Morally Decadent (Morally Questionable Book 3)

by Veronica Lancet

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  "I'VE NEVER BEEN WITH another woman, little tigress. Before, or after you."

  I stare in shock at Enzo and his latest lie, trying to process how in the living hell could he have contrived something like this. It's so ludicrous that I do the only natural thing.

  I laugh.

  Bending over, I grip my stomach with laughter, amazed at what he could fabricate.

  Does he think I'm that big of an idiot?

  But as my laughter stops and I take in his wound, still leaking blood down his chest, I have to admit to myself that I am an idiot.

  I'd come here with the express purpose of putting an end to our wretched relationship and cut ties forever. I'd been set on driving the knife through his heart just like he's done to me so many times in the past. The plan had been rather easy, especially when I'd smelled that perfume on him and my anger had skyrocketed.

  It should have been easy!

  Except it wasn't.

  It only took one glance from him, one whisper to make me waver.

  I couldn't kill him.

  Then he had to go and tell me he'd been helping me behind the scenes? Just how much of what he's telling me is the truth?

  I have to admit I'd been skeptical of the way Lia had helped me set up everything, and retrospectively it makes sense I may have had some outside help. But why?

  So many things don't make sense, and now he has to drop another bomb on me.

  "Do you expect me to believe that?" I raise an eyebrow at him, watching hopelessness envelop his entire face.

  He looks tired and beaten up, and somehow that tugs at my heart strings.

  "I guess I deserve that," he responds with a sigh, falling back and leaning against the couch, his head tilted at an angle, blood still pouring out of his wound.

  Is the wound paining him? Is it serious?

  God, I'm so pathetic.

  He rummages through his pants until he removes his phone, dialing someone.

  "Who are you calling?" I ask accusatorily.

  "The owner of the perfume," he says. "Maybe she can shed some light on our situation and you can start seeing that not everything I say is a lie."

  He places the phone between us and puts it on speaker.

  "Mon cher? What happened?" An accented voice answers, and I instinctively cringe at the way she addresses him. A sudden image of a glamourous French woman assaults me, and I'm barely holding it together as I imagine her using her seduction on my husband.

  "Did you finally sober up?" she asks drily before he has the chance to reply. "Don't worry, Luca's sleeping peacefully at my place," she continues and my eyes turn murderous when I realize my son is with this woman.

  "What," the word tumbles form my mouth, my hand suddenly searching for the knife.

  "Maman," Enzo addresses her and I pause, frowning at his appellation.

  Why is he calling her mother?

  His eyes slide to mine as he continues.

  "My wife has a few questions for you."

  What, me? Way to throw me under the bus.

  "Mon fils," she exclaims, almost in wonder, "you mean she's..."

  "Yes," he answers drily, "she's alive and here to kill me. And your answer might just save my life."

  "Enzo, don't joke with such things!" She makes a tsk sound before pausing. "Allegra? Are you there?" She calls out my name and I don't know why I'm suddenly a little embarrassed.

  "Yes," I clear my voice, curious to see what she could possibly tell me about Enzo that I don't already know.

  "Mon Dieu! C'est un miracle. Enzo, tu as beaucoup de chance. Ah, c'est incroyable."

  "Maman, English please," he tells her, a little amused.

  "Ah, oui, oui. My dear, I can't believe this is happening. I thought Enzo was mad when he kept telling me you were coming back. And here you are," she releases a dreamy sigh, and I have to reluctantly admit that her chatter is endearing.

  "Allegra, what is it that you wanted to ask? Don't worry about your son, he's in good hands. I love that little angel more than anything," she continues and my animosity seems to lessen.

  But I can't let myself be roped into their lies.

  So I go straight to the point.

  "What's your relationship with Enzo?"

  "My relationship with Enzo..." she trails off, as if the question is absurd, "oh I see, I see, you're jealous," she states point blank and I feel put on the spot — again.

  "Indeed, maman, my little tigress is so jealous she's sharpening her claws on my skin. It would be really nice if you could assure her that our relationship is purely platonic." He replies, a smile creeping up his face.

