Mine by blood and bullet

The rain hammered the city like it wanted to wash away its sins. Aurora Vale—Rori to the handful of people who still bothered remembering her name—dragged her exhausted body up the dimly lit stairs of the crumbling apartment building. Her cheap black waitress uniform clung to her like a second, freezing skin after another brutal fourteen-hour double shift at Benny’s Diner. The plastic bag in her hand held forty-three dollars in tips. Pathetic. She had counted every single bill twice on the bus ride home. Another night of sore feet, burned arms, and customers who thought a tired twenty-year-old girl was there to be flirted with or yelled at. She was supposed to be taking night classes at the community college, working toward something better. Instead, she was drowning in her father’s mistakes. As she reached their apartment door, a cold unease settled in her chest. The usual glow of the television and the low murmur of whatever game her father was watching were missing. Instead, she heard low, controlled voices—voices that carried the kind of authority that made the hairs on her arms stand up. Her hand trembled slightly