Kanyan (Gatti Enforcers #1)

11. Lula

11

LULA

I start at the beginning, my voice low and uneven, my fingers twisting the hem of my shirt as I talk.

“We moved to Albania when I was fourteen. My father thought it would be a fresh start for us, a way to escape his problems. But he was wrong, because his problems just followed him there.”

Kanyan leans forward slightly, his dark eyes fixed on me, giving nothing away. I can feel his intensity, the way he absorbs every word.

“My father…he was always a drinker, but in Albania, it got bad. The gambling, the debts—it spiraled. He owed money to all the wrong people. And when he couldn’t pay up, he did something stupid.” My voice cracks, and I glance away, unable to look Kanyan in the eye. “He mortgaged me to Derin. As collateral.”

Kanyan’s eyebrows draw together, his jaw tightening. “He sold you to him?”

I nod, my throat tightening. “Eventually, he managed to pay the debt. He got Derin off my back, or so I thought. But Derin…he decided he wanted me anyway. Said I was owed to him.”

“Even after the debt was paid?” Kanyan’s voice is sharp now, incredulous.

I nod again, and Kanyan’s fingers curl into fists on his knees. I know he’s probably trying to make sense of it, but he looks more like he’s trying very hard not to explode.

“Where’s your father now?” he asks, quieter this time.

My hands still, and I stare down at them, feeling the weight of the memory settle on my chest. Shame burns hot in my cheeks. “He’s dead,” I whisper. “Derin killed him when he realized he helped me run away.”

Kanyan goes still. “He killed your father?”

I nod, the motion small and jerky, my vision blurring with unshed tears. “He said my father had betrayed him. That he had to be punished for letting me leave.”

The room feels too quiet now, suffocating, as Kanyan processes what I’ve just told him. His jaw is tight, the muscle ticking as he clenches and unclenches it.

“That’s why I know Derin won’t stop,” I continue, my voice trembling. “If he’s willing to kill my father—his way of sending a message—then there’s nothing he won’t do. He’s...relentless.”

Kanyan leans back, his expression dark, thoughtful. “Did you ever…want to be with him?” he asks carefully, watching me closely.

The question catches me off guard, and my head snaps up, my face twisting in disgust. “What? No! Never. I hated him from the moment I met him.”

“So it’s completely one-sided?” he presses, as if needing to hear it again.

“Yes,” I snap, my voice firm despite the lump in my throat. “Completely. I don’t care what happens to him. I just want him gone. Out of my life for good.”

Kanyan nods once, a single sharp motion. Without a word, he picks up my phone from the counter and pockets it.

“What are you doing?” I ask, frowning.

“You’re getting a new phone tomorrow,” he says simply. “One that he won’t be able to track or hack or whatever the hell he’s doing. And I’ll handle Derin.”

There’s a finality in his tone, like the matter is already settled.

“What are you going to do?” I ask, more curious than worried. I should probably be worried. In trying to help me, Kanyan could get hurt.

He pauses at the doorway, glancing back at me with those hard, unreadable eyes. “Do you really want to know?”

I hesitate. The truth is, I don’t. I shake my head slowly, and he smirks, a dark, dangerous thing that sends a shiver down my spine.

“Didn’t think so,” he says before disappearing down the hallway.

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone in the kitchen. The air still feels heavy, but there’s something different now—an undercurrent of…hope? Maybe.

For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel completely helpless. Kanyan is a storm in human form, and maybe, just maybe, he’s the force I need to finally break free.

The next morning, the apartment feels eerily quiet after Kanyan leaves for work. I expect the stillness to settle into my bones, but the faint hum of activity from somewhere in the house keeps me alert. I tiptoe out of my room and head to the kitchen, hoping to scavenge some breakfast.

Instead, I find a petite woman in her sixties bustling around the counter, humming a tune I don’t recognize. Her short, gray hair curls neatly around her ears, and she wears a crisp apron over her floral blouse. She glances up as I enter, her eyes warm and sparkling with curiosity.

“Good morning, dear!” she chirps, setting down a cutting board loaded with freshly chopped fruit. “You must be Lula.”

