Chapter 24: 22 - a different Bond

The day began with an odd sense of anticipation coursing through me as I prepared for what was supposed to be a routine mission. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting an orange glow over the Di Carlo estate. The air was cool, and the distant chirping of birds provided a deceptive calm to what I knew would be a chaotic day.

I stood in my private armory, carefully inspecting my guns. The sleek, metallic surfaces glinted under the harsh fluorescent light. I ran a hand over one of the rifles, loaded it, and placed it into the holster strapped to my back. My favorite pistol, one I had personally customized, rested snugly in my shoulder holster. The weight of the weapons was a comforting reminder of control-a sharp contrast to the frustration of Amara's absence.

"If she won't come to see me, then she'll have to protect me," I muttered under my breath, smirking. If Amara thought she could hide forever, she was mistaken. I would force her hand, even if it meant plunging myself into danger. I grabbed a black leather jacket, threw it over my shoulder, and headed out to meet my men.

By the time we arrived at the outskirts of a desolate industrial area on the edge of the city, the sun was high in the sky. The place reeked of rust, oil, and decay. It was a routine job-a shipment deal gone wrong, with a rival gang trying to muscle into my territory. My men had assured me they could handle it without me, but I insisted on coming along. After all, how else would I bait Amara into showing herself?

The situation was under control within minutes. My men moved like a well-oiled machine, cutting down the opposition with precision. I stood at the edge of the chaos, arms crossed, watching as my men subdued the last of the intruders. A part of me was almost disappointed. Why were my men so perfect ?

Then, an idea struck. If danger wouldn't come to me, I'd create it myself.

"Stand down," I ordered my men. They looked at me in confusion but obeyed. I strode into the middle of the warehouse, past the unconscious bodies and scattered crates, and deliberately left myself exposed.

"boss , what are you doing?" Marco, my right-hand man, hissed.

"Taking a little risk," I replied nonchalantly, cracking my neck. I could feel their eyes on me, but I didn't care. If she was watching-and I was certain she always was-this would force her hand.

Within moments, I heard the sharp crack of a gunshot. Pain exploded in my shoulder as the bullet tore through my jacket, embedding itself in my flesh. I staggered backward, clutching the wound. Blood seeped through my fingers, staining my shirt crimson.

But she didn't appear.

Instead, a familiar voice reached my ears.

"You really are an idiot, aren't you?"

I turned my head to see Enzo stepping out of the shadows. His dark hair was slicked back, and his expression was one of exasperated disdain. Dressed in his usual sharp black suit, he looked like he'd just come from a business meeting rather than rushing to save my life.

"Oh, great," I groaned, my voice laced with sarcasm. "she sent the babysitter."

Enzo rolled his eyes. "You're lucky she even let me come. If it were up to me, I'd let you bleed out for being such a reckless moron."

He knelt beside me, pulling something from seemingly nowhere. His movements were brisk and efficient as he tore my jacket open to get a better look at the wound.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I grumbled as he pressed a piece of gauze to the wound, eliciting a hiss of pain from me.

"Immensely," he replied dryly. "Now hold still unless you want me to 'accidentally' make this worse."

I glared at him but complied. As much as I hated to admit it, the man knew what he was doing.

Back at the estate, Enzo all but dragged me into the sitting room and dumped me onto the nearest couch.

"Don't move," he ordered, disappearing for a moment before returning with a glass of water. "Drink this. You've lost enough blood to kill a lesser man."

I took the glass from him, glaring over the rim as I drank.

"So, what's the deal, Enzo?" I asked, setting the glass down. "Why did you come instead of her?"

He smirked. "Because she has better things to do than babysit an overgrown child who doesn't know how to sit still."

"Jealous?" I shot back. "Must be frustrating, being her errand boy while I'm the one she's protecting."

His jaw tightened, but his expression remained bored . "She's protecting you because you're a liability. Not because she likes you."

"Sure, keep telling yourself that," I said, leaning back and smirking. "Must be hard, knowing she cares more about me than you."

Enzo's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought he might actually hit me. Instead, he stood abruptly, straightening his jacket.

"Try not to get yourself killed before she decides you're worth her time," he said, his tone cold. "Not that I'd mind the peace and quiet."

