Chapter 1: The Monsters We Keep
The silence in the master suite was louder than the gunshot that had killed Enzo’s brother.
Enzo dropped to his knees, his massive hands hovering over Harper’s trembling shoulders. He didn’t touch her. For the first time in his life, the ruthless Don of the DeLuca family was terrified that his touch might break someone.
"Who did this to you?" Enzo’s voice wasn't loud. It was a low, lethal vibration that made the glass windows rattle.
Harper was hyperventilating, her forehead pressed against the cold hardwood floor, still clutching the ruined front of her gown. "Please... I didn't mean to tear it. My father said... he said if I embarrassed him in front of you, he’d finish what he started."
The room grew freezing cold. Preston Whitcomb.
Enzo’s mind raced, re-stitching every detail of the past forty-eight hours. The frozen calm on Harper’s face at the altar. The way Preston had smiled while handing her over. It hadn't been a businessman sacrificing his daughter to save his skin; it was a sadist disposing of his favorite punching bag before his crimes were exposed.
"Harper, look at me," Enzo commanded softly, forcing his rough tone to soften.
When she finally lifted her tear-stained face, Enzo reached down, picked up his heavy wool suit jacket, and gently draped it over her bare, scarred back. He lifted her into his arms. She screamed, a tiny, choked sound, expecting violence. Instead, he placed her gently on the center of the bed.
"No one touches you in this house," Enzo said, his eyes burning with a dark, terrifying fire. "Not me. And never again him."
He stood up, turning toward the door.
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"Where are you going?" she whispered, panic flaring in her blue-gray eyes.
"To redefine what revenge means."
