Kanyan (Gatti Enforcers #1)

21. Lula

21

LULA

K anyan’s been gone all morning and most of the day, leaving me to explore this sprawling estate on my own. The house is breathtaking—an elegant fusion of old-world charm and modern luxury. The stone exterior glows under the afternoon sun, its ivy-covered walls whispering of history. Large windows line the facade, inviting light to spill into the home’s grand rooms. Inside, the ceilings stretch high, adorned with intricate moldings, and the polished marble floors feel cool underfoot. The house smells faintly of cedar and lavender, a combination that feels calming, grounding.

But it’s the gardens that truly take my breath away. They stretch endlessly, a living, breathing oasis. Paths of smooth cobblestone wind through lush greenery, leading to hidden nooks filled with blooming flowers in every imaginable color. Roses, lavender, and jasmine perfume the air, mingling with the earthy scent of damp soil. Towering oaks and willows cast dappled shadows over patches of emerald grass. There’s a pond near the center, its glassy surface reflecting the sapphire sky, and the gentle sound of trickling water from a nearby fountain soothes my wandering mind.

Further along the path, I find an external structure, tucked away as though nature herself is trying to keep it a secret. It’s small compared to the main house but no less charming. The wooden exterior is weathered but sturdy, and large windows allow dappled sunlight to stream in, illuminating polished floors inside that gleam with a warm, golden hue. It feels like stepping into another world, one that’s both intimate and timeless. I press my hand against the door, hesitating before I push it open.

The inside smells faintly of aged wood and sunlight. The walls are bare but clean, the kind of space that invites you to fill it with life. The polished wooden floor immediately catches my eye—it’s wide, open, perfect. My heart skips. This room has been waiting for something, or maybe someone. Waiting for movement, for rhythm, for dance.

I turn in a slow circle, imagining the routines I could practice here. There’s no tightrope, but the space is enough. More than enough. Excitement bubbles up in me as I rush back toward the main house, taking the winding garden path in long strides. The flowers blur past me, and the fountain’s gentle trickle is replaced by the hurried sound of my breathing.

In my room, I pull on a pair of black tights and a loose-fitting shirt, the fabric soft against my skin. My ballet shoes dangle from my fingers as I make my way back to the structure, the anticipation building with every step. When I arrive, the golden light of late afternoon floods the room. It paints the walls in warm tones, wrapping the space in a quiet, peaceful glow.

I stand in the center of the floor and breathe deeply, letting the stillness settle into me. Then, with a small smile, I slip on my ballet shoes, tying the ribbons with practiced ease. The moment my feet touch the floor, the world falls away.

I start with pliés, letting my muscles warm up as my body begins to move. My legs bend and stretch, the motions fluid and precise. I raise my arms gracefully, letting the rhythm guide me. My mind slips into a meditative state, every movement flowing into the next. The wooden floor feels smooth beneath me as I extend into an arabesque, my leg lifting behind me, my arms reaching forward.

The space around me becomes a canvas, and my body, the brush. I move through a series of pirouettes, spotting each turn to keep my balance. The air shifts with each spin, and the soft thud of my shoes hitting the floor becomes a heartbeat.

I lose myself in the routine, the steps etched into my muscles after years of practice. Grand jetés carry me across the room, the leap giving me a brief moment of weightlessness before I land with a soft, controlled thud. My breathing grows heavier, my heart racing, but I don’t stop.

As the sun begins to dip lower in the sky, its rays dance through the windows, catching the sheen of sweat on my skin. I slow my movements, transitioning into a series of slow, deliberate poses to cool down. My chest rises and falls as I finally come to a stop, standing still in the center of the room.

I smile to myself, feeling the familiar ache in my muscles and the lightness in my heart. This moment, this space—it feels like freedom. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel like myself again.

The sweat on my skin cools quickly as I step out of the guest house, the air sharp and fresh against my heated body. My legs feel like lead after the hours I spent dancing, but there’s a comforting ache in my muscles, the kind that whispers of accomplishment. The garden path stretches before me, winding back toward the main house. The light has dimmed, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. Shadows grow long and heavy among the greenery, making the once-beautiful oasis feel eerily quiet.