I hesitate in the doorway, unsure how to respond to her cheerful energy. “Uh, yes. That’s me. And you’re…?”

“Rosemarie,” she says, wiping her hands on a towel before offering one to me. Her handshake is firm but kind. “I keep the place running for Kanyan.”

“So do you live here, too?”

“Oh, heavens no! I’ve got my own little place downtown. But I’ve been working for Kanyan for years now. He’s a good man, even if he does have a habit of brooding like it’s a sport,” she says with a chuckle.

I laugh softly, surprised at how easily she puts me at ease. It feels strange, this sense of normalcy in a place that still doesn’t quite feel real to me.

“Are you hungry?” Rosemarie asks, pulling me from my thoughts. “I made fresh banana bread this morning.”

I nod, and she slices a thick piece, placing it on a plate in front of me. The warm, sweet aroma fills the air, and I take a bite, savoring the soft texture.

“Thank you,” I say between bites.

“Anytime, dear.” Rosemarie pats my hand before stepping away to tidy up.

Before I can finish my breakfast, the front door opens, and the energy in the apartment shifts. Two men walk in to the kitchen, their presence commanding the space immediately. One is tall and muscular with short blond hair, and the other is slightly shorter, with dark hair and eyes that seem to take in everything at once.

“Morning, Rosemarie” one of them greets, before his eyes land on me. It’s the dark haired one. “Well, what have we got here?” His voice is friendly but curious.

The blond-haired man nods in acknowledgment, but his expression is unreadable.

“Hi,” I say cautiously, feeling like a bug under a microscope.

“Hush, Mason,” Rosemarie says, slapping the man’s hand away as he helps himself to a slice of banana bread. “Manners.” She picks up a slice and places it on a plate before handing it to him. I watch as the second man declines the offer and tells us he’d heading to the gym.

I look on in confusion as more men come into the apartment, carrying boxes. Mason sets down his plate and guides them through the house. Rosemarie nods at me to follow, and we walk down the hallway until we’re standing in an expansive gym I didn’t know existed. Mason’s gaze darts to the other side of the gym, where a crew of workmen is unloading equipment. My curiosity piques as they begin assembling something that looks suspiciously like a tightrope setup.

“What’s all this?” I ask, standing on my tiptoes to get a better view.

Mason grins. “Boss’s orders. Said you needed a place to practice your, uh…tightrope dancing?”

I blink, my mind struggling to process what I’m seeing. The workmen are rolling out thick mats underneath the rope, securing everything with meticulous care.

“He told us to ensure it’s safe,” the blond-haired man adds, his voice neutral but his eyes keen.

I cross my arms, trying to mask the swirl of emotions rising in me. Gratitude, confusion, and a strange warmth that I don’t want to acknowledge. Why would Kanyan go through so much trouble for me? He barely knows me.

Mason must catch my expression because he laughs. “Don’t look so surprised. Kanyan’s not as much of a hard ass as he pretends to be.”

I snort, shaking my head. “That’s hard to believe.”

“Oh, it’s true,” Mason says, leaning against the counter. “He’s just particular about who gets to see that side of him.”

I glance back at the tightrope, the workmen now testing its stability. It’s perfect—better than anything I’ve practiced on before.

My mind drifts as I watch them work. Kanyan didn’t have to do this. He could’ve ignored my comment about dancing or dismissed it as unimportant. But he didn’t. Instead, he went out of his way to give me a piece of my world back.

I hate how much it touches me, how it makes my chest ache in a way I’m not ready to name. I won’t gush, won’t let myself get carried away. It’s probably just another part of his protector complex, another way to keep me from falling apart.

But still, it’s something.

“Looks like you’ll be up there in no time,” Mason says, nudging me playfully.

“Yeah,” I say quietly, my eyes still on the rope. “Looks like it.”

Rosemarie reappears, wiping her hands on her apron. “Well, don’t just stand there, dear. Go try it out!”

The thought makes me nervous, but I nod and take a step closer. Maybe this is exactly what I need. A little balance, a little control—something to remind me that I’m still standing, even when the ground feels like it’s shifting beneath me.