Chapter 9 #2
"Arrest me." He leans forward. His bare chest brushes against the front of my robe. The heat radiating off his skin is overwhelming. "Put me in cuffs. Lock me in a room. Just make sure you are the only one with the key."
My cynical armor officially dissolves into dust. Years of building walls to keep men at a distance, and this terrifying, blood-soaked mobster just walks right through them. He doesn't ask for permission. He simply claims the territory and sets it on fire.
"You are insane." I trace the ridges of his abdomen down to the waistband of his combat pants with a clean edge of the towel.
"I am entirely clear-headed." His hands drop to my hips again. The touch is reverent. "For the first time in my life. I see exactly what matters."
I set the bloody towel on the edge of the sink. I rip open a plastic packet of sterile saline and squirt it directly over the jagged cut on his bicep. The pink water runs down the muscle of his arm, dripping onto the pristine marble floor.
He barely registers the pain. He is too focused on the ring on my finger.
I tear open the butterfly bandages. My hands are remarkably steady. I press the sticky adhesive across the cut, pulling the separated edges of skin tightly together. The wound is clean. It will scar, adding to the violent tapestry of his life, but it will heal.
"Matteo is going to demand answers." I smooth the final bandage into place. "He runs this operation. You destroyed his strategy. What happens tomorrow morning?"
"Tomorrow morning, Matteo will rebuild." Enzo's tone brooks no argument. "It will take time. The Bellantis have an opening now that they did not have before. We have the ports. We have the politicians. We will find another angle. The cost is real. I accepted it the second Rourke said your name."
"And if he demands I leave the compound? Now that the cover is blown?"
The temperature in the bathroom plummets. Enzo's eyes snap up to mine. The raw violence roaring behind his pupils is staggering. A muscle jumps in his jaw. The veins in his neck bulge.
"You are not leaving." The words are a vow. A threat. A promise. "This is your home. This is your territory. If Matteo has a problem with it, he can take it up with me. In the yard."
He is willing to fight his own blood brother for me.
A knock sounds on the oak door of the bedroom outside.
Enzo instantly shifts. The soft, pliant man vanishes.
The fixer recalibrates in a fraction of a second—every variable in this room re-ranked by threat level.
He stands up, his frame blocking me from the doorway.
His hand drops instinctively to his waist, reaching for a weapon that is currently sitting in a pile on the floor.
"Enzo." The muffled voice belongs to Turi. "Are you decent? I have medical supplies. And a message from your brother."
Enzo's shoulders drop, recognizing the voice of the man who raised him. But he does not step aside.
"I am fine, Turi." Enzo projects his voice through the bathroom into the bedroom. "I don't need supplies."
"I am leaving a tray outside the door." Turi's voice carries clearly through the wood. "Gemma made food. Matteo is currently tearing the industrial kitchen apart, swearing about blown operations and ruined ledgers. Dante is laughing at him. The house is secure."
A pause. A held breath on the other side of the door.
"Turi." I call out, ignoring Enzo's attempt to handle the situation alone. I step around his body and walk toward the bedroom door.
Enzo tracks me, his bare feet silent on the rug. He doesn't stop me. He watches the sway of my hips beneath the silk with dark, hungry intensity.
"Yes, Natalia?" Turi replies through the door.
"Tell Matteo to stop acting like a spoiled child.
" I cross my arms over my chest, staring at the closed wood.
"Tell him the transit hub was a compromised asset anyway.
If Rourke had enough access to wire the building and set a trap around the ledgers, the Bellantis were already three steps ahead.
Enzo didn't ruin the operation. He saved Matteo from walking into a massive federal trap. "
Dead silence on the other side of the door.
I glance over my shoulder. Enzo is staring at me.
His mouth is slightly parted. The calculating gears in his head are spinning rapidly.
He just realized what I did. I didn't just defend him.
I used my legal, strategic brain to give Matteo an out.
I provided a logical justification for the chaos Enzo just unleashed.
I reframed a crime of passion into a tactical victory.
A low, rumbling chuckle vibrates through the door. Turi is laughing.