  "But of course. Allegra, dear, don't you worry, our relationship is purely platonic." She says, reiterating Enzo's words verbatim.

  "How convincing," I mutter.

  "He's thirty years my junior, mon Dieu! I'd never rob the cradle," she continues in a disgusted voice. "We've known each other for almost two decades and he's been like a son to me."

  "You've certainly been the mother I never had, maman," Enzo adds fondly.

  "Ah, mon cher, you're making me weep." She pauses as she shuffles a few things around before I hear a sniffle, and I realize he did make her weep.

  Just who is this woman?

  "Enzo, do I have your permission to tell her how we met?"

  "Go ahead. I don't want any more secrets," he states as he looks me in the eye.

  "I'll speak plainly then, dear. I was a prostitute in one of Rocco's clubs, many, many moons ago. I was his mistress first, but that bitch Lucia hired someone to ruin my face. I know it's not confirmed, but I'm positive it was her," she takes a deep breath as her voice is getting heated.

  "After I no longer had any appeal to Rocco he sent me to one of his establishments to work. That's also where I met Enzo. I think he was twelve or thirteen, the poor boy. They had poured alcohol down the throat of a child and then let him to his own devices. And you've seen him.... Mon Dieu, I've known many men in my life, prominent actors and models, but none as striking as him. I'm saying this most objectively dear, please don't take offence," she pauses to tell me, and I can't help but crack a smile.

  "None taken," I respond.

  "Good, I know he's all yours, but everyone with two good eyes can see that he's a very good-looking man. Even back then, he was so beautiful it hurt to look at him. And that led to people taking advantage of him," she pauses on a sad sigh.

  "What do you mean?" I'm almost afraid for the answer because a drunk child and taken advantage can only mean one thing. I whip my head to Enzo and he has a grave look on his face.

  "I don't know exactly what happened before I arrived. Enzo never told me the specifics. I was walking down the hall of the club when I heard a strangled cry of help. I didn't even think, I just barged through the door and the entire scene was horrific," her voice hitches, and she's clearly affected by what she's saying — no way anyone can feign that.

  "Poor Enzo was naked, face down on the floor, and some old man was on top of him, straddling him and..." she trails off and I hear a sob.

  Enzo's expression still hasn't changed, and I barely stop myself from reaching out in comfort.

  "Thank God I got there just before the worst happened. He was so disoriented, so vulnerable, and my heart just broke for him. Somehow, after the fact, Enzo got it into his mind that he had to repay me, so he did just that."

  "I bought her a club," Enzo interjects, the semblance of a smile playing at his lips.

  "We've been friends for so long, but really, I see him as the son I never had," she gushes and a blush creeps its way up Enzo's neck.

  "Thank you, maman," he adds with genuine affection.

  We chat a little more and she tells me a few anecdotes of Enzo over the years, and just as we're about to end the conversation she adds something.

  "Please be easy on him and listen to everything he has to say. I know everything points to the contrary, but I can vouch with my life that my bo
y loves you more than anything in the world. Give him a chance, please."

  "I'll let him talk," I find myself agreeing.

  Maman assures me she will drop Luca the following day before hanging up.

  Enzo pockets the phone and I'm speechless as I look at him.

  "Did they..." I can't even bring myself to ask the question. He shakes his head.

  "It was a close call, but maman was there to help me," he replies, and I don't think he realizes how his hand instinctively reaches for the bottle of alcohol on the table.

  "Enzo, I..."

  "There's more," he cuts me off, taking a swig of alcohol. "I don't even know how to say this... Besides maman, I've never told anyone." His voice breaks and he closes his eyes, his hand rubbing at his temples.

  What could be worse than that?

  I move closer to him, covering his hand with mine. He looks down at the contact, and he squeezes his eyes shut, moving his head to the side.

  "Before the club," he starts, his voice low and gruff, "my mother had an unnatural obsession with me."

  My eyes widen, and I flinch away in shock.

