Salt and Blood .The Taste of Mafia

The day had drained me to the bone. Interviews, endless calls, the editor’s sharp voice in my ear — I felt like I’d been wrung out and tossed aside. That’s why, as evening fell, I grabbed my paddleboard and pushed out into the sea. I needed air, salt, movement. I needed to remember who I was when no one was watching. But the sea doesn’t care. The board jolted under my feet, the wind cut sideways, and a wave crashed hard. My balance broke. Cold water swallowed me whole. Salt filled my nose, my mouth, my lungs. I thrashed, but the cold wrapped around my chest like chains. Then — a violent pull. A hand, rough and unyielding, wrenched me upward. I broke the surface with a ragged gasp. “Breathe.” The voice was low. Commanding. I dragged air into my lungs, coughing. “Don’t you dare die without my permission.” In one motion he lifted me onto the deck of a yacht. I collapsed, coughing, shaking, water streaming from my hair into my eyes. When I looked up, he was there. Tall. Broad shoulders under a soaked black shirt. Sharp jaw, dark eyes steady on me, unwavering. Power radiated from him without effort. “Name.” The word cut through the roar of the engine. “Anna,” I rasped. He steered the yacht toward shore, one hand firm around my wrist. Not cruel — but impossible to escape. “Why were you out there?” His gaze stayed on the waves, voice even. “I needed… to clear my head. Sport. A day like this, I had to…” His mouth twisted into a dry, humorless smile. “Sport is supposed to make you stronger. You almost drowned.” “I could have handled it,” I shot back, anger flaring through my weakness. “No.” His eyes locked on mine, cold certainty. “Without me, you’d already be gone.” Heat crawled up my skin, anger tangled with something I refused to name. I turned away, forcing wet strands of hair from my face, but his grip didn’t loosen. The yacht slid against the pier. A black car was waiting, door already open. A man in a suit stood by it, expression blank, posture sharp. Leo released my wrist. His shadow fell across me, heavy. His voice carried steel: “Take her. In one piece. No questions.” The suited man nodded. I moved on unsteady legs, sliding into the car. The door closed, and when I glanced back, the yacht was already cutting away into the dark, carrying him somewhere I couldn’t follow. No glance, no goodbye. Just absence that burned. The car rolled along the embankment. Leather and spice filled the air. I stared at the lights of the city, trying to quiet my pulse. When we stopped at my building, my phone buzzed. A message. Unknown number. “You’re a terrible swimmer. Next time — don’t go out to sea without me.” I gripped the phone tighter, cold running through me. He hadn’t asked where I lived. He already knew. ---