* (Beware of the wolf)

“La notte è la madre dei pensieri.” (The night is the mother of thoughts.)

Isabella Visconti

Enzo

Night falls slow. With that thick warmth that clings to the skin. The faint buzz of cicadas seeps through the air, restless.

I sit on the balcony, an unlit cigarette between my fingers.

Below, in her private patio, the water in the jacuzzi shifts softly, like it’s breathing.

And there she is. Jennifer. The succubus haunting me.

Long black waves pooling in the water like spilled paint.

Her bare pale back a quiet promise, she's drinking quietly, music humming low, the ink in her body creeping like shadows.

I watch her like a starving man watches a feast he can’t touch.

She isn’t trying to seduce. She just exists, and that’s enough for me.

My fingers clench around the cigarette until it snaps.

I know I could go down. Make it easy.

A word, in that tone I know how to use.

A look, a tease, and she’d know too, she wants it too.

But…

I don’t want the easy game.

I want her. All of her.

But I still see the doubt in her eyes, the alert edge in her body, that's what's keeping me from acting too rash.

If I take the wrong step, everything will shatter.

I was so close earlier. Her soft body pressed against mine, her addictive scent, the burning desire in those gorgeous eyes. I was a breath away from taking her right there on the kitchen counter. Like a fucking animal, and she would let me… And still, I walked away. Like a coward.

The ache under my pants grows harder, insistent.
As always when she's near. No matter what she does, says, or wears. Just with those green eyes glancing at me, she has me on the edge.
And I hate myself for not being able to shut it off.

She's driving me insane.
The way she moves, her voice, the way her black hair contrasts with her pale skin and covers her like a gentle mantle.

I lose the battle and slip my hand inside my pants.
There's nothing sweet or romantic in this.
Only need. Raw and fierce.

I imagine what it would be like if she let me into that sacred space she guards.
How her voice might tremble if I touched her soft skin.
How good it would feel with her hair in my fist.
How she might close her eyes and whisper my name while I kiss the hollow of her neck.
How maybe, just maybe, she'd let the guard fall.

My grip tightens with hunger.
My whole body tenses, and I come hard.

But there's no relief. Just more irritation. And now the awkwardness of jerking off and finish in my pants like a fucking teenager.
I let out a ragged breath.
What the fuck am I doing?

I need out. Out of this house. Out of this tension crawling under my skin.

I throw myself under a cold shower, change fast, and head for the door.

But as I pass Jace’s room, a sound stops me in my tracks.

Paper. Ripping followed by a low mumble.

Silence. Then again.

If it were anyone else, I’d keep walking.

But with Jace, that kind of noise is not a good sign. I open the door without knocking.

He doesn’t notice me when I step inside.

He’s at the small desk, back tense, his long hair falling into his eyes as he writes something down, only to scratch it out violently, rip the page, and throw it on the floor. Which is littered with dozens of discarded pages.

“Jace.” I say quietly. “What’s wrong?”

He stops, but doesn’t turn. His nails dig into his hand, scratching too hard. Shit.

“It’s not perfect…” he mumbles. “I need more things… It’s not perfect. She’s going to hate it. She’s going to hate me.”

“Who?”

“Jennifer. She… she gave me a journal. And I wanted to make this but… I don’t have my things. I don’t have anything here.” His breath quickens, shallow and uneven.

“I… I want to buy something. But I can’t go out. I can’t stand it. I can’t talk to them. I can’t talk to her. My voice. It doesn’t come out. Not when I need it. Not when I want it to. And Amy… I don’t know how she is. Or the others.” His voice cracks. “And the next job… Enzo…” He’s spiraling. I can see the thoughts stumbling in his head. 

“Jace, do you want to be somewhere else?” I ask carefully. If he’s crumbling because of my selfish decisions, I won't forgive myself. “We can leave, find a place you like.”

He turns to see me and shakes his head.

“No. I like it here,” he blurts. “I like her. And you like her too… But I don’t have anything, again, nothing, I–” 

“Jace,” I say firmly, stepping closer. “One thing at a time.”

I place a hand gently on his wrist, avoiding skin contact.

He freezes. His fingers are raw, bleeding in spots.

“If you need something, make me a list. I’ll get it for you. Whatever it is. But you have to tell me. I can’t guess.”

His eyes flicker toward mine. “You’ll get it? So I can do this? It’ll be perfect?”

I glance at the mess of paper, not sure what he’s trying to make. It doesn’t matter.

“I’ll buy whatever you need. But Jace, it doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“Yes, it does. She gave this to me and it’s beautiful… and I want to give something back.”

I exhale slowly. “Jennifer will accept it even if it’s not perfect. Trust me.”

He nods. Too fast. The panic is still swirling behind his eyes.

“We can call Amy tomorrow,” I add. “It’s late now.”

Amy. His therapist. One of the few who actually gets him. From what I gathered, she went through her own hell too, and now spends her life helping people like her, like him.

He nods again, eager. But I know the moment I step out, his thoughts will flood him all over again. I can’t leave him like this.

“We can go back to work when all this ends,” I reassure him. “I just need you to hold on a little longer. Your shoulder needs to heal. You can't use your gun if it isn’t healed correctly. Be patient. Okay?”

“I’m sorry… I… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I say, steady “But you need to take your pills.”

I move to the nightstand, grab the small vial.

He rarely takes them. Only when it’s bad. Like now.

I hand him a pill and a half-empty bottle of water.

He hesitates. In one quick move he swallows it. His eyes are full of thoughts I can’t reach.

“Rem and Mark are out, I asked them to bring your Ducati.”

That gets his attention and a spark lights his face. I'm not a fan of motorcycles, but he loves it. Maybe it is the sense of freedom, the adrenaline, I don’t know, but it makes him happy.

“Really?”

“Yes. Now rest. Then send me the list.”

He lies on his side, long platinum hair falling over his face. He doesn’t seem to care.

I turn off the ceiling light, leaving the dim orange glow of the lamp.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

I nod and leave the room.

For a second, I stand in the hallway, listening to the silence that suddenly feels heavy. I stare at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. Yes, I need to get out. So I walk out of the house.

The night air hits me, warm and thick.

I walk down the street. Jazz leaks out from a bar I pass.

I picture Jennifer: the way she hums while she reads, music in the background.

The sharp movements of the bartender remind me of the way she stirs her drinks.

A woman passes by. Her perfume brushes me like an ocean breeze, sweet, warm, fleeting.

And I crave her scent: coconut, lavender… and something darker I still can’t name.

I keep walking.

Past a dark, moldy alley…

For a second, I stare into it, listening to the silence. Too heavy, too still. The invisible threat in the crooked shadows.

Something crawls under my skin.

I sent Mark and Rem out… Jace took his pills and wouldn’t wake even in an earthquake.

Parłowicz has been too quiet lately.

And now the calm from these past days doesn’t feel earned.

It feels like someone has been waiting for something like… an opening.

And then the pieces click into place. He was trying to hire someone, someone outside his circle. Disposable. Someone who could slip into Russo territory.

Her plate. He knows where she lives.

My chest tightens, heartbeat slamming against my ribs. Muscles coil, ready. Instinct screaming one thing… The house is unprotected.

And I left her. Alone.

What the fuck was I thinking?

I turn sharply.

I need to go back. Now.

The ground feels colder with every step.

I walk faster.

Until I’m running.