Enzo: Adamo Bodyguards Book 3

by Madison, Mia

  Which brings me to now, Friday afternoon, and Enzo’s message that the brothers are on their way home and we’re all meeting at his parents’ place. Juliet comes by to pick me up, with the message that Katie’s invited too, so we pile into Juliet’s black SUV (actually Nico’s, but she’s driving it while he’s gone), make another stop for Rachel, and head over.

  Our timing is perfect; two more black SUVs full of Adamos have just arrived, and the passengers are disembarking. Katie hangs back while the other three of us rush our men.

  I fling myself at Enzo, and am literally midair when it strikes me that maybe his feelings have changed while he’s been away. I’ve been in girlfriend mode all week, surrounded by his family and his brother’s women; but, dutiful text messages notwithstanding, a relationship with me might not sound that appealing when he’s not immediately post-nookie.

  Then he catches me and hauls me close, arms under my ass. My legs automatically lock around his waist, and then he’s kissing me, right there on the sidewalk in front of his whole family.

  There’s hunger in it, from both of us, but there’s more, too. It goes on for a while, until someone yells “Get a room!” I’m not sure if it’s aimed at us or one of the other brothers, but we break apart, smiling.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi yourself.”

  Daniel, walking by, whaps Enzo on the back of the head. “I’m hungry. Don’t stand out here mooning at each other.”

  “Fuck you too,” Enzo retorts genially, still smiling. He sets me down and takes my hand for the short stroll inside his parents’ house.

  While we’re eating, Enzo brings up the subject I’ve been trying to avoid thinking about all week. “What’s the schedule for this weekend? You said it was a birthday party for your grandfather.”

  “It’s a luncheon tomorrow at my grandparents’ home. It would normally be a dinner, for extra formality — since this is his ninetieth birthday, they’re turning it into a major event — but, well, he’s ninety. Midday is easier for him.

  “His former chief of staff — Katie’s grandfather — will be there, and some other people from his administration. There’ll be speeches, recalling all his glory days.” I hope I don’t sound too sardonic. “And then there’s me.”

  The table has fallen silent; everyone’s listening. Enzo frowns. “You’re supposed to give a speech?”

  “I’m supposed to announce which law school I’m attending in the fall. And my plans to go into politics. Passing the torch, my mother calls it.”

  “Fuck,” he says softly.

  “Yeah.”

  “So your plan was …”

  “To show up early and explain that that part of the program isn’t happening.”

  He nods. “With your fiancé at your side, to put a stop to all their schemes at once. Makes sense.”

  Katie clears her throat. From the corner of my eye, I notice Daniel watching her intently. “Is there an actual program?” she says. “A printed one, I mean. Knowing your family, it sounds like something they’d do.”

  “There is. I convinced my mother not to put me on it — at least, I hope I did. I told her the announcement would have greater impact if it seemed more spontaneous and less orchestrated.”

  Katie’s frowning. “What?” I ask.

  “Lucy … I’ve known your family almost as long as you have. And I support you, absolutely, in wanting to follow your own path. But do you really think this is going to work?”

  “What do you mean?” Enzo says.

  “I mean they won’t care what she wants, or that she’s engaged. The Daltons can be very ends-justify-means kind of people. They’ll think it’s perfectly fine to bully her into following their plans.

  “I’ve heard how her parents talk about her. The political genes skipped a generation with her father, and he wants Lucy to make up for it. They both expect her to be a superstar, and they’re not going to let go of that easily.”

  “Well, they’re going to have to get used to disappointment.” Enzo’s tone is light, but a muscle bunches in his jaw. “Since you’ve clearly given this some thought, any suggestions?”

  Katie’s eyes dart between me and Enzo. She licks her lips. “This may sound crazy, but … what if you brought a husband instead of a fiancé?”

  I stare at her. “Get married?”

  “Yeah. There’s no waiting period, so you could do it all this afternoon. Get the license, have a civil ceremony, and show up tomorrow legally married.”

