The least he could do was try to give her a break from his rampant horniness as her world was crumbling around her.
Enzo did his best—at first—to keep her apprised of what was going on out in the real world while he kept her holed up here, but not long after he'd installed her there, she stopped inquiring or participating in any conversations about the situation, so he stopped telling her.
He couldn't continue to torture her about it—it was all bad news, anyway. Even weeks later, Frankie was still on the lam and most of her people with him. She seemed entirely unwilling or unable to deal with those who had remained loyal to her, so Enzo had stepped in and rewarded them generously, then offered those who wanted it employment with him. Some took it, some didn't.
He did tell her what he was going to do then, because it was about her men, but she didn't even act as if she'd heard him.
She was losing weight, and because of what was going on, he wasn't able to be with her as much as he usually was, and she was losing ground. Her face wasn't beautifully pale any more, it was sickly, her hair listless and limp, her clothes—pajamas that he had continued to allow her to wear around the house, hung off her small frame.
As much as she might have thought she was fat, the truth was she had very little in the way of reserves, and when she started losing weight, she began to look sickly almost immediately.
He had been gone for several days, personally making sure that every lead was followed up on, and doing so, himself, in a lot of cases. And today, all of that hard work had paid off. They had found the rat and his cohorts hiding in Canada, of all places. They hadn't done anything as of yet but were awaiting word from him on how to proceed.
Although he thought he knew how she was probably going to react, going all stiff and pretending not to hear him, although the tears would drip silently down her face, he was going to tell her, anyway. She was entitled to know.
He'd left her in Maury's charge, and his longtime friend had been straight with him about her as soon as he'd picked his boss up. She'd flat out refused to eat almost everything he'd gotten for her—and they were all things Enzo had said she'd loved. She ate a bit of the Ben and Jerry's, but that was it.
"What could I do, boss? Knock her down and force feed her?"
Enzo understood—he had been expecting that Maury would have trouble with her, but he couldn't get out of going, and he would never give anyone else permission to spank her. So, he got his crap done as fast as he could and raced back to her.
When he entered his house, he saw her on the couch, just sitting there, a small huddled mass, no TV on or music she loved to sing to, no radio in the background or familiar iPad on her lap. She was just sitting there. He didn't think she'd moved the entire time he was gone.
Enzo sat down on the coffee table directly in front of her and sighed. "We found him, and pretty much everyone else we're looking for. I'll take care of it. I just wanted you to know."
She didn't say anything, but dark splotches appeared on the front of her pajamas.
He ran his hands over his face, knowing he should be comforting her right now, but also knowing she wouldn't acknowledge it if he did. Then he realized that he desperately wanted a shower. One look at her confirmed that she probably needed one, too, so he grabbed her wrist and pulled her off the couch, refusing to take no for an answer.
He stood her in the middle of his palatial bathroom and peeled her nightclothes off of her, then her panties.
Panties? he thought. Had he given her permission for those? He thought not—but here they were.
He held them up in front of her by his index finger in their waistband. "Disobedience, my love, will not be tolerated, even at a time like this."
She bit her lip and he saw a light in her eyes that he recognized. It was the first flicker of response of pretty much any kind he'd seen in her in nearly a month, and he knew he was on the right track with her, finally. He would never have thought of it, himself—that pandering to her sadness was really only making her worse—but there was the proof.
"Into the shower with you. I'll be there in a sec," he said, swatting her on her bottom and using that contact to encourage her in the direction of the shower door.
She did as she was told—slowly—but she did it, although she wasn't getting anything accomplished when he got there. She was just standing there, not even under the spray. He had delayed getting to her because he knew there wasn't any of her favorite body wash in the shower, and he brought a big bottle of it to set it on one of the shelves and pump a ton of it onto a wet washcloth.
He washed her like a babe—giving it no real sexual overtones, although it practically killed him to do