  "Sh-sh-she," I stammer, my mind quickly putting everything together — her jealousy, her behavior towards me.

  No... not that. Please tell me it's not what I'm thinking...

  "I was nine when she started coming into my room. She thought I was asleep so she would use my hands to get herself off."

  I gasp and my hand goes to my mouth, but I don't speak. Not when Enzo seems to struggle to tell me this. I just let him continue.

  "It continued a few times a week until it wasn't enough anymore. She started touching me, trying to jerk me off. I didn't even know what that was at the time," he laughs nervously, "but even then I knew it was wrong. It lasted for years until I started going through puberty and..." he trails off and my heart breaks for him.

  I scoot closer, taking his hand and bringing it to my lips.

  Lord, I knew Lucia was missing a screw, but I'd have never imagined she would be this... vile. Her own son — a child at that.

  Maybe my vengeance isn't over.

  Oh, how I'd love to torture that bitch — make her rue the day she looked upon her son with anything other than maternal love. But I doubt she even had that.

  "It's ok," I gently urge him to continue, admiring his courage. It can't be easy to confess any of this.

  "I started getting random erections, like any teenage boy. But one night, I woke up with her sucking me off," his voice breaks, and I swallow hard, already fighting the tears.

  "I came," his words are barely above a whisper. "I didn't even know what was happening, but I came down my mother's fucking throat. How fucked up is that?" He shakes his head, a sardonic smile on his lips.

  "But I kept pretending that I was sleeping. I always pretended, hoping she'd finally leave me alone. Until... one time I couldn't pretend anymore."

  "I woke up one night with her straddling me and trying to fuck herself on my dick. I was limp too, but that didn't stop her."

  I sniffle a sob. How sick do you have to be to do that to your own son? I'm simply speechless as I watch Enzo struggle to recount his experience, feeling his pain as my own and wanting to make it better.

  "I threw her off me, and after that she never came back."

  "How old were you?"

  "When it stopped? I don't know, twelve or thirteen."

  "God, Enzo," my hand moves up and down his arm in a soft caress. "You realize none of it was your fault. She's a very sick woman."

  "Was," he corrects, the ghost of a smile on his face. "I killed her after she tried to poison you."

  "When she went to Sicily," I remember her sudden departure. "Oh Enzo," I shake my head at him and what he's been through, my soul hurting for his. Reaching out, I try to touch him and offer him my comfort.

  "I didn't tell you this to get your pity, little tigress," he turns towards me, his eyes bleak. "I want you to understand why I never so much kissed another woman before you. All my life everyone's tried to fuck me — one way or another. Women, men, everyone would shoot their shot, most of the time not taking no for an answer."

  "I guess I got jaded pretty young, but I despised seeing that look of desire on people's faces. It reminded me too much of my mother. And I would have been fine without ever having sex, if I'm honest. Until I met you."

  My lashes flutter rapidly, his confession taking me by surprise.

  "Enzo," his name escapes my lips as I try to come to terms with what he's told me. Thinking back, I can see the signs, and how he'd always touch me expecting nothing in return.

  He didn't want to be touched.

  "No, let me say this. I admit I didn't handle my feelings well, mostly because you freaking terrified me. You were so raw and unique and my God, so, so exquisite," he turns to me, taking my face in his hands.

  "Please never doubt that. To me you're the most beautiful woman in the world and it's not because of your face," he smiles sneakily, "though I'm particularly fond of that too, but because of who you are. You're simply you." His thumb caresses my face in circular motions, his pupils dilated with the intensity of his emotions.

  "You're my little tigress and nothing and no one can replace you." He leans forward to press a kiss to my forehead.

  I can't hold it in anymore. I simply start bawling, leaning into him as he wraps his arms around my body. I'm crying and shivering — for the small boy that grew up fearing the shadows, and for the man who eschewed intimacy for so long because of his trauma.

  "Why didn't you tell me before?" I ask through sobs and hiccups.

