Never Offend the Hidden Don Chapter 02

Never Offend the Hidden Don Chapter 02

I smiled and answered each of them, stopping here and there for a few easy words.

Isabella followed half a step behind me.

The more she listened to those warm, ordinary greetings, the deeper the confusion on her face became.

She couldn’t help but ask, “Are you close with them?”

“Yeah. After prison, I had nowhere to go and not much cash, so I rented a tiny attic room around here. After my release, I’d been a wreck for a while. Then I met the person who slowly pulled me back onto my feet.”

“I lived here for over a year, so the neighbors got to know me.”

I kept walking while talking.

“Mr. Bianchi used to be an electrician. He’s a good man. He fixed my leaking roof more than once.”

“Mrs. Rossi, the one with the coffee cart, always saved me a cup in the morning. She said young people would ruin their stomachs if they skipped breakfast.”

“And Sal from the grocery store helped me when my car broke down during my first week driving. He brought his pickup and hauled my tools back.”

Isabella listened, her lips pressed tighter and tighter.

Her gaze moved over the chipped brick walls, the narrow alleys, and the clotheslines hanging outside the windows.

Then it returned to my faded gray jacket.

Every little detail here told her the same thing.

The Enzo she had known was gone.

I used to spend money like water and act like the world owed me room to breathe.

I had lived in a villa with a pool and a lawn. Back then, I never even saw people like this.

I definitely wouldn’t have stopped on the street and chatted with them like old friends.

“You can really live in a place like this?” Her voice trembled slightly.

Maybe she was tired from walking.

Maybe it was something else.

“It’s good here. Quiet. People look out for each other.” I pointed toward the next corner. “Tired? There’s a food cart over there. Coffee and arancini. Pretty good, actually. Want to sit?”

She didn’t say no.

The cart was simple, parked beneath an old sycamore tree. A few folding tables and plastic chairs sat beside it.

The owners were a middle-aged couple.

The moment the wife saw me, her face lit up. “Enzo! There you are. Oh, and you brought a friend? Come on, grab a seat. I made fresh cannoli today.”

I pulled out a chair for Isabella and wiped it carefully with a napkin. “Two lattes, extra foam. Four arancini and two cannoli.”

“You got it.”

The food came quickly.

I picked up the paper cup, took a sip, and started eating.

I ate slowly and seriously, one bite of arancini, one sip of coffee. Now and then, I drew in a small breath because it was hot.

Still, real satisfaction spread across my face.

Prison hadn’t been the worst for me. My family had made sure of that.

But freedom outside those walls had always been something worth missing.

So yes, going to prison over a woman had been unbelievably stupid.

Isabella didn’t touch her food.

She only watched me.

The look in her eyes shifted from confusion to something almost painful.

The Enzo in her memory had been impossible about food. Some three-star Michelin meals couldn’t satisfy me.

Now I was sitting on a greasy plastic chair by the road.

The food in front of me cost less than twenty dollars altogether.

And yet I ate it like it was a feast.

That kind of difference hit harder than any speech could.

I finished my portion and saw hers still untouched.

Then I nodded toward the cup in front of her. “It won’t taste good once it gets cold. It’s not what you usually drink, but it’s solid. Try it.”

She seemed to wake up as her lashes trembled.

Then she slowly picked up the paper cup and took a small sip.

“Enzo.”

Isabella set the cup down and opened that expensive bag again.

This time, she didn’t take out cash.

She took out a bank card.

“There’s three million dollars in here. The password is my birthday.”