balanced precariously, and a pink shake resting in the cup holder. Enzo holds the burger wrapper steady for her without comment. She steals a fry, then another.
He notices. Says nothing.
Enzo watches her take the first sip of the shake, eyes narrowing, not in disapproval, but calculation.
“Is it wrong,” he mutters, mostly to himself, “that I want her eating something with actual nutrients?”
In the mirror, Gino’s eyes flick back, “…You said no fries.”
Enzo doesn’t even blink. “I said she wouldn’t finish them.”
Lola is laughing so hard she almost drops the shake and for the first time in forty hours, everything feels normal. Enzo watches her take a bite, watches the way her eyes close in blissful exaggeration. His thumb brushes slow circles over her stomach.
You’re safe. You’re here. You’re ours.
He exhales. “…Get us home,” he says quietly.
This time, there’s no anger in it, just fullness.