  She hitches up one shoulder. “It’s one thing to tell them you’ve got your own plans, but having an actual husband, not a potential one, sends a pretty strong message that you’re your own woman now.”

  There’s a weighted silence. I’m afraid to look at Enzo. And then Olivia, his mother, looks at her husband, gets his nod, and says, “That sounds like an excellent plan.”

  I blink. “It does?”

  “I agree with Katie; your family has too much invested in you, wrong as it is of them, to surrender their hopes without a fight.” She pauses, pondering. “But, for greatest impact, it would be better if you had a full-fledged wedding rather than a civil ceremony. It would demonstrate the seriousness of your intent.”

  Now I have to look at Enzo. He’s staring at his mother. She’s smiling at him gently, with an enigmatic look in her eyes. “Enzo?” I say softly.

  He turns to me, and he doesn’t look mad, or scared. He looks … calm. And then he smiles, and my heart skips a beat.

  “If you’re gonna piss off your family, babe, you might as well do it properly. Let’s get married.”

  I don’t answer. My emotions are in turmoil, and it takes me a few moments to sort through them. To realize why I don’t want this, even though everything that’s been said makes perfect sense.

  Getting married just to spite my parents puts us squarely back into fake-relationship territory. And I don’t want fake with Enzo; I want the real thing. I’d rather be his real girlfriend than his phony wife, and fight my family on different grounds.

  His eyes scan my face, and then he puts his arm on the back of my chair and leans in close, lips by my ear, his words for me alone. “Luce. We’re in this together. Whatever happens, we’ll handle it.

  “If you don’t want to do this, we’ll find another way. But I promise you, getting married won’t mess us up. I won’t let it.”

  My heart lightens. “Promise?”

  “Yeah.”

  So long as it doesn’t damage what I have with Enzo, it’s a good plan. My fears fade away, and I smile. “Okay.”

  Enzo kisses the tip of my nose, which gives me all sorts of funny feelings in my chest. “Okay,” he says. “We’re on.”

  And then everything goes nuts in a startlingly efficient way.

  Olivia, it turns out, used to be in a rock band, back before she married Raul. She was also their manager, arranging all their gigs, travel, and the like. So organizing a last-minute wedding is no big deal for her.

  “How many attendants do you want?” she asks me.

  I look around at Katie and Rachel and Juliet. “Yes?” I say, and they all smile and nod and get teary-eyed. “Three, then.”

  Five minutes and one phone call later, the four of us are whisked away, in an SUV driven by Gabriel, to a bridal boutique owned by “one of the nonnas,” as Juliet puts it. I tell my attendants to pick whatever color of bridesmaid dress is available that works for all three of them, and that different hues of the same color are also fine.

  I’m not one of those women who has always had elaborate, detailed plans for what her wedding would be like. In fact, I’ve avoided thinking about it much at all, because I knew my mother would orchestrate a lot of it.

  It seems crazy to go to all this trouble for a fake wedding. But what if it isn’t fake? That’s what keeps running through my head.

  What if things end up going really right with me and Enzo, and we’re just getting … pre-married? I already know him better than some women knew the total strang
ers they got hitched to, back in the days of arranged marriages and mail-order brides. The possibility that we might not ever have to get divorced is a secret thrill that I don’t dare speak out loud, but hold close to my heart.

  When I tell the nonna, whose name is Alba, that I want the least expensive dress that looks at least okay on me, she glares at me like I’ve just blasphemed and scolds me in Italian. I don’t understand a word of it, but the gist is clear enough. Chastened, I try on whatever she brings me.

  We all know when I get to the one. It fits me perfectly, the long-sleeved satin cut in a simple but stylish way, without a lot of ornamentation.

  “Gorgeous and right to the point,” Katie says approvingly. “That dress was made for you.”

  Alba’s assistants have pinned the bridesmaid dresses for minor alterations, to be picked up in two hours. I leave my gown with theirs, and we exit the shop to find Enzo waiting for us. “Where’s the dress?” he demands.

  “You don’t get to see!” I retort. “Bad man.”

