Page 28 of Tailored for You

I went to the front door, opened it to check on the men in their cars guarding the front, then locked it. From there I went to the backyard, where it was easier to breach since the house butted up against the ocean and had a dock for boats.

It was a security risk, but also a means of escape should we ever need it. There were men on the patio, playing cards, their guns out on the table.

We were as protected as could be from intruders, but I was still on edge.

Going upstairs and to my room, where Serena and Harper slept, I checked on them one more time.

A massive snore erupted from Harper, who snuggled closer to her mom. They were comically tiny in my California King bed.

They were about to be attacked, and if it wasn’t for my need to see them every night before I slept, they might have been hurt.

Or worse.

Heaven help that man. By the time I was done, he’d be begging for death.

Maybe I’d give Donovan a moment with the guy, since he did all the work apprehending him.

Smiling as I left them to sleep, I headed to the guest bedroom.

Despite the fear, my girls were exactly where they belonged; I just had to convince them of it.

CHAPTER 10

Serena

The bed was a cloud, pulling me in, beckoning me to stay forever. I slowly opened my eyes, turning away from the stream of sunlight, and reached for Harper as I thought about last night.

Which reminded me of where I was.

I shot up, my heart pounding. There was no tiny body resting inches from me.

It took me a moment to find the door, which was open. Rushing off the massive bed, my foot caught on the blanket. I hopped on one foot, frantically trying to untangle myself as I raced out of the bedroom.

“Harper,” I whispered. We were in an unfamiliar place, and Harper tended to venture out because she had no idea what it meant to be afraid or cautious. It was always full steam ahead until something scared her.

I walked down the hall, heading toward the stairs, when I heard her tinkling laughter, followed by a deeper rumble.

Going down the steps of the grand staircase, I followed the sound. The closer I came, the louder the laughter was, followed by the unmistakable clanging of pots.

Pausing at the entry of the kitchen, I surveyed the scene.

Enzo stood at the stove in grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a black T-shirt with the bottom cut off into a crop with big white letters that read ‘Protect the Dolls’.

He was relaxed, moving through the kitchen like he did every morning, which wasn’t a far-fetched idea since this was his home, but I was having a hard time reconciling the relaxed version of him in front of me with the serious, suited one I knew from my studio.

He was always this strong, powerful man with an intimidating presence. He moved with lethal grace. I never imagined what he was like at home.

I never considered what he would be like with Harper. Seeing him at the stove making breakfast with my little girl, as if it was just another day, rocked me.

It struck me, deep in my heart, at how intimate a moment I was witnessing. He hovered over her when she swirled the spoon in the pot. He was gentle, which, until now, I would never have used to describe him.

I tore my eyes from him to the small girl next to him. Harper stood on a chair, hands on her hips, in the donut onesie she picked out last night. In her hand was a small blue cardboard box that I was all too familiar with.

Two men, who were, by my best estimate, in their early twenties, sat on the island with their hands on top. One I recognized as the man who dropped off my groceries—the one who had bowed.

Harper turned and pointed a huge ladle at them. “You want some mac and cheese too? It’s the bestest.”

I had to be dreaming. Pinching myself, I hissed when it hurt. Red indents on my forearm told me I was a little overzealous.