Chapter 73: He’s The Devil

Enzo stood at the hotel window, one hand pressed to his bruised throat, the other wrapped around a glass of whiskey he hadn’t touched.

His reflection stared back at him, dark hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot, the faint marks of Dimitri’s fingers still visible on his neck.

Get out of my city.

The words echoed in his head, along with the casual violence in Dimitri’s voice. Not angry. Not even particularly emotional.

Just... final.

Like he was disposing of trash.

Enzo had grown up in Dimitri’s shadow. Five years younger, Antonio’s second son, the one who was supposed to be grateful for the scraps of attention his older brother threw his way.

He’d watched Dimitri become the Don at twenty-five. Watched him build an empire that eclipsed anything Antonio had ever accomplished. Watched him become a legend, the Devil himself.

And Enzo had spent his entire life trying to prove he was worthy of the Valentino name.

It had never been enough.

Nothing was ever enough when Dimitri Valentino existed.

His phone buzzed. Antonio.

Enzo let it ring four times before answering.

"Padre." Father.

"Enzo." Antonio’s voice was smooth, controlled. "I heard your brother paid you a visit."

Of course he’d heard. Antonio had eyes everywhere.

"He did."

"And?"

"He told me to leave the city." Enzo’s jaw clenched. "Threatened to kill me if I go near his woman again."

"Interesting." Antonio didn’t sound surprised. "And what did you say?"

"Nothing. He had me by the throat at the time."

A long pause.

"You disappoint me, son."

The words landed like a blow. Enzo’s free hand clenched into a fist.

"I did what you asked," he said tightly. "Assessed the situation. Confirmed she’s a weakness. Made contact. Gathered intel. What more do you want?"

"I want you to be strong enough to stand up to your brother." Antonio’s voice was ice. "Instead, you let him intimidate you. Make you feel small. Just like you always have."

"He’s the Devil...."

"He’s a man." Antonio cut him off. "A man who’s let sentiment make him weak. A man who’s broken sacred vows, dishonored ancient alliances, all for some nobody." A pause. "And you’re afraid of him."

Enzo said nothing.

Because it was true.

He was terrified of Dimitri.

Had been his whole life.

"I’m sending reinforcements," Antonio said. "Six of my best men. They’ll arrive tomorrow. And Enzo? This time, you don’t back down. You don’t let him chase you away like a dog. You stand your ground."

"What’s the play?"

"The same as always. Find the weakness. Exploit it. Make him choose between power and sentiment." Antonio’s voice turned calculating. "Eve Thorne is his weakness. So we apply pressure. Not directly, Dimitri’s watching for that. But indirectly. Her business. Her friends. Her brother."

"Mike Thorne is Dimitri’s best friend...."

"Exactly. Which makes him the perfect pressure point." Antonio laughed softly. "Make Mike see what his sister is becoming. Make him question whether she’s safe with Dimitri. Drive a wedge between them. And when Dimitri has to choose between Eve and Mike...."

"He’ll choose Eve," Enzo finished. "And lose his most trusted ally."

"Precisely. And in the chaos, you step in. Prove yourself. Show me you’re worthy of being my son."

The unspoken comparison hung in the air: Show me you’re worthy of what Dimitri has.

"I understand," Enzo said.

"Good. Don’t disappoint me again, son."

Antonio hung up.

Enzo stood there, phone in hand, staring at his reflection.

Don’t disappoint me again.

Story of his fucking life.

He threw the whiskey glass at the mirror.

It shattered, spider-web cracks spreading across his reflection, distorting it into fragments.

Better.

That’s what he was anyway. A broken reflection of his perfect older brother.

His phone buzzed again. A text this time.

From Isabella.

Are you alright? I heard what happened.

He stared at the message, his chest aching.

Isabella.

Beautiful, deadly, completely unattainable Isabella.

She’d been in love with Dimitri since she was a child. Enzo had been in love with her just as long.

And neither of them could have what they wanted.

He typed back: I’m fine. He just reminded me of my place.

Your place isn’t beneath him. You’re Antonio’s son. You’re a Valentino.

So is he. And he’s better at it than I’ll ever be.

A pause. Then her response: That’s not true.

Isn’t it? Look at what he’s built. Look at the empire he runs. Look at how people fear him, respect him, follow him. He’s everything our fathers wanted. Everything I’ll never be.

Another pause. Longer this time.

Come to my hotel. Let’s talk. You shouldn’t be alone right now.

Enzo’s heart clenched.

She pitied him.

Isabella Russo, the woman he’d loved since he was fifteen.....pitied him.

He should say no. Should maintain some shred of dignity.

Instead, he typed: What room?

Penthouse. I’ll tell security to let you up.

Thirty minutes later, Enzo stood outside Isabella’s suite, his hand raised to knock.

This was a mistake.

Being near her always made him want things he couldn’t have. Made him feel like more of a failure because she’d never see him the way she saw Dimitri.

But he knocked anyway.

The door opened.

Isabella stood there in black silk loungewear, her hair down, her face softer than he’d seen it in years.

"Come in," she said gently.

He followed her inside. The suite was twice the size of his room—all cream and gold, luxury and elegance. Very Isabella.

"Drink?" she asked, moving to the bar.

"Whiskey. Neat."

She poured two glasses, handed him one, then sat on the sofa and patted the space beside her.

Enzo sat, careful to maintain distance.

"Let me see," Isabella said, reaching for his throat.

He let her tilt his head, expose the bruises.

Her fingers were cool against his skin, gentle as they traced the marks Dimitri had left.

"He did this to you," she said quietly. "His own brother."

"I threatened what’s his. He responded accordingly."

"You didn’t threaten her. You followed her. Watched her. That’s not a threat....that’s surveillance." Isabella’s eyes were hard. "He’s being irrational. Emotional. It’s not like him."

"That’s what love does," Enzo said bitterly. "Makes even the Devil irrational."