Control

33 - Door on a Hinge (Enzo POV)

a/n - in honor of me taking my sweet time uploading this, I'm gonna give you the next chapter as well. I just finished up Chapter 36 on my patreon which is this BEAUTIFUL scene with Ellie, Alexander, and Enzo. I'll be uploading it here in the next week or so, but if you want to read the next few chapters, my patreon is on my page!! Also, I read literally every comment and I love reading them so much, so keep them coming!

Alexander's happy— openly, like he forgot to put the lid back on it.

He moves around the kitchen with that easy, satisfied energy, humming under his breath while he seals containers and wipes down the counter, like the night left him lighter and he's letting it show. He doesn't even try to hide the way his mouth keeps tugging upward.

"Date went well," he says, and it sounds like a fact he enjoys repeating.

Her body wasn't nearly as tense as any other time I've seen her. I think that has something to do with Xander. I nod. "She seemed... relaxed."

"Yeah." Alexander's eyes go warm, bright. He glances toward the hall like he expects to see her again just because he wants to. "She was." Then he adds, like it's the best part, "Work's not so bad for her now."

Vince snorts from the windows. "Thanks to us."

Alexander turns, still smiling. "I don't remember you doing anything."

Vince's shoulders tighten. He doesn't answer, which is answer enough.

He keeps facing the glass, arms crossed, jaw set. He's doing that thing where he refuses to look down the hall, refuses to look at anything that might give him away. The problem is his body gives him away anyway—his posture goes a little sharper when Alexander sounds happy. Like it bothers him on principle. Like someone else being pleased makes something inside him itch.

Alexander doesn't notice. Or he does and chooses not to feed it. He goes practical without losing the warmth in his voice. "Mira texted me a few hours ago. Schedule's already changed." He taps the counter once, decisive. "Two on open, two on close."

"So four of your people are going to be with her," Vince says.

"Our people," Alexander corrects, still in that good mood like nothing can dent it.

Vince's jaw works. He should be satisfied. He should be relieved. Instead he looks like he wants to argue with the idea that this worked. Like it's unfair that it did.

I tilt my head. "You don't like Mira," I say.

"I don't," Vince answers flat.

The corner of my mouth lifts. I feel like I'm playing with a wolf that's going to bite my head off any moment. "You don't like anyone."

Alexander ignores us with the ease of long practice. "They'll keep an eye out. She won't be alone."

Vince's fingers flex under his arms. His hand twitches toward his mouth and stops. He's been chewing his nails all night. He never does that.

I keep my voice even. "I'm worried she'll figure it out."

The light in Xander's face doesn't dim. He's leaning against the counter, sleeves rolled up, forearms still damp from washing dishes, and he looks—annoyingly—at peace. Happy in a way he's not bothering to hide.

"She might," he says.

"She's more perceptive than you give her credit for."

Vince scoffs too fast, too sharp, like the sound is meant to cut the sentence off at the knees. He's still by the windows, arms crossed, shoulders high and tight, his reflection doubled in the glass behind him. The city glow outlines him like a blade—broad frame, hard lines, the kind of stillness that isn't calm so much as contained.