“I sent Enzo,” he says eventually. “Because you’re not safe doing this. Coming here.” He pauses. “I sent him before you came back. I needed to know you were okay.”
“You could have just asked.”
“How?” He raises an eyebrow. “Call your U.S. Marshal and say ‘hey, how’s the witness who testified against me doing?’”
I laugh.
His expression softens at the sound.
“Enzo was the only way,” he continues. “Someone I trust. Someone who could watch without being seen.” He pauses. “Someone who would tell me if you were struggling.”
“He said you were worried about me.”
“I was. I am.” His voice drops. “You keep risking everything to come here. To bring me cookies and wear my cologne and.” His eyes flick to his shirt on my body. “Apparently raid my closet.”
My face heats. That’s not the half of it. “The closet thing is a recent development.”
“Enzo mentioned the tie.”
“Enzo has a big mouth.”
“Enzo,” Dario says carefully, “talks about you constantly.”
Something shifts in the air between us.
“He’s been watching me,” I say. “He told me.”
“He’s been doing more than watching.” Dario’s expression is unreadable. “He cares about you.”
My heart hammers. “I know.”
“And you?”
I could lie. Could deflect. Could pretend I haven’t thought about Enzo’s laugh and his scarred hands and the way he looked at me in that diner.
But Dario’s looking at me like he already knows the answer.
“I like him,” I admit quietly. “More than makes sense.”
I wait for anger. Jealousy. Something possessive and dangerous.
Dario just nods slowly.
“Good,” he says.
I blink. “Good?”
“Enzo’s good people. Better than most of us.” He takes another bite of affogato. “He’s not used to being seen as anything but muscle. It matters that you see him differently.”
“You’re not... bothered?”
“Should I be?” He meets my eyes. “You’re not mine. You’re not anyone’s.” He shrugs. “If Enzo makes you feel something real? That’s a good thing. You deserve to feel something real.”
Nothing about my life makes sense anymore.
“This is weird,” I say finally. “This whole situation. You know that, right?”
The almost-smile becomes an actual smile. Small. Brief. But real.
