Nothing Personal

03. puppet strings

THE DEAFENING ROAR of its engines reverberated through the house as Carlos' private jet descended, drowning out all other sounds. Willow's gaze drifted listlessly out the window, where the lush greenery below swayed and blurred with each passing moment. The rhythmic thud of her heartbeat matched the plane's vibrations as it lowered on the vast land.

Willow stood, her damaged hands shaking more than before as she awaited Carlos' arrival. She clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to steady her nerves as she prepared for dinner.

But the cruel man didn't step out of the jet; it was Enzo De Luca instead.

Before long, footsteps echoed in the house, heralding Enzo's heavy and urgent presence. Enzo swept into the room, menacingly flanked by several other high-ranking associates. His eyes were set on Willow with a predatory gleam shining bright—that's just Enzo. His presence always commanded attention, as did his imposing, plump figure and steely gaze.

That's how he looked since she met him—like he was always on the edge, ready to tear apart whatever was near his fingertips.

He sat at the head of the table, and Willow forced herself not to roll her eyes. He couldn't do that if Carlos were here.

The long mahogany table was set for four people today, laden with fine china and crystal stemware. At the head sat Enzo, his steely gaze surveying the proceedings. To his right was Giulia, her red lips curled in a mocking smile. Willow sat to his left. She avoided Giulia's cold stare and turned to the empty chair.

The attentive servers began to place a plate of food before everyone. Enzo wasted no time digging into his food. Willow focused on the immaculately set table, though she couldn't focus on the lavish spread before her. She toyed with her food, her mind preoccupied with the air heavy with tension, each moment stretching on as they waited silently. It had been a while since they did something like this, and Willow just knew it wasn't some family catch-up.

"Not hungry?" Enzo's voice cut through the quiet. He eyed Willow's untouched food.

Willow forced herself to meet his gaze, her palms growing clammy. "No," she replied tersely, her eyes flickering momentarily to the smudge of food on Enzo's cheek that he ignored. "Where is Father?"

"He had some business to take care of in Rome," Enzo muttered. Willow nodded. "How is school?" he continued, his tone devoid of genuine interest.

"Why are you asking, Uncle?" she mumbled, pressing her lips together as she stared at the man.

Enzo shrugged, a smug smile present on his face. "Carlos would have asked."

No, he wouldn't.

"School is fine," Willow said, narrowing her eyes at the man.

Enzo's lips curled into a thin smile, though there was no warmth. "Good," he replied indifferently, his attention already drifting elsewhere. Willow had grown used to it. When you consistently perform well for years, everyone only assumes you will continue to do great. "Carlos insisted that you came to this sciocco foreign country for school, so the education must be decent. Do you like it here?" (foolish)

Willow's fingers moved to her leg beneath the table as she straightened her shoulders. She traced the scars on her thighs, tilting her head at the man. "I don't know, Uncle. Non è che abbia importanza," Willow muttered, her eyes firm as stone. (It's not like it matters.)

"Beh, penso che sia una merda," Enzo snarled. "Even your accent is changing!" (Well, I think it's bullshit.)

"Abbastanza!" Giulia muttered, clicking her tongue disapprovingly as she glanced at Enzo. "Just tell the girl why she is here." (Enough!)