I lean in, close enough that my breath ghosts across her bare shoulder, but I don’t touch her. Not yet. “Because you’re mine,” I say, voice absolute. “You were mine the second you walked into that bar in Detroit. From the second you looked at me like you weren’t afraid. When you gave me one night and you never left my mind, my skin, my thoughts.”
Her lips part, a soft intake of breath she doesn’t mean to give me.
“I’ve waited two years for the chance to put you where you belong,” I continue, “not as some pawn between men. Not as a prize for your father or Falco to wave around. But by my side, as mine. My wife. My queen.”
I let the silence stretch, heavy, before I finally let my hand trace the curve of her arm, light enough to feel her shiver. “No one will hurt you again. You will be respected and cared for.Even if you hate me for this, you will never be unprotected. You will never be unwanted. You will never be alone.”
Her body wavers, a battle between the fire she shows me and the flicker of something softer underneath. I see it in her eyes—the weakness she doesn’t want to admit, the way her heart betrays her even as her jaw stays locked.
And I know at this moment that I’ve won something deeper than a war.
This penthouse should feellike another cage, just taller, shinier. But it doesn’t. Not entirely. Because every time I shut my eyes, I don’t see Anthony’s sneer or my father’s shadow. I see Enzo’s hand brushing down my arm. His voice in my ear is relentless:mine.
The walls stretch high and wide, all glass displaying the Chicago skyline, spilling moon light across the room. It’s beautiful. Safe, even. And I hate that part of me feels it. Hate that after weeks of rot and marble floors and Anthony whispering filth into my skin, I’m here trembling not with terror, but with something far more dangerous—relief.
Relief that it’s Enzo who dragged me out. Enzo who slid a ring on my finger. Enzo who swore no one would ever touch me again.
The champagne glass glitters from the table where he left it, the bubbles long dead. My throat is raw, aching with thirst, but I don’t move. I won’t give him the satisfaction. Not when the air still clings with his vow, thick and impossible to breathe through.
Because the nightmare didn’t end when Anthony forced me to my knees. It ended when Enzo lifted me up. And that terrifies me more than anything.
“I should hate you,” I say, the words sharp but betraying the tremor beneath.
Enzo doesn’t rise to meet them. He only arches a brow,pouring himself another drink with maddening calm. “You can hate me if it helps, but I don’t think you really do.”
His glass clinks softly against the counter, his movements relaxed, as if we’re just two people sharing a quiet night. That’s the illusion he spins, even as my world lies scattered at his feet, rearranged entirely by his hand.
It’s always been his hands—the quiet command in them, the certainty. They’ve unsettled me since the first time they touched me, two years ago, when every stroke felt less like seduction and more like possession. I told myself that night was nothing but indulgence, something I could bury under lies and distance. But the memory never left. It seeped into my blood, pulsing beneath the surface, waiting for moments like this to come roaring back. And now it burns through me, so fierce I can’t tell if it’s anger tearing me apart…or the fire he left inside me that never went out.
I turn on him, eyes narrowed, forcing resolve into a voice that wavers with too much truth. “You think this will work? You steal me. Put a ring on my finger. Then what—you expect me to crawl into your bed willingly?”
Enzo leans against the couch, framed in the amber glow of the city lights. His gaze is unreadable, steady, carved from shadow. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He takes a sip, his eyes locked on mine. “What I want is your submission. And I’ll wait for it.”
The word sparks bitter laughter from my chest. “Submission? You think I’m going to kneel at your feet? Spread my legs like a good wife?”
His answer is quiet, steady. “No. I want you to come to me because you want to. Not out of anger. Not out of fear. Because you remember, Zara. Because it’s still there.”
My name on his tongue steals the air from my lungs. It’s the first time he’s used my actual name. Not like in Detroit, not on that one night where I hid behind a different name. Back then I was Lilly—a mask I clung to, a lie I thought would keep me safe.He didn’t know the truth, but somehow he saw through it anyway. Saw me.
I drag in a breath and force my feet toward the window, needing the distance, needing something solid to hold onto. The city sprawls beneath us, endless lights against endless dark, and my palms press to the cool glass.
I should run. Should scream. Should hurl something at his head just to break the suffocating stillness. But all that comes is memory—his eyes on me two years ago, stripping away the armor I’d built. The way he listened when I spoke, the way he touched me with the hunger of a man who’d been denied too long. He hadn’t treated me like something broken. He’d treated me like I was whole.
“You married me,” I whisper, voice raw.
“I did.”
“I didn’t say yes.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I spin on him, pulse hammering, fury and heat colliding in my veins. “That’s not how it works.”
Enzo only shrugs, infuriatingly calm, his strength coiled beneath that polished control. “It is in my world.”
