Chapter 24 Chapter 24
Enzo
Lola shifted beside him sometime after two in the morning, not with any violence or dramatic flair, but just enough to stir the air between them. The mattress dipped slightly under her weight, the sheets whispering like secrets in the dim light, followed by a quiet exhale that carried the faint warmth of sleep. Enzo’s eyes opened instantly. He didn’t sleep deeply anymore. Not since the world had taught him what it cost to relax. “You okay?” he asked, already propped on one elbow, his gaze settling on her as she sat up slowly, pushing tangled strands of hair away from her face. One hand braced against the headboard while the other curved over the pronounced swell of her stomach, where their twins rested in restless anticipation. “Yeah,” she murmured softly, voice laced with that drowsy calm that always seemed to soften the edges of the night. “I’m starving. I’m going to grab a snack from the kitchen, and I’ll be right back.” He studied her in the low glow filtering through the curtains, noting the warmth in her face, the ease in her expression, the way the twins shifted faintly beneath her palm in a ripple that spoke of life stirring within. “You need help?” he asked anyway, tone steady, already cataloging the small ways he could make this easier for her. “No,” she said, faint smile in the shadows. “I just need a snack.” He reached for her automatically, hand sliding over the curve of her hip with familiar possession, pulling her close long enough to press his mouth against the soft skin of her shoulder. “Don’t climb on counters,” he muttered against her, voice threaded with protectiveness that had become instinct. She laughed quietly, light and affectionate. “I won’t. I swear.” Reluctantly he let her go, watching as she eased herself from the bed with careful grace. He listened to the bedroom door open, then close with a soft click, senses attuned to the familiar rhythms of the penthouse. He waited for the sound of anything that would confirm her presence moving through the kitchen. Nothing came but she was slow lately, careful. He told himself she was probably standing there in thoughtful indecision, weighing cravings like they were negotiations. He closed his eyes again and repeated the mantra that should have settled him: she’s in the kitchen. Safe. Everything under control.
Twenty minutes later, something deep inside him jolted awake—not triggered by sound, but by an absence so sharp it felt like a physical pull. His hand slid across the mattress instinctively, seeking the warmth of her body, but found only cold, empty sheets. His eyes opened fully. Bathroom dark. Balcony doors closed. The bedroom was too still. The word formed in his mind, immediate and absolute. No. In one smooth motion he swung his legs off the bed and stood, pulling on sweatpants and dragging a hoodie over his head as he moved toward the door. The penthouse stretched out quiet and shadowed beyond the bedroom, the kitchen lights off, the living room empty, no scattered wrappers or half-eaten snacks to indicate a midnight forage. No Lola. His pulse didn’t spike wildly; it tightened into a focused coil, channeling itself into clarity instead of panic. He grabbed his phone. “Security.” The line answered immediately. “Mr. Marchesi?” His jaw set. “My wife. Where is she?” A pause, then keys tapping in the background. “Let us check, sir.” His voice sharpened into something cold. “You monitor every elevator and every exit after ten p.m.” “Yes, sir.” “You should not have to check,” he pressed, steel cutting clean through every syllable. “You should know instantly.” Silence stretched. “We’re reviewing footage now.”
He ended the call abruptly, two fingers pressing against his temple as if he could keep his temper and his fear in the same place if he held them still. Of course. His phone buzzed almost immediately, Jake’s name lighting up the screen. Enzo answered without speaking, letting the silence convey exactly what he expected. Jake’s voice came through, barely containing amusement. “I’d call Gino if I were you, boss.”
Enzo exhaled once, slow and controlled. “Of course they’re together.”
“Vehicle exited the garage twenty minutes ago,” Jake added. “Guess whose.”
Enzo didn’t respond. He crossed the living room and pulled the small secured Bluetooth unit from the console table, fitting it into his ear. “Stay on,” he told Jake.
“Oh, absolutely,” Jake replied, the hint of a laugh threading his words.
Enzo dialed Gino next. The line rang once.
“Yeah?” Gino answered. Too awake. Enzo went very still. “Where is she.” A beat of hesitation.
“She’s fine, Enzo,” Gino replied, voice steady.
“That was not the question.” Jake made a quiet noise through the earpiece like he was bracing for impact. “She wanted pizza,” Gino admitted. Enzo’s voice dropped into something dangerous and calm. “You took her off the property.”
“She said she needed it.”
“She said she was getting a snack.”
Gino hesitated. “She expanded the definition.”
Jake cut in smoothly, crisp as ever. “They’re two blocks west. Brothers.”
Enzo closed his eyes briefly. Pizza. Of all things. “You better pray she’s smiling when I walk in there,” he warned.
“She is,” Jake said immediately, like he’d seen it for himself.
Enzo ended the call and dialed security again. “Twenty men. Quiet perimeter. Two-block radius around Brothers. No lights. No visibility. Anything suspicious gets handled.” “Yes, sir,” came the immediate response. He stepped into the hallway; the elevator was already waiting, doors sliding open as if anticipating him. Of course it was. By the time he reached the lobby, the SUV was idling at the curb, engine purring in the predawn hush.
