Chapter 4 - The First Truce
For three days, Harper existed in a state of suspended animation. She was given free rein of the heavily guarded mansion, though she rarely left the east wing. She expected isolation, but Enzo was a constant, looming presence.
He didn't force conversation. He would sit in the armchair reading dossiers while she sat by the window. He bought her clothes—soft, comfortable fabrics, nothing restrictive. Nothing with a high collar.
On the fourth night, a thunderstorm rolled over Lake Michigan. Thunder rattled the glass, and lightning strobed across the room. Enzo walked into the suite to find Harper sitting on the floor in the closet, her hands pressed over her ears.
He didn't mock her. He simply sat down on the floor beside her, leaving two feet of space between them.
"My brother hated storms," Enzo said out of nowhere, staring at the rows of designer shoes. "Nathan used to hide in the pantry when we were kids. I’d sit outside the door so he knew he wasn't alone."
Harper slowly lowered her hands. "I hated storms because... it meant my father couldn't go to the country club. It meant he was home."
May you like
Enzo’s jaw ticked. He shifted closer, just enough that his arm brushed hers. "He will never step foot in this house, Harper. You are untouchable here."
Harper looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time. The monster of Chicago, the man who had destroyed her family's empire in a weekend, was sitting on a closet floor, guarding her from the thunder.