"I will tell him exactly that, strictly worded." Turi's amusement is obvious. "This is the good stuff—the dark roast from the place I like on Taylor Street. I am leaving a thermos with the food. Drink it. Both of you."
Footsteps retreat down the long, cold hallway of the east wing.
The silence returns.
I turn fully around to face Enzo. He is still standing by the bathroom door, bare-chested, battered, and transfixed. The calculating fixer is analyzing the new data. The civilian he dragged into this just stepped up and defended his chaotic actions to the inner circle of the mafia.
He crosses the room in three massive, silent strides.
He does not stop until he is inches from my face. The heat of his body practically burns through the silk of the robe. His scent is finally breaking through the layer of ozone and blood.
"A federal trap." He repeats my lie. A slow, devastating smirk curves the corner of his mouth. "You just gave Matteo a reason to claim the loss as a strategic retreat."
"Matteo has an ego." I tip my chin up, refusing to back down from the overwhelming intensity of his gaze. "Corporate executives have egos. You manage the ego, you manage the fallout. Basic negotiation tactics."
"You are incredible."
He drops his hands to my waist. He lifts me off the ground. My bare feet leave the rug. I gasp, my hands flying to his bare shoulders for balance. The sleek muscle shifts under my palms.
He carries me to the king-sized bed. He drops me onto the center of the mattress. The down comforter absorbs my weight. Before I can scramble backward, he follows me down. He straddles my hips. His hands bracket my head. He hovers over me, all hard muscle, heat, and unyielding energy.
"The engagement is over." I state the fact clearly. The legal boundaries must be defined. "The cover story is dead. The threat is eliminated. There is no strategic reason for me to stay in this compound."
"There is no strategic reason." He agrees. His dark eyes trace the curve of my cheek, the line of my jaw, the pulse beating rapidly at the base of my throat. "The contract is void."
"I have a lease on a very nice apartment in the city."
"I bought the building." He reminds me. "I will evict you."
"That is a violation of tenant rights." I fight the smile threatening to break across my face. The absurdity of arguing property law with a mafia enforcer is intoxicating.
"Sue me." He leans down. His lips brush the shell of my ear. The rough texture of his beard scratches against my sensitive skin. A wave of heat crashes directly through me, low and aching. "Take me to court, Natalia. Spend the next fifty years cross-examining me. Depose me every night."
My breath hitches. The humor evaporates. The raw, unfiltered reality of his devotion settles heavily into my bones.
The fixer who controls everything surrendered control. He walked into a rigged building, hunted down a lethal threat, and destroyed his own family's leverage just to guarantee I could sleep safely in this bed. He risked his standing with his brothers. He risked his life.
He bet everything on me.
"I don't like losing cases." I whisper. My fingers slide up into the thick, damp waves of his hair. "I prefer to settle out of court."
He lifts his head. The raw hunger in his eyes is blinding.
"What are your terms?" His voice is a rough rasp.
I lift my left hand. The diamond ring catches the light of the bedside lamp. The cold metal. The flawless stone. The legacy of a murdered mother and a traumatized boy who finally found something worth fighting for.
"The ring stays." I deliver the verdict. My voice is steady, anchored by the certainty of my choice. "I am not a variable. I am not an asset. I am yours. Fully. Permanently. If you try to calculate my actions again, I will break your nose."
A brutal, beautiful smile breaks across his face. The shadows clear from his eyes. The tension that has gripped his frame since he walked through the door finally, fully releases.
"Mine." The word is a fierce, territorial claim. A contract he wrote on the inside of his own ribs, the one clause he will never let anyone renegotiate.
He crushes his mouth to mine. The kiss is not gentle.
It is a desperate, consuming brand. It tastes like copper, whiskey, and surrender.
He claims my mouth with the same ruthless efficiency he uses to dismantle his enemies, but there is an underlying reverence that undoes me.
My hands grip his bare shoulders, holding on to the solid, unyielding reality of the man who burned his world down to keep me warm.
The fake engagement is dead. The real war is just beginning. But as his hands map the curves of my body through the silk robe, I know where I belong. The Costa compound is my fortress. Enzo Costa is my obsessed, terrifyingly lethal protector.
I am a Kim. I know a good investment when I see one. I am staying right here.