I pull my shirt closer around me as I take slow, deliberate steps, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. The distant chirping of crickets is the only sound, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched. My gaze darts around the garden, scanning the hedges and flowerbeds. Nothing. Just my overactive imagination, I tell myself, shaking off the unease creeping up my spine.

Then, I hear it—footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, and far too close for comfort.

I freeze, my breath hitching as I turn my head sharply toward the sound. One of Kanyan’s guards emerges from behind a tree, his dark uniform blending into the dim light. Relief floods me for a moment, but it dissipates almost instantly when I see the expression on his face. There’s no professionalism in his eyes, no acknowledgment of my presence as anything more than a target. His lips curl into a smirk that sends a jolt of fear straight to my stomach.

“Miss Lula,” he says, his tone dripping with mock politeness. “You’re out late.”

I take a step back instinctively, my pulse pounding in my ears. “I was just heading back to the house,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

He steps closer. “I’ll walk you there.”

Something about him makes sweat trickle down my spine.

“That’s fine, I can make it on my own. Thank you.”

“I insist.” He leers at me, and instinctively, I know that I’m in trouble.

The realization crashes into me like a tidal wave—this man isn’t here to protect me. He’s here to hurt me. Without thinking, I turn on my heel and run, my legs burning in protest after hours of dancing. The path twists and turns, but I push forward, the adrenaline surging through my veins giving me strength. Behind me, I hear him shouting, his heavy boots pounding against the cobblestones.

“Stop!” he barks, but I don’t dare look back.

My lungs burn as I race through the gardens, my feet skidding on the uneven ground. The hedges close in around me, the once-beautiful maze now a prison. A sharp turn takes me toward an open patch of grass, but before I can reach it, his hand snatches at my arm. I scream, twisting out of his grasp, but he’s faster, stronger. He catches me by the waist and slams me to the ground.

The impact knocks the wind out of me. My vision swims as I gasp for air, the sky above me spinning. I hear him muttering something under his breath before pulling out a phone. The words are distant, but they cut through the fog in my mind.

“I’ve got the girl,” he says, his voice cold and matter-of-fact. “I’m bringing her now.”

Panic claws at me as I try to push myself up, but my body won’t cooperate. The guard grabs me roughly, dragging me across the ground. The gravel scrapes against my skin, the pain sharpening my senses. He pulls me toward a hidden path, a gate barely visible behind the dense shrubbery. My heart sinks as I realize he’s taking me off the property.

No. I can’t let him.

Summoning every ounce of strength I have left, I kick out with my legs. My foot connects with his shin, and he lets out a grunt of pain, his grip loosening just enough for me to twist and thrash. I scream as loudly as I can, the sound raw and desperate, hoping someone—anyone—will hear me. He curses under his breath and tightens his hold, dragging me faster now.

“Shut up!” he growls, but I scream again, the sound tearing through the still night air.

Just as we reach the gate, a new sound cuts through the chaos—the thunder of approaching footsteps. The guard stops abruptly, his grip faltering as he turns toward the noise. My heart leaps at the sight of Kanyan, his figure a shadow against the fading light, but his presence unmistakable. His face is a mask of fury, his dark eyes blazing as he charges toward us.

“Let her go,” Kanyan growls, his voice low and menacing.

The guard hesitates, his hand tightening on my arm as if considering his options. But he doesn’t get the chance to act. Kanyan moves like a predator, closing the distance in a heartbeat. He grabs the guard by the collar and yanks him back, sending him stumbling. The man barely has time to react before Kanyan’s fist connects with his jaw, the force of the blow dropping him to the ground.

I scramble back, my breaths coming in short, panicked gasps as I watch Kanyan unleash his fury. Each punch is precise and brutal, the sound of fists meeting flesh echoing in the still night. The guard tries to fight back, but he’s no match for Kanyan’s sheer strength and rage.

When the guard finally slumps to the ground, unconscious, Kanyan turns to me, his expression softening slightly. He crouches beside me, his hands hovering as if unsure where to touch.

“Lula,” he says, his voice tight with concern. “Are you hurt?”

I shake my head, though tears stream down my face. My body trembles as the adrenaline wears off, leaving only exhaustion and fear in its wake.