"Belle parole non pascon i gatti." (Sweet words don't feed the cats.)

Isabella Visconti

Enzo

When night falls, we’ve already walked the long path from the gate, and the mansion rises before us with every detail perfect, orderly, and gleaming.
Just like the last time I was here. A swirl of pain settles in my chest at the memory. My steps falter for a second.

Jennifer notices. She turns to look at me, catching the expression, but she doesn’t say a word. Neither do I. But the silence isn’t empty. It’s full and thick with the weight of whatever this dinner might turn out to be.

She’s wearing a cape coat, one that swallows her whole, hiding whatever she’s wearing beneath. Maybe that’s the point.

I carry the lasagna she made, still warm under the foil, looking like a peace offering. She faces forward again.

A man in a black suit is already waiting at the door. The butler.

“Dominic,” she says, recognizing him instantly. She’s been here before. Dominic, ever calm and professional, gives a polite nod.

“Miss Shay, and…” His eyes find me. “Enzo. Nice to see you again.” His attention returns to Jennifer.

“May I take your coat?”

She slips off her coat with the same grace she does everything, measured and fluid. She hands it to him like it’s part of a long-rehearsed ballet.

And just like that, everything else disappears.

A black gown. Simple. But she looks like something from another world in it. It clings to her curves like it doesn’t want to share. Her loose black hair falls around her like a dark veil. The high neckline gives her an elegant, almost regal air; the gown is floor-length, slit high on her right, nearly to the hip. With each step, that leg shows, marked by a snake tattoo that coils as if climbing from her ankle, its head disappearing beneath the fabric at her hip. Probably higher.

I would love to lick—
No. Focus.

When I lift my eyes, Dominic is already watching me. Barely a shift in posture. A faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. Almost imperceptible.

To anyone else, it would pass unnoticed. But I know him. And he knows exactly what I was thinking.

The bastard doesn’t say a word. Just turns, silent as ever, and leads us inside.

But that half-second… it lingers.

Jennifer

“This way. Mr. Russo is waiting for you,” Dominic says with that polite, flat tone.

We follow him through the long hallways of the house, our steps filling the silence as we walk into a wing of the mansion I’ve never seen before.

I take in everything. I glance at Enzo, who’s doing the same with a hard expression. This part of the mansion feels… cozy. Full of portraits. Sal and his son appear in many of them, always with different well-known people, politicians, actors, businessmen.

One in particular catches my eye. The man beside him looks oddly familiar. They’re both showing their hands, twin golden signet rings. Cute.

We reach what looks like a dining room. The wide doors swing open to reveal a large space, but at its center there’s only a small, intimate table set for four. The smell of the lasagna in Enzo’s hands reaches me, mixed with the old wood scent.

Our host is already seated. When he sees us, he rises with enthusiasm to greet us.

“Benvenuti! You came just in time, Jenny!” Sal is in good shape for a man in his late seventies. He has a thick Italian accent. The wooden floor creaks under his weight. He’s wearing a beige shirt and a peach three-piece suit that makes my eyes hurt. The few times I’ve seen him, he was also wearing light and vivid colors. He extends a friendly hand.

“Thank you for the invitation.” I take his hand firmly but with a polite smile. Matching his warmth would be a lie. This dinner is already a headache.

His grin widens.

“Enzo,” he says, turning to him. The handshake lasts a bit longer. His tone changes subtly, something more personal laced into the syllables. “Please, have a seat so we can talk and enjoy this delicious dinner,” he says, nodding to the lasagna in his hands.

“Tell me, Jenny, how long have you known Enzo?” he asks, saying his name with such warmth it almost feels rehearsed.

“Since yesterday.” He blinks, clearly not expecting that.

“Salvatore,” Enzo cuts in before the awkwardness settles, “you don’t need to worry. An unforeseen event forced us to stay at Jennifer’s house. I have no intention of interfering in your business.” Damn, straight to the point. Okay.

“Gino’s,” Sal corrects.