  He laughs. “Mom wants us to pick out a wedding cake.”

  “There are pre-made wedding cakes?”

  “I told you I have a big family, right? Adamos all over the city are getting in on this wedding.”

  “But—”

  “We won’t be able to pick one of the fancier designs, obviously, but my cousin the baker assured my mother that there’s time to make one, if we get over there right away.”

  I’m moved, and humbled. So many people are helping this happen; I just hope it’s not for nothing. Married on Friday, divorced on Saturday … please, no.

  6

  It’s Time

  Father O’Dwyer is in his fifties, with traces of a Southie accent and the toughness to match. I have no idea what magic my mother worked to get him to agree to perform a wedding for a couple who haven’t gone through premarital counseling, with a non-Catholic bride who isn’t converting.

  I’m standing at the front of the church with my brothers Gabriel, Nico, and Daniel next to me. The organist is playing, and Rachel is walking down the aisle, wearing a dark blue bridesmaid dress and carrying a gorgeous bouquet.

  Juliet’s next; her dress is blue too, but a lighter shade. And Katie, the maid of honor, is in pale, icy blue.

  Somehow, on top of the cake and flowers and all the other preparations, Mom managed to get the church decorated too, in blue and silver. My brothers and I already had tuxes, since we sometimes need them for work, but we’ve all got blue cummerbunds for the occasion.

  My parents and other brothers are in the front pew. I see Delfina, and Armando, and Bruno. Then the bridal march plays, everyone stands, and Lucy’s coming toward me.

  She looks ethereal in her dress, but I know she’s not. She’s soft, rounded flesh and spicy hot blood, and my cock is aching for her, right here in church.

  When she’s standing in front of me, I want to skip ahead to the part about kissing the bride. The way I’m looking at her keeps making her blush, and I don’t give a fuck.

  This wedding is real — for me.

  It’s an article of truth among all the Adamo cousins that our mamas and nonnas are psychic, at least when it comes to their children. When my mother said we should get married, the look on her face told me it wasn’t just her wanting to help Lucy fight the Daltons’ plans.

  I had to take a minute and sit with that knowledge, but when I did, it was all right. Yeah, it’s strange to be marrying a woman I barely know, when we’ve spent more time apart than together. That together time, though … it’s been amazing, and I don’t just mean the sex.

  So what if we get married first and then figure the rest of it out. Maybe it’s not ideal, but we can make it work. I want to make it work.

  Everything’s fine with the service, right up until the moment when Father O’Dwyer says, “Speak now or forever hold your peace.” Then there’s a ruckus at the back of the church, and half a dozen tough guys push their way into the nave.

  I recognize one of them: Conal Gallagher. Our paths have crossed before on various jobs. He’s a straight-up guy, or I thought he was.

  His eyes meet mine. I raise my eyebrows; he shakes his head, turns, and addresses himself to the back of the church. “You didn’t tell me it was the Adamos.”

  A man and woman come into view. Lucy pales; then her jaw firms, her eyes sparking. I’m guessing her parents — because who else could it be? — have no idea what they’re in for.

  “You were hired to do a job,” the woman says to Conal, in what I can only call snooty tones. “I expect you to fulfill your contract.”

  Conal pulls a wad of cash — a hefty one — from his suit jacket and tosses it at her feet. “I quit.”

  “Your mom?” I murmur to Lucy, who nods grimly.

  Mrs. Dalton marches forward, her husband at her side, her high heels clicking against the floor. “This marriage is a fraud,” she announces loudly, and a murmur runs through the audience. Most of them probably don’t know the backstory; why would they?

  “My daughter is here under duress,” Mr. Dalton adds. “These men—” indicating everyone but Conal —“are here to escort her safely from the premises.”

  “Kidnap me, you mean,” Lucy says in ringing tones, and everyone in the pews gasps.

  “Lucy—” Mrs. Dalton begins.

  “Mother, I am getting married. Tonight. Now. You can either join us, as a welcome guest, or you can leave.”

  Her mother’s eyes go hard. “Take her.”

