“When you come,” he whispered, “scream my name.Let the whole fucking house building know who's making you feel this good.”
That was all it took to send me over the edge, his name tearing from my throat as pleasure crashed through me in waves.He followed soon after, hips stuttering as he emptied himself inside me again.
We collapsed onto the mattress, a tangle of sweaty limbs and racing hearts.His arms wrapped around me possessively, pulling me against his chest.
“Never letting you go again,” he murmured into my hair.“Never.”
In the aftermath, Enrico's chest rose and fell against my cheek.I laid beside him, my body still humming.It was in these quiet moments I glimpsed the enigma of Enrico—the man beneath the mantle of authority.A different version of the man everyone else saw.This version meant only for me.
My fingers traced the outline of his jaw, a path I had come to know with an intimacy that both comforted and unnerved me.Could someone like Enrico, whose life was etched in blood, truly harbor the capacity for love?Or were we merely two souls caught in the gravity of an insatiable desire, mistaking the blaze of the connection for something deeper?
27
ENRICO
It had only been two days since the kidnapping, but I’d doubled the perimeter.Mia slept late the first morning, restless the next.Today she drifted through the house barefoot, wearing one of my shirts.The bruises on her skin were fading to yellow, reminders of hands that would never touch her again.She lingered near the windows, staring out as if the world might owe her an explanation.She’d be furious if she knew I’d stood in the doorway both nights.Counting each rise and fall of her chest.Making sure she was still here.Still mine.
The fact that another man touched her… left marks on her… because they were trying to get to me and her father, well it killed me.But I’d get my revenge on anyone connected.Yet, we still hadn’t gotten an answer on who was behind the kidnapping.The guys at the docks were just lackeys.I needed the boss.I promised with every ounce of my being that I’d make him bow before me before I slit his throat and watched him bleed out.
Marco kept coming by with updates.He had barely slept since the kidnapping, trying to get answers.The first day he brought photos, phone logs, and a map of the routes.The second day, he brought burner phones and fake names.When he left, I sat staring at the folder he’d given me, thumb tracing its edge.Fifteen years ago, my father and I would’ve started a war before the ink dried.And that thought made me sick.
When I was a teenager, my father took me to a dockyard and taught a man about power.The man had stolen.My father offered him a choice—his life or his voice.He chose wrong.Afterward, my father poured me a drink.“If you love something,” he said, “make sure it fears losing you.That’s the only kind of love a ruler can afford.”
I didn’t understand then.I do now.But understanding doesn’t make it right.Because Mia studied me and didn’t flinch.She didn’t fear me.She should—but she didn’t.And I think that what saved me.
A soft knock pulled me from my thoughts.“Come in.”
Mia stepped inside wearing one of my shirts again, her hair damp from a shower.The sight of her bruises—the faint line of stitches on her shoulder—tightened something in my chest.She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, studying me.
“You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I did.Got bored.”She crossed to the window, staring at the rain.Her reflection in the glass—bare legs and tousled hair.
“How do you feel?”
“Scared.”A pause.“And scared that if I tell you that, you’ll make it worse.”
I stood.“I will make it worse.”
She turned, eyes sharp.“Because you have to?”
“Because they touched you,” I said.“Because they touched what’s mine.”
Her jaw tightened.“You mean your wife.Not your property.”
“Mia—”
“Don’t,” she snapped.“Two days ago, you killed men without blinking.And then you held me like I was glass.I don’t know which version of you I’m married to.Should I be scared of you or everyone else?Should I feel safe around you or not?It’s like a rollercoaster and I don’t have any clue which way is up anymore.”
“I’m trying to be the husband you’re teaching me to be.”
Her shoulders slumped.“You’re going after them.”
“Yes.My first priority is you.”I rounded the desk, stopping in front of her.“You want the truth?Every man involved will talk or bleed.But I’ll do it clean.No bodies in the street.No messages on walls.Quiet.Controlled.”
Her eyes softened, but her mouth didn’t.“You talk like violence is an art.”
“I’m the artist they fear, my love.”
