The sun had risen higher in the sky by the time Enzo descended from the second-floor office. His steps were slow but deliberate, his sharp black loafers clicking softly against the marble flooring of the hall as he made his way toward the glass doors that opened to the terrace.
From his office window, Hazel had looked like a painting. Now, as he approached, that image only intensified. Her skin shimmered in the sunlight, golden and soft, her body stretched out on the lounger, her book resting lazily against her chest. She had let her cover-up fall to the side, revealing the black bikini beneath. Simple, yet arrestingly elegant. Like her.
He walked across the stone path quietly until he was standing right in front of her.
Hazel was deep in her book until something strange happened—everything went dark.
She blinked up, momentarily stunned to find Enzo standing above her, his tall figure completely blocking the sun.
She squinted, then smirked. "If you came to enjoy the pool, you're a little overdressed, don't you think?"
Enzo didn't respond.
Hazel raised an eyebrow, scanning his outfit: tailored navy slacks, a crisp white shirt rolled to his elbows, and a thin silver watch that glinted in the light. His dark hair was still tousled from the meeting upstairs, and a barely-there crease between his brows hinted at deeper thoughts behind those cool eyes.
The silence stretched. Hazel grew self-conscious under his intense gaze.
He wasn't smiling. Wasn't joking. Just... looking at her. So intensely that she felt her breath catch.
Suddenly feeling far too exposed, she dropped her gaze and pulled her cover-up over her chest. "Don't stare," she mumbled, hiding her face behind her book. "It's weird."
Enzo took a slow step forward, his voice low and warm. "Don't hide your beauty from me, Hazel. It would make me sad."
The words were so unexpected, so gentle, she peeked at him from behind her fingers.
He was already looking directly at her, his eyes softer now—deep, dark, and unwavering.
They stared at each other.
Just for a moment, time froze.
All the noise, all the uncertainty, all the fear—gone.
It was just them. Hazel's heart pounded. She didn't know if she should speak or move or look away—but she didn't want to. She didn't want to break the fragile moment suspended between them.
Then, footsteps. Quick and careful.
A man in a neat black suit approached Enzo's side and leaned in slightly, whispering something in rapid Italian. Hazel didn't catch a word of it, but she saw the flicker of annoyance cross Enzo's features—almost like irritation at being pulled from wherever his mind had drifted.
Enzo nodded curtly and turned to Hazel. "This is Marco," he said, gesturing toward the man who now straightened up and offered her a polite, almost military nod. "He's the manager of the house. You can ask him for anything you need—food, clothing, books, anything."
Hazel nodded, still trying to recover from the way Enzo had been looking at her seconds earlier. "Nice to meet you," she said politely.
Marco gave a stiff smile. "Signorina," he said with a respectful bow of his head before taking a step back.
Enzo turned his attention to her again, and she could tell something in him had shifted—like the armor had snapped back into place. The Mafia Don. The Boss. It was in the way he straightened his shoulders and checked the time on his watch.
"I have some prior engagements," he said, voice a bit cooler now, though not cold. "Business. But I won't be long."
Hazel didn't respond immediately, watching him carefully. That softness in his expression earlier—it was real. She could still feel it lingering between them, like an unspoken promise.
He hesitated for a moment before adding, "When I return… I want to introduce you to someone."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Someone?"
Enzo gave her a half-smile—one that didn't give anything away. "Someone important. I'll explain when I get back."
Before she could ask more, he turned and walked off with Marco trailing behind him, disappearing around the hedges toward a separate wing of the house.
Hazel watched until she could no longer see him.
Then she exhaled deeply, pressing a hand to her chest.
"What the hell was that?" she murmured.
Back at the pool, Hazel tried to return to her book, but the words kept blurring together. She read the same paragraph three times, but all she could think about was the way Enzo had looked at her—like she was something fragile and rare. Something to be protected, cherished.
And meant for him.
It scared her more than she cared to admit.
That moment by the pool had been brief—but it had said so much. Not with words, but with silence. A silence filled with unsaid things: regret, longing, maybe even love. She wasn't sure. Not yet.
And now, this mysterious "someone" he wanted her to meet? It made her stomach twist in uncertainty.
Who was it? His mother? Another family member? Someone from the business?
The last one made her uneasy.
She still didn't know how deeply Enzo's ties to the Mafia would affect her life—or their child's. And yet, she was already here. She was already tangled in this world of power, silence, and shadows.
Hazel looked out at the pool, at her reflection in the clear water. She ran a hand down her flat stomach, barely showing, but already changing everything.
Whatever's coming next, she thought, I need to be ready.
The sun was still warm, and the breeze still soft, but the atmosphere had shifted. Enzo had stirred something in her—and whether she liked it or not, part of her wanted him to stir it again.