  "I was ashamed," he admits, his voice low in my ear. "I didn't want you to see me as... less."

  "Oh, Enzo," my palms go to his cheeks, and I bring him into me, smashing my lips to his. "I could never see you as anything but mine," I say against him, letting go of the last of my resentment.

  "Tigress," he pulls me back, "there's more I need to tell you," he takes a deep breath, his features worn down. "I know I behaved badly, but I was so scared that you were going to leave me and I was so fucking in love with you that I kept on doing stupid shit."

  "It's ok," I'm quick to assure him, but he shakes his head.

  "It's not ok. I treated you like a prisoner and I... God, I even snooped in your diary to try to get you to fall in love with me," he admits and my mouth opens in shock.

  "The worst is... I read that you wanted to leave me and I," he takes a deep breath, his nostrils flaring, "Damn it!" He curses, his face scrunched up in pain, "I switched out your birth control pills to get you pregnant, thinking that a baby would keep you by my side."

  "You what?" I burst out, taken aback by his confession.

  I can't say I hadn't suspected he might have had to do with the surprise pregnancy — especially as he'd been sure of the pregnancy even before we got the doctor's confirmation. But I would have never guessed that he would admit it himself.

  "I know it was wrong, but I couldn't let you leave. Fucking hell! After I basically raped you, I knew you'd only hate me more, and I was so scared you'd leave me that I started becoming unbearably controlling." The words are spilling out of his mouth at such a pace, I can only watch flabbergasted as the revelations keep rolling.

  "You didn't rape me," I frown, latching on that word. "Why would you think that?"

  "Fuck! I don't remember much of that night, but I do remember you saying no. And I took the choice from you."

  "Enzo, you didn't rape me," I tell him again. He might have frightened me with his aggression, but I'd welcomed all his attentions.

  "But you said no," he repeats, his face resembling that of a sad puppy.

  "If I remember correctly, I said not like this, but I wanted you just as much."

  He seems to process my words, his brows moving up and down.

  "Why don't you remember?" I ask suddenly. Even my rather tipsy self had managed to retain most of the details of the night.

  His lips stretch in a thin line.<
br />
  "Lucia drugged me. She probably hoped I'd kill you in my manic state, but clearly, even drugged out of my mind I'd never lift a hand against you," he adds drily.

  Now, his behavior after that night starts to make sense. He'd been distant but increasingly restrictive. All because he thought he'd taken me against my will.

  Oh, Enzo!

  "You thought I hated you," I state, the realization flooring me.

  He just nods, his expression open and vulnerable.

  "I didn't know how to keep you with me," he says on a whisper, and I lean into him, kissing his cheek.

  "You could have just told me you loved me and I would have never even thought of leaving."

  "I screwed up; I know. Looking back, I have no excuse for it other than I was scared. Scared of what I felt for you, scared you'd leave me, scared you hated me — I just spiraled into thinking that one day you'd be gone, and I saw myself and what I'd become without you, and trust me, it's not pretty."

  "Enzo..." I tilt my head to the side, studying him and taking in this new man before me. Because he's never let me in like this before.

  "What about Chiara, then? And the photos?" I ask, afraid of the answer but tentatively placing my trust in him.

  "You might think I'm lying, but I knew something was wrong with her from the moment I saw her," he proceeds to tell me all about the first few weeks and how he cared for Luca on his own, afraid to leave him unattended even for a moment. He recounts how he felt when he found out what Chiara had done to me and that he was ready to kill everyone, so crazed with grief he'd been.

  "I'm ashamed to say that I may have followed you," he confesses and my heart breaks for him and what he's been through.

  Was I selfish in not listening to his side earlier?

  I'd just made up my mind about his betrayal and I'd been set on making him pay.

  But as he continues to tell me about his plan, his partnership with Jimenez and ultimately Rocco's death, a new picture starts to emerge.

  "Enzo," I whisper, "what did you do?"

  "I sold out the famiglia. I'm practically a traitor, but somehow no one knows," he laughs, but it doesn't reach his eyes.