  The other hired men rush forward. One of them trips over Conal’s foot, which somehow mysteriously got in his way, and turns on him; the others have to contend with me and my brothers.

  It’s not an even contest. A few seconds later, the floor is littered with groaning men. Undeterred, Lucy’s parents step past them, heading for their daughter. I block their path.

  “Out of my way,” Mrs. Dalton orders.

  “Ma’am. You heard your daughter. This wedding is happening.”

  “How much is she paying you?” Mr. Dalton demands.

  It’s too bad he’s Lucy’s father, because I’d like to pop him in the nose. “She hasn’t paid me a penny.” Which is true; I never took a deposit from her, never filled out a contract. Her intake form doesn’t even have her name on it.

  Lucy comes down the steps to stand at my shoulder, and her mother tries to reach past me and grab her. I deflect her easily, but now I’m really pissed. “Ma’am,” I say, and this time I don’t try to sound even a little bit civilized. “I’m going to ask you to think very carefully about your next actions.”

  Lucy’s mother may be overbearing and arrogant — and foolish — but she’s not spineless. “You’re nothing,” she sneers at me. “I’ll crush you like a bug.”

  “Mother!” Lucy snaps.

  “Lucy. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “I know exactly what I’m doing.” Her fury is a beautiful thing to see. “You’re the ones who’re flying blind. You decided who I was twenty years ago, and you haven’t paid the slightest attention in all the years since to who I actually am.”

  Her parents’ baffled expressions only prove that she’s right. “Lucy,” her father tries. “You have a brilliant future. An unmatched destiny.”

  “Maybe I do. But it’s not the one you picked for me.”

  Behind us, Father O’Dwyer clears his throat. “I believe this service has been disrupted more than long enough. If you are not willing to accept your daughter’s gracious invitation and stay as guests, then I must ask you to depart the premises.”

  The men, wearing ugly expressions, have picked themselves up and regrouped behind the Daltons. Lucy’s mother glares at the priest, then at me, then turns and shoots her hired muscle a disgusted look. “You’re all useless. We’re having this marriage annulled,” she announces over her shoulder as she walks away.

  Mr. Dalton looks between his wife and his daughter, then turns and follows Mrs. Dalton. I want to punch him all over again. Th
e hired men trail after him; the one who tangled with Conal moves toward him slightly, like he might want a rematch, but all Gallagher has to do is narrow his eyes and the guy thinks better of it.

  “Stick around,” I say to Conal when the others are gone.

  He smiles. “Don’t mind if I do.” The people in the pew he’s standing next to scoot down, and he slips in beside them.

  The rest of the service goes off without a hitch. There are photos to be taken, a marriage license to sign (arranged by my cousin who works in the county clerk’s office), and then a catered dinner in the fellowship hall.

  It’s while we’re eating that Lucy nudges me and whispers, “Look.”

  I follow her gaze to see Conal standing with Delfina, both of them wearing dazzled expressions. “Well, what do you know.”

  We share a smile, and the night gets even better.

  * * *

  When it’s time to leave, my brothers and cousins form a convoy of identical black SUVs, on the assumption that the Daltons are watching and will try to prevent the marriage from being consummated. Does it count, that we’ve already pre-consummated it? I’m not sure, but I’m not letting anyone get in the way of my wedding night.

  Getting married has fucked with my head. That feral part of me that didn’t want anyone else touching Lucy, that kicked in as soon as I met her? It’s gotten about a million times stronger.

  The first time I met her eyes, right after the wedding, when we were officially husband and wife, it shocked me how possessive I felt. A hot, fierce, exultant whisper, pulsing in time with my heart, said: Mine. Mine. Mine.

  The beast inside me doesn’t want to let her go. Not ever.

  But animal instincts aside, I want a real marriage, like my parents have. And that takes time, and patience, and understanding. It can’t be forced.

  The SUVs peel out in all directions, all of them ready to employ anti-tailing tactics — but if they are followed, they’ll all go to plausible destinations like hotels, train stations, and airports.