“What?” Enzo asks, confused.

“Gino is in charge now. I did what I had to do. He’s capable, enthusiastic… a little eccentric, sure. But he’s got teeth.”

“Where is he?” Enzo asks, genuinely curious.

“Late.” He sits back in his chair. “He doesn’t know about this meeting. I’ve been waiting to see Jenny, but she keeps dodging me.”

Enzo’s confusion is written all over his face. We sit on the opposite side of Sal, Enzo facing him.

“Well, I’m here now. Let’s proceed—” The doors burst open.

“Dad, I’m sorry,” says Gino, phone in hand, breathless. “Something came up and I couldn’t get here sooner.”

He freezes mid-step, noticing they’re not alone. His hazel eyes land on me, and whatever excitement he had flickers, shadowed by something else… concern. Then he gives me a faint smile. He’s glad to see me but also knows this can only mean one thing. Then he sees Enzo. There’s a flicker of surprise, quickly masked.

“Papà, potevi dirmi che avevamo visite,” (Dad, you could’ve told me we had company) he says as he sits across from me, leaning forward and whispering in my ear, “Why didn’t you tell me your evening plans included Papà?” He leans back, too relaxed. He doesn’t need my answer. I didn’t say anything because it’s more entertaining this way. If it goes well…

“Enzo, excuse my lack of punctuality,” he says with a little indifference. But Enzo’s still trying to piece together what the hell is going on.

“Well, let’s get to it,” Gino says, already digging into the lasagna. “What’s this meeting about? And why are you two here… together?”

I stare at my food, slowly slicing it with the fork. I won’t be speaking first.

“Why were you ignoring me?” Enzo finally asks, looking straight at Sal.

“You vanished first. Consider this payback, ragazzo,” he answers, giving a big bite to his plate.

Gino smirks at me like this is the best entertainment he’s had in weeks. He’s enjoying this too much. I’m tempted to smile too.

“Either way, you owe me. And I need to collect now,” Enzo says firmly.

“You know if we took you and your friend under our wing, it could’ve been a big problem for us.” By his tone I can’t tell if Sal wants to provoke Enzo or genuinely doesn’t want to pay his debt.

“I’m not here asking for protection. We can handle ourselves. I’m here to cash in a favor. I need a few things…”

“Hard to believe you’d need my help,” Sal mutters. That tone makes me want to grind my teeth. Enzo just said he trusts him, and he brushes it off like an excuse. This isn’t just history between them, Sal is dodging, and it’s starting to piss me off.

“Usually I don’t,” Enzo snaps. “But we were attacked. And you’re the only one I trust.”

“Is that so?”

I raise my glass of wine, the scent of the barrel wrapping around me like a caress.

“Sorry to interrupt you two,” I say calmly and stare at Enzo, who’s already looking my way. “Maybe if you speak slowly, he’ll understand.” I look at Sal and take a sip, calm as a storm just before it breaks. “You owe him a favor. He’s here to collect. It’s not that hard.”

Gino’s face lights up slightly, shaking his head with a wide smile before taking a sip of his cup. Enzo, on the other hand, I could swear he goes a shade paler, if that’s even possible.

“Riesci a credere a questa ragazza ingrata?” (Can you believe this ungrateful girl?)

“Papà, credo che hai ragione. Non sarebbe meglio saldare il debito con lui e finirla una volta per tutte?” (Dad, I think she’s right. Wouldn’t it be better to settle the debt with him and be done with it?)

“Anche lui è un bastardo ingrato.” (He’s an ungrateful bastard too.) Stubborn old man. I want to roll my eyes, but I restrain myself.

“I don’t think this is the best time to—” Enzo begins, but I cut him off.

“Mi scusi, ma innanzitutto sono un ospite, ed è molto maleducato parlare in un’altra lingua davanti agli ospiti, soprattutto se li state insultando. In secondo luogo, se conoscete il termine debito, significa che dovete qualcosa e dovete saldare. Non importa cosa accadrà dopo.” (Excuse me, but first of all, I’m a guest, and it’s very rude to speak another language in front of guests, especially when you’re insulting them. Secondly, if you’re familiar with the word debt, it means you owe something and you must pay it. What happens after is irrelevant.)