He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving me alone in the sitting room. I leaned my head back against the couch, a chuckle escaping my lips despite the pain in my shoulder.

He hated me, and I hated him, but one thing was clear: Amara's presence-or lack thereof-had both of us on edge. If she thought sending Enzo would keep me in line, she had another thing coming.

The air inside my palace was calm, an eerie silence broken only by the faint click of cubes as I rotated them in my hands. The game was simple but oddly satisfying, keeping my thoughts occupied-though not entirely. A soft smile played on my lips as I thought about Lucifer. He was, without a doubt, the most stubborn mortal I'd ever encountered. Willing to risk his life just to see me. How foolish. How endearing.

But as the thought settled, my smile faded. Why didn't he hate me? That's what I'd intended when I revealed the truth. He should despise me for taking his grandfather's life, for meddling in his existence, for being what I am: death incarnate. Yet, he seemed determined to chase after me, to seek me out. It was reckless, infuriating, and oddly touching.

The soft hum of energy preceded Enzo's arrival. With a faint flash of crimson light, he appeared, standing tall and composed, though the slight droop in his shoulders told me he was less than thrilled about his mission. As always, he bowed slightly in respect. "la muerte," he began, his voice carrying an undertone of exasperation. "It's done. He's safe, for now."

I raised an eyebrow, wordlessly asking for more details. He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, clearly tired of the whole ordeal. "Though I don't think he's any closer to understanding that I'm not, nor have I ever been, interested in you," he muttered.

A chuckle escaped me at his words, the sound echoing softly in the grand chamber. "Oh, Enzo. Is that what bothers you most? That he thinks you like me?" I teased, my tone light but laced with amusement. "You're awfully defensive about something so trivial."

He groaned dramatically, crossing his arms. "It's not trivial when I have to deal with his constant suspicion and pointed glares. The man looks at me like I've stolen his favorite toy."

"Perhaps you have," I replied with a smirk, tossing the cubes onto the table and leaning back in my chair. "He's possessive, Enzo. It's in his nature. And you, my loyal assistant, are an easy target for his jealousy."

Enzo's expression shifted to one of mock horror. "Don't tell me you're enjoying this, la muerte."

"Oh, immensely," I admitted, laughing softly. "But don't worry, dear Enzo. You're not entirely without purpose in this little drama."

He shot me a suspicious look. "What are you planning now?"

I stood, walking towards him with deliberate grace. "Stay with him until he's recovered," I commanded, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Enzo's eyes widened in disbelief. "please , no. Absolutely not. He's insufferable, and if I have to endure one more of his condescending remarks or hostile glares, I might actually lose my mind."

I leaned closer, a teasing glint in my eyes. "Oh, come now, Enzo. Are you telling me the great Enzo, my most capable assistant, is afraid of a mortal?"

"Afraid? No. Irritated? Yes," he retorted, his tone almost petulant. "Why don't you send someone else? Or better yet, why don't you go yourself? Clearly, that's what he wants."

I tilted my head, considering him with mock seriousness. "Hmm. Tempting, but no. You'll do fine. Besides, spending time with him might do you some good. Maybe you two will even become friends."

The look of sheer horror on Enzo's face was priceless. "Friends? With him? La muerte, have mercy."

I couldn't help but laugh, a genuine, melodic sound that filled the room. "Oh, Enzo. You'll survive. Now, go."

He hesitated, his lips forming a protest, but the sharpness of my gaze silenced him. One look was all it took to remind him , and he let out a resigned sigh, muttering something under his breath about unfair treatment. With a nervous laugh that betrayed his reluctance, he nodded. "As you wish, mam ."

In a flash of crimson light, he was gone, leaving me alone once more. I turned back to the table, where the small mirror sat, its surface shimmering faintly. With a wave of my hand, the image within came to life, revealing Lucifer in his estate, sitting on the edge of his bed, clearly agitated.

"Oh, Lucifer," I murmured softly, watching him with a mix of affection and exasperation. "What am I going to do with you?"

I was at the same spot, pacing in my study with my mind spiraling. How could she not show up? I had orchestrated this chaos for her to make an appearance, and instead, she had sent him. Enzo. The man—or demon, whatever he truly was—materialized out of thin air again, just as I thought I might finally have some peace.