Brothers glowed like a cheap neon confession booth under streetlights that made everything look a little more guilty than it was. Fluorescent lights. Red vinyl booths. Three college kids who were about to have a very strange memory. Enzo stopped just outside the front window and looked in.
There she was.
Sitting sideways in a booth with her hair loose over her shoulders, feet tucked beneath her, an entire pizza spread out in front of her like a conquered feast. She lifted a slice, took a bite, and then did that little shoulder dance she always did when something tasted exactly right, like her body couldn’t help celebrating. The irritation in Enzo’s chest loosened instantly. She’s safe. She’s happy. The rest could be dealt with later.
He pushed the door open. The bell chimed overhead with a cheerful jingle that felt offensive in his current mental state. Conversations inside dimmed slightly, the ambient hum faltering as eyes turned toward him, but he ignored it all. He walked toward the booth with slow, measured steps that commanded the space without needing to announce anything. Lola looked up and her entire face lit up. “Enzo!” Like she hadn’t orchestrated a covert food operation. “You left the penthouse,” he said, voice low and weighted. “You were asleep,” she replied, too innocent. “That is not permission.” She took another bite, undeterred, and he slid into the booth beside her, his thigh brushing hers automatically in that instinctive claim of proximity. Gino sat opposite them, already bracing, shoulders set like a man waiting for impact.
“So,” Gino began carefully, “am I dead?”
Enzo’s gaze didn’t flicker. “You are very close.”
“She was miserable,” Gino offered.
“She was fine.”
“She said the twins were protesting.”
Lola nodded solemnly. “They were staging a revolt.” Enzo turned to look at her, exasperation and fondness warring in his expression. “You are not negotiating international trade agreements in there.” She grinned, utterly unrepentant. “Want a bite?” “No,” he said firmly—and then took the slice anyway. The crust cracked softly between his teeth, cheese stretching in warm strings. The sauce hit—tangy, rich, absurdly good. He paused, savoring despite himself, then swallowed slowly. Lola watched him with smug delight. “You get it now.” He took another bite before he could stop himself.
Damn it.
Across from them, Gino spread his hands in mock surrender. “So… how much trouble am I in for facilitating this little adventure?” Enzo wiped his fingers with a napkin, movements deliberate. “You’re on diaper duty for the first six months.” Gino blinked. “That’s not how hierarchy works.” Enzo’s voice stayed perfectly calm. “It does tonight.”
Gino sighed dramatically, leaning back. Jake’s voice crackled faintly through Enzo’s earpiece, laced with amusement. “For the record, this is the most aggressive pizza retrieval I’ve ever seen.” Enzo didn’t respond out loud, but Lola’s eyes narrowed slightly as she picked up on the shift. She leaned closer to him. “Was that Jake?” Enzo hesitated. Jake answered for him. “Yes, Lola. It was.” Her grin widened. She leaned into Enzo’s ear, speaking deliberately toward the comm like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Jake, do you want anything?” There was no hesitation. “Ham. Pineapple. Anchovies. Bell peppers. Onion. Extra soda.” Enzo stared at the wall, expression turning long-suffering. “I am surrounded by children.” “It’s a balanced flavor profile,” Jake argued. “It’s a crime,” Enzo muttered. Gino was openly laughing now, shoulders shaking, the tension dissolving into easy camaraderie. Lola beamed. “See? We’re building community.”
Enzo sighed, long and theatrical. They were conversing through him, using him as a Bluetooth relay system. He hated it. He loved it. He looked at Lola again, sauce at the corner of her mouth, eyes bright with laughter, the mother of his children radiating contentment in a dingy booth like she owned the world; happy, undeniably so. His chest eased. “Finish your slice,” he instructed, softer now. Lola narrowed her eyes playfully. “You’re about to make a scene, aren’t you?” He didn’t answer. He simply stood. She sighed dramatically, already resigned. “You are.” “Yes.”
The ride back to the hotel was quiet. Not tense. Not exactly peaceful either. Just settled. The SUV glided through thinning early-morning traffic, neon still blazing across the Strip while the sky above began to pale at the edges. Vegas never really slept, but this hour belonged to nobody—the night crowd fading, the morning crowd not yet awake. Security peeled away one by one as they approached the hotel, the quiet perimeter dissolving like it had never existed. Enzo kept one arm around Lola the entire ride, partly because the vehicle moved, mostly because he needed the contact. She leaned against him comfortably, pizza-satisfied and drowsy, one hand resting over the curve of her stomach. “You’re still grumpy,” she murmured. “I’m evaluating your decision-making,” he replied evenly.
“You mobilized a small army for pizza.”
“You left the building at two in the morning.”
She tilted her head toward him. “You ate the pizza.” He didn’t respond. That had been… unfortunate.