I keep my tone even, like a blade before the plunge. But Enzo looks like he just swallowed a bullet. Still as stone, but I can feel the tension radiating off him like heat from pavement. Because this isn’t just banter. He knows exactly how sharp Sal’s teeth still are. But me too, so I keep my ground.

“This girl, can you believe it? It’s adorable. Gino, I told you.” Sal laughs.

Gino sighs, long and tired, matching how I feel about this too.

“Papà… I already told you. We’re just friends,” Gino says with a tired tone, but Sal ignores him and turns to me.

“Jennifer, you walk into a room and silence bends around you. If I had to choose the perfect woman to stand beside my son, I wouldn’t have to look any further. You and Gino have done an amazing job together in the new club,” Sal says, then continues, “If you become part of this family, there are no limits to what you can accomplish.”

And just like that, the true purpose of this dinner steps out of the shadows, dressed in silk words. He tries to flatter me, but his praise lands like dust on marble, useless and weightless pretending to shine.

I glance at Gino; his apologetic look is subtle but unmistakable.

Then the cutlery hits the porcelain a bit too hard. The sound echoes like a warning shot. The muscle in his jaw tightens. Enzo doesn’t speak. He stares at his plate, his expression hard and sober, as if carving a trench between him and the conversation.

I turn back to Sal, steady.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in being an asset. And I’ve already accomplished everything I wanted. I appreciate your offer, though.”

Sal analyzes, searching for a wave in me he will never find. He looks for hesitation, ambition, hunger for something to mold. But I remain still, unreadable.

Then he exhales, the edge of a smile ghosting his lips.

“It was worth the shot,” he says, and leans back like a man who just folded a losing hand.

I offer him a small, gracious nod.

“Dad, I told you not to do things like this… I’ll marry someone I fucking choose,” Gino snaps.

“Well, you’re already thirty-one. You better hurry then. I want a grandson.”

Okay, that’s my cue to leave.

“Well then, if you’ll excuse me…” My gaze flicks toward Enzo, his attention still on the plate before him. “Enzo has something to discuss, I’m sure.”

That gets his attention. His eyes lift, stormy and sharp, locking onto mine. I smile at him and wink.

I rise slowly, with the calm of someone who owns the moment, smoothing the fabric of my dress.

“Thank you for the dinner.” Control isn’t about dominance. It’s about timing, and knowing when the scene is mine to close.

I feel Enzo’s gaze follow me as I walk away, burning and steady. But I don’t look back. I exit the same way I entered, quiet and self-possessed.

Dominic is already waiting at the door, my coat draped over his arms like a token of respect. I thank him with a nod, slipping into it.

When I’m outside, something makes me pause. The sweet scent of jasmine catches my attention. The night has dressed the garden in shadows. I drift toward the edge of the patio, fingers brushing over the pale blooms, delicate and fragrant. For a moment, everything is still and quiet until I hear footsteps.

Someone stops beside me.

“You always have to wear black?” Gino’s voice slices through the silence, tinged with dry amusement.

“And you have to dress like you’re ready to kill Batman?” I reply, not even glancing at him.

He chuckles, the sound deep and slow.

He is, in fact, wearing a deep purple three-piece suit and a forest green tie. Always dressed in dark colors, dramatic and unapologetically Gino.

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I guess… at least I don’t look like an oversized peach.” His grin widens at his own joke.

I can’t help but laugh.

“What will he do if things go… you know, messy?” I ask.

“Oh, he has a special attire for that kind of meeting… maybe one day I’ll tell you. But he looks ridiculous in it.”

I think for a moment.

“He wears a transparent raincoat?”

“You know, it’s boring that you can guess on the first try. I didn’t guess until I saw him in it and almost died from laughter.”

He gives me a sideways glance, amused.