He stood there, his dark cloak billowing as if carried by an invisible wind. His expression was flat, but his eyes held the faintest hint of irritation. He strode over to the couch, sat down without so much as a word, and looked at me like I’d destroyed his favorite toy.

Before I could demand an explanation, he spoke, his voice dry as sandpaper. “Before you ask, she sent me. I’m supposed to stay here until you heal. Her orders.”

I narrowed my eyes, suppressing the urge to throw something at him. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

He raised an eyebrow and smirked, his nonchalant demeanor only fueling my irritation. “Clearly, you do. Considering you managed to get yourself shot over a ridiculous stunt.”

I made an annoyed face and turned away, refusing to engage further. The day dragged on as I focused on my work, pretending he didn’t exist, but his mere presence gnawed at me. By the evening, I realized ignoring him was futile.

By the time dinner rolled around, the silence between us had stretched into something unbearable. Enzo, lounging on the couch as if he owned the place, finally broke it.

“You know,” he began, his tone dripping with faux amusement, “you could at least thank me. I did save your life.”

I turned to him, incredulous. “Thank you? For what? Being the errand boy she sent because she couldn’t be bothered to show up herself?”

He chuckled darkly. “You’re welcome, then.”

We bickered over everything—why he was here, why I didn’t appreciate his ‘efforts,’ and even over the temperature of the room. The man had an uncanny ability to get under my skin. Yet, despite the constant arguing, I begrudgingly let him stay.

That night, I woke to a faint warmth spreading through my shoulder. I opened my eyes to find Enzo standing over me, his hand glowing faintly as he hovered it over my wound.

“What the hell are you doing?” I snapped, sitting up abruptly.

He stepped back, his expression as bored as ever. “Healing you. It’s faster this way. Relax.”

I stared at him, momentarily stunned. I’d known he wasn’t human, but seeing his powers up close was something else entirely.

“You could’ve warned me,” I muttered, lying back down.

“And miss the look on your face? Never.” He smirked before leaving the room.

By the third night, I barely flinched when he used his powers. It became an unspoken routine—him healing me without asking, and me begrudgingly accepting it.

The house had turned into a battlefield of petty arguments. Enzo criticized everything—my choice of books, my taste in music, even the way I brewed coffee.

“You call this coffee?” he asked one morning, grimacing after taking a sip. “It’s more like swamp water.”

“You’re welcome to make your own,” I shot back, snatching the mug from his hand.

“I would, but I don’t trust your kitchen. Who knows what horrors lurk in there?”

Despite the constant bickering, there were moments of strange camaraderie. One evening, as we sat in silence, he surprised me by sharing a story about one of his missions for her. For a moment, I saw a different side of him—loyal, fiercely protective, and, dare I say, almost likable.

Almost.

By the sixth day, something had shifted. The arguments were still there, but they lacked the edge of genuine animosity. When he wasn’t criticizing me, Enzo was oddly helpful—offering insights into things I hadn’t considered and even helping me strategize for upcoming business deals.

That night, as he healed my shoulder, I finally broke the silence. “Why do you follow her orders so blindly?”

He paused, his glowing hand hovering over my wound. “Because she saved me. Gave me purpose. Loyalty like that isn’t something you question.”

His answer left me thoughtful. I’d always assumed his loyalty was a given, but hearing it from him made it seem… deeper. I didn’t say anything, but for the first time, I felt a sliver of understanding between us.

By the end of the week, I realized I didn’t mind his presence as much as I had at the start. We still bickered—over the smallest things—but there was a strange comfort in it. He’d even started joking around, his sharp wit occasionally earning a begrudging laugh from me.

When he used his powers that final night, I didn’t flinch. Instead, I found myself asking, “How much longer are you planning to stick around?”

He smirked. “Until she says otherwise. Don’t get too attached.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at my lips. As much as I hated to admit it, Enzo’s presence had grown on me. And though neither of us would ever say it out loud, there was a bond forming—one built on reluctant respect and an unspoken understanding that we were both in this for her.

As the week came to an end, I couldn’t help but wonder if this had been her plan all along. To force us together, to make us understand each other. If it was, she had succeeded—though I’d never admit that to either of them.