“I’ve always wanted my own home, but sometimes it feels too… hollow.”

                                                                          Jennifer’s Notebook

Jennifer

“I envy you… living off your art and drinking in a jacuzzi at this hour,” Inés says, her voice soft and melodic through the phone.
“You could too. And you know it,” I reply.
“And risk my mom never speaking to me again? No thanks.” Same excuse as always.
“Well, you work for your fiancé. Can’t you at least ask him for more breaks? I miss you.”
I hear the tired sigh on the other end.
“I know. We haven’t seen each other in… shit, how long has it been?”

Five months.

And that’s a lot. She used to have time for her friends before getting engaged. That man… something in him feels misplaced, like a detail in a painting that doesn’t match the rest, quiet but impossible to unsee.

“Since your engagement party,” I say, hiding the disappointment in my voice.

 “That long?” Someone calls her name in the background. “Shit. I’ve gotta go. I’m glad you’re doing fine. I’ll see you in a few days.”
“As every year… Try to rest a little, don’t overwork yourself.”
“Hard to do when I have a company to run. Bye.”

Your fiancé has a company to run, but I keep the thought to myself and end the call. I stare at the blank screen a little longer than I should, the echo of her voice still in my head.
I can’t wait to see her.

The sun burns against my skin, relentless, trying to peel me open.
Shit. I forgot to put sunscreen. I hope it doesn’t hurt tonight.

I’ve been out here all morning after breakfast, needing time for myself.
I drink the last of the sweet bourbon, step out of the jacuzzi, turn off the music.The hot water was exactly what my tired muscles needed. My mind, on the other hand… refuses to stop running. Why am I doing this? Am I that bored? Even if they haven’t tried anything, they’re strangers…

Maybe I’m just crazy.

I rinse the glass in the bathroom sink, leave it with the others on the bar.
Sigh. I’m hungry. Lunch time already. I should cook something simple.

I dry off, slip into the loosest clothes I own, brush my hair, grab my phone, and open the door.
The moment I step out, I’m hit with the mouth-watering scent of roast meat.

It’s been a while since I smelled that. My stomach churns.
I head to the garden.

Rem is at the barbecue by the pool, a beer in hand, the grill stacked with meat. The others are nowhere to be seen, but the gym door in the back is wide open.
My stomach growls at the sight of the almost-ready meat.
Rem notices me and flashes a cocky smile.

“Few more minutes,” he says, before I even ask.

His dark brown hair is loose, making him look younger. Black eyes, lightly tanned skin, a flashing smile, and a body that oozes confidence. Tall but not bulky, he’s sharp, lean, lethal. He’s in a black-and-white short-sleeve Hawaiian shirt, brown shorts, barefoot, like he’s on vacation.

“You like what you see?” His flirt falls flat.
“I’ve seen better,” I snap.
“Aren’t you hot in that? Probably one of the warmest days of the summer.”

As if I didn’t know.
“I’m fine.” Plain. True. I don’t usually feel hot. I’m used to being covered outside. I tend to feel cold easily.

I start setting the table he already pulled out like it’s his house. He probably knows where everything is by now. I try not to think about it.

Footsteps. My eyes follow the sound. Enzo and Mark step out of the gym, both drenched in sweat, shirtless, in shorts.
Mark’s lip is split, bruises along his arms.
Enzo…

Blood drips from his left brow, bruises bloom across his ribs like dark petals. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even seem to notice the pain.

It was easier to pretend. Easier to ignore the coil that tightens low in my stomach every time he’s near when he’s fully dressed.
But now…

His hair is loose, damp, clinging to his neck, merging with the ink.
More ink sprawls across his chest and arms, shifting with each heavy breath.
He looks like a storm uncoiling and I can’t tear my eyes from it.

Fuck. Probably the hottest man alive.

“So, which one?” Rem leans in behind me, whispering against my ear. Slow. Deliberate. So close that I can feel the beer on his breath. My shoulders tense before I can stop them.

Shit.

Suddenly, I feel the summer heat crawl under my skin, burning my cheeks.
I looked too long and the asshole caught it.
Of course he won’t let it pass.
“As if you don’t already know,” I say, stepping aside to put space between us.

The air shifts.
Enzo’s gaze darkens, sharp as a red-hot knife, pinning Rem.
His steps are slow, measured, charged with violence waiting for one misstep.
Rem retreats and sips his beer with the glinting smile of someone who touched a nerve and enjoyed every second of it.

Enzo walks past us. Doesn’t even glance at me.
But not with indifference. It’s something else.
I see it in the tension of his shoulders, the clench of his jaw, the way his hands curl like he’s still fighting.

The rich smoky scent of meat cuts the air, pulling me back.

My gaze lands on Mark, downing a beer like it’s water. Almost Enzo’s height, broader in chest and arms. Built to fight. Short black hair, rich brown skin, thick eyebrows and short beard, downturned dark brown eyes. They look gentle and calm, but sad. A single tattoo on his right arm: the Marine emblem.

He’s ruggedly handsome, less concerned about his image as Rem or Enzo.
Something about him keeps me from looking too long. Maybe because he doesn’t react much, he’s just there… Filling space. Lingering in doorways. Sleeping on the couch. Like he’s forcing himself to stay, alert, silently observing everything.

Rem serves the plates so I move to help.
I don’t hear the door slide, but I catch a movement in the side of my eyes and turn to see it.

Platinum hair, long past his shoulders, like snow untouched. Golden eyes, bright but hollow, like his soul stayed behind. He drags his step, as if he were adrift, as if he didn’t want to belong to this world.

