Chapter 2 - The Morning After
When Harper woke, sunlight was streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. For a split second, she forgot where she was. Then, the events of the previous night came rushing back. She bolted upright, her heart hammering against her ribs.
She was wearing an oversized black t-shirt that smelled faintly of cedar and expensive cologne. Enzo’s shirt. She was alone in the master suite.
The bedroom door clicked open, and Harper instinctively pushed herself back against the headboard. Enzo walked in, carrying a silver tray. He was dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, looking every inch the ruthless cartel boss Chicago feared. But when his dark eyes found hers, the sharp edges of his expression softened.
"You're awake," he said, setting the tray on the bedside table. It held eggs, toast, and black coffee. "Eat."
"I'm not hungry," she whispered.
Enzo leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "You didn't eat at the reception. You're trembling. Eat, Harper."
It wasn't a request; it was an order. But it lacked the malicious sting her father's orders always carried. Harper tentatively reached for the toast. As she took a bite, she watched him warily. "Why didn't you punish me?"
"For ruining a dress?" Enzo scoffed. "I have enough money to buy the designer who made it. I don't care about the dress." He paused, his jaw tightening. "How long did he do it?"
Harper froze, the toast turning to ash in her mouth. "Enzo..."
"How long, Harper?"
"Since I was seven," she confessed, her voice barely audible. "Since my mother died."
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Enzo closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. When he opened them, the raw violence in his gaze made Harper gasp. But the violence wasn't directed at her.
"Eat your breakfast, mia moglie (my wife)," Enzo said quietly. "I have a phone call to make."