The elevator carried them up in silence, glass walls showing the Strip stretching endlessly below. By the time the doors opened onto the penthouse floor, the sky outside had softened into pale desert blue, hinting at sunrise. The suite was dim and quiet when they stepped inside, but Enzo guided her toward the kitchen before she could protest. “I’m fine,” she said.
“You ate half a pizza.”
“I shared,” she argued.
“With me,” he replied. “That doesn’t help your case.”
He moved around the kitchen with quiet efficiency: kettle on, fresh ginger sliced, honey jar opened. The soft scent of ginger filled the room as steam curled upward. Lola leaned against the island, watching him with sleepy amusement. “You’re making me tea.”
“Yes.”
“For pizza.”
“Yes.”
“You’re ridiculous.” He poured the hot water slowly over the ginger and honey, stirring until the scent turned warm and sharp, then handed her the mug once it cooled slightly. “Small sips,” he instructed. She took it with a small smile. “Yes, boss.”
They moved out to the balcony a moment later. The air was cooler now, desert morning pushing away the lingering heat of the night. The Strip still glowed, but the sky above it had softened into pale lavender and blue. Lola stepped toward the railing carefully, holding the mug with both hands, and Enzo moved behind her automatically. His arms slid around her waist and beneath the curve of her stomach, lifting gently—supporting the heavy weight of the twins in that instinctive way he’d developed over the last few weeks. She sighed the moment he did, relief melting through her shoulders. “Oh, that’s better.”
He adjusted his grip slightly. “Too much pizza?”
“No,” she said softly. “Just twins.”
He rested his chin near her temple. The city hummed below them; cars, music, that strange quiet roar of Vegas at dawn. “You scared me tonight,” he admitted after a moment.
“I know,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.”
“I woke up and you were gone.”
“I said I was getting a snack.”
“I assumed the kitchen.”
“That was technically my plan,” she admitted.
He exhaled slowly through his nose. “They’re already influencing your judgment.”
She smiled into the skyline. “They really wanted pizza.” His hands tightened instinctively as one of the babies shifted beneath his palms. Alive. Restless. His. “They’re going to be trouble,” he murmured. “They’re ours,” she replied. “Of course they are.”
They stood quietly for a moment. Lola took a small sip of tea, then said softly, “I’ve been thinking about names.” His hands stilled beneath her stomach. “Have you.” She nodded. “For the boy.” He waited. Her voice softened. “I was thinking Domenico.” The name settled gently between them. “For Dom,” she added quietly, like it hurt and healed at the same time. Enzo’s chest tightened. She stared out across the waking city. “He was my brother too,” she said softly. “Not by blood. But he was there for everything.” Enzo knew. Dom had adored her, protected her, teased her like family. She continued, quieter still. “He should be part of this somehow.” Enzo swallowed once. “Domenico,” he repeated. She turned her head slightly. “You like it?” “Yes,” he said, and kissed her hair. “Very much.”
“And Vincenzo as the middle name,” she added. “Because it belongs to you.” He let it settle, then spoke it aloud. “Domenico Vincenzo Marchesi.” Lola’s smile widened. “That sounds like someone who’s going to cause problems.” He almost laughed. “That is very likely.”
They stood quietly again, then Enzo said, “I’ve been thinking about the girl.” Lola tilted her head. “Oh?” “Annika,” he said simply. She blinked. “Annika?” “Annika Dorothea.” Her expression softened immediately. “For Dottie.” He nodded. “She deserves that.” Lola smiled warmly. “She’s going to lose her mind when she hears that.”
She rested her hand over his. “You know why I like Annika?” “Why.” She traced a small circle over the back of his hand. “Because it gives us Nic.” His brow lifted slightly. “For Nico.” She nodded. “He should be here too.” Nico had been loud and brilliant and loyal, the kind of man who would’ve already been arguing over baby names and bringing them terrible gifts.
Enzo tested it quietly. “Annika Dorothea Marchesi.” Lola said it with him, soft and certain. “Domenico Vincenzo Marchesi.” The names drifted into the early morning air, trying themselves out against the future.
One of the twins shifted again beneath his hands. He adjusted his hold slightly, lifting more of her weight. “You’re not leaving the penthouse at two in the morning again,” he said.
She smiled into the sunrise beginning to edge over the mountains. “We’ll see.”
“Lola.”
“I’m kidding,” she said, then softened. “Mostly.”
He sighed and rested his chin against her shoulder again. The tea was almost gone. The sky was getting lighter. His hands stayed where they were—steady, supporting the weight of the life growing between them.
After a moment, he murmured, “I love you.”
She turned just enough to kiss him, slow and warm. “Good,” she whispered against his mouth. “Because you’re stuck with me forever.”
He smiled against her lips, and for the first time since waking up to an empty bed, Enzo felt the last of the tension leave his chest.
The city woke beneath them, but up here, for a little while longer, the world stayed quiet—suspended in the promise of what was to come.