Page 9 of Fallen Rook

Which raised the question—what the fuck did he want now?

“How much did you see back there?” His voice, all throaty and husky, grated on my nerves. “Because I’m not sure you noticed, but he didn’t get me very hard.”

Was this asshole really talking to me about his failed hookup, who was currently lying dead in an alleyway? Kids these days had zero boundaries.

I didn’t respond. I wasn’t Dr. Ruth, and I sure as hell didn’t care about his less-than-stellar blowjob experience.

“Is that…like…normal?”

Pursing my lips, I continued walking away from him.

Enzo followed, like a dumb stray puppy hoping to get adopted.

“I’ve never done that before. With a man, I mean.”

I stopped and turned around to face him, about to tell him to fuck off. Then thought better of it and continued on my way. Any words I’d speak would just encourage him. Better to completely ignore his existence.

“I was attracted to him enough. Before he aimed a gun at me, at least,” he blabbered on.

I said nothing, increasing my pace to my car. I hadn’t suspected Enzo was gay or bi, because during my surveillance of him, he’d visited at least six women in what I assumed was a romantic capacity. It made finding him with his cock inside a guy’s mouth jarring, to say the least.

Unfortunately, Enzo had the advantage of having longer legs and being a slave to his cardio routine. I couldn’t outpace him. It didn’t stop me from trying, though.

I missed our past encounters, where I was the cat and he the mouse. He still acted like a dumbass, but at least he didn’t talk.

Every time I followed him and he’d caught me, he’d flash me his wiseass smile and wink at me. Sometimes he’d blow me a kiss. Sometimes even offer an autograph. One time, when he caught me with my partner, Sully, who was taking pictures of him outside a suspected whorehouse, the little shit struck a pose and put his chin on his shoulder, pressing his index finger to his lips.

He was punchable to a fault.

He seemed in a perky mood for someone who’d buried his father earlier today. Then again, Don Vello was a piece of work. No doubt he’d put Enzo through the same nine circles of hell his two older brothers had to survive.

Truth be told, I had a bit of a soft spot for Enzo Ferrante.

He wasn’t his eldest brother, Luca, the crown prince, the golden heir, the entitled, genius sibling with the heart of ice.

He wasn’t Achilles, either—the ferocious sociopath who actively enjoyed inflicting pain and spreading terror. Achilles’s FBI file was the prototype for ASPD we showed our trainee profilers. He was the kind of man who shouldn’t be let out on the streets, and every day he spent out of prison felt like my own personal failure.

No one had ever considered Enzo as the next reigning king of the family empire.

He was saddled with the low-ranking role of the enforcer. Still, he never complained or threw a fit. When his brothers sent him to babysit billionaires’ wives, he did so without putting up much of a fight. He was always the one to stitch up injured Camorra soldiers, offer them water, a snack, a good word.

I had no doubt that, had he been born to a different family, he would have chosen another career path.

Perhaps a circus clown.

Unbelievably, he was still talking.

“…thought I was safe because I didn’t send him any headshots. Lesson learned, I guess. Good thing I have a prolific stalker with protective tendencies—”

A headache was forming behind my eyes.

“Go away, Enzo,” I spat out.

“Can’t. You saved my life. We’re brothers in arms now.” He caught up with my step, throwing an arm around my shoulders. I promptly pushed it away.

“You’re not my brother, and if you touch me again, I will break your arm.”

“Holy shit, that’s a little hot. I think I’m finding out my type. Domineering, grumpy men. I do have a taste for violence, you know.”