His body doesn’t scream strength, but it suggests it.
Jace’s beauty that aches to look at. Pale skin, a face that artists would kill to sculpt, the opposite of the rough beauty of the men that surround him. His lines are delicate but sharp, but he bears it like a curse.

He’s in black sweatpants, and when he sees me, he pulls up his hood, as if hiding from the very air that dares touch him.
It hurts to live in a body that calls attention when all you want is to disappear.
I know.

I sit, watching their dynamic unfold.
Enzo is back now, showered, calm, he eats with practiced elegance, like a ritual.
Rem scrolls through his phone, eating lazily.
Mark’s next to me, still shirtless, tearing into the meat like it owes him.
And Jace is looking statuesque on the bench by the flowers, staring at the tree. He hasn’t touched the plate Enzo left him.

We eat in strange silence. At some point, I can’t stand the intrigue.
“What’s your plan?” I ask, cutting into my meat.
“What plan, darling?” Rem smirks.
“Don’t play dumb. That Parłowicz person. Who is he?”
“No need for you to know the details,” Enzo says calmly.
“Of course there is. They saw my car at your house. They know it wasn’t there after the fire. And you’re in my house now, which puts me at risk too.”
“We’re in Russo territory. They can’t touch us here,” Enzo says as if it’s the answer to everything.
“Don’t you have alibi jobs or something?” I insist.
“Not really. It’s been a short time since our last job, and we like to take our time before accepting another proposal. You, on the other hand…” Rem’s smile widens. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“I’m the owner. I can take days off.” His eyes narrow.
“Ask Noir to make me another painting. I didn’t appreciate the last one enough.”
“When I’m back to work, I’ll ask,” I answer plainly.
“And a discount?” I fight not to roll my eyes.
“I’ll ask.” Rem’s grin grows mischievous.

“What’s between you and Gino Russo?”
“I think Enzo already briefed you.”
“He can be a little… pragmatic.”
“Don’t talk like I’m not here.” Enzo’s voice is low, warning.
“It’s true. I’m sure he skipped the juicy parts. So? How did he propose to you?”
“His father made an offer, not Gino. I’m not interested in him.”
“Why not?”
“None of your business.”
“Are you fuck buddies?” His provocation is useless, but Enzo tenses.
“Rem,” Enzo warns.

“This is what we’ll do. You tell me what I’m getting into, I’ll tell you about Gino.” I say to Rem.
Beside me, Mark chuckles, low and brief, as if the sound slipped out before he could stop it.

“Jennifer, if you don’t want us here, just say it.” Enzo’s voice cuts through the air, killing the mood of the table and pinning me with a tortured gaze that isn’t cold, isn’t angry. Something else mixed with… worry? His jaw tightens as if he’s bracing for the blow.
My heart doesn’t rationalize. It just pounds. I look down at my plate. If I say yes, will they just leave? And it would be like these past days never happened… the house hasn’t felt so big these days… I sigh. Yep, I’m definitely crazy.

“No, I don’t mind. At least if someone comes looking, I can point them to Rem’s room.” I say, trying to lighten the mood again, and it works because Mark chuckles again, making the time move again.
“I’ll pretend you just told me that I’m your favorite person in the world and continue our conversation, rudely interrupted by Enzo.” He turns to him. “Very rude, by the way.” Enzo just huffs in response and focuses on his plate again.

I’m grateful for the distraction.
“So. Who’s Parłowicz?”
“Ringleader from the Polish mob,” Rem says plainly.
“Big fish?”
“Not much.” Short answers are better than nothing.
“You worked with him?”
“Yes,” Rem answers while chewing.
“Nothing to persuade him to back off?”
“I had. In our house. But I don’t keep copies. It’s all here.” He taps his temple. “But that’s worthless without proof.”
“And you need Russo sources to get to it?”
“Yes. If he’s got a price on my head, I’d be walking into a trap if I go to my sources. Plus he’s a sly bastard. Hard to find.”

So they have to wait for Gino to bring them something to work on.

I open my mouth for another question—
“That’s it.” Enzo cuts.
“I need to know if I’m at risk. If anyone close to me is.”
“He’s not that smart. He’s already walking a tightrope with his boss. He can’t afford trouble. He lost a lot of men attacking our house.” Enzo’s voice is steady.
I stare at him, wondering if I should believe him or if he’s just placating me.
“Okay.” For now, it’s more than I could ask for.

“So, you and Gino?” Rem again.
“Gino likes to come over, lounge in ridiculous pajamas, watch movies and eat junk food.” Before he can open his mouth, I add, “No fucking included.”
“Bullshit,” Rem says, amused.
“Believe me or not, up to you.”
“And for how long have you worked together?”
“For the last year, while his club was under renovation. I provided art pieces and led interior design.”
“Did you have a romantic relationship?”
“You’re intrusive, you know? But no. We hooked up for a while, that’s it. I won’t tell you more.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t push. Just leans back in the chair, letting out a bored sigh.

When we’re done, Mark gathers the dishes and cleans without a word.

I lounge by the pool, sunglasses on, drink in hand. The sun heats my skin, listening to the birds and staring at the blue sky. 

They’re inside, their voices a distant murmur threading through the open door. An invasion. A constant presence. It feels like a constant intrusion.
And yet… I don’t hate it.

It’s an unsettling, almost comforting warmth I never asked for, but that somehow refuses to leave. I twirl the glass between my fingers, as if the motion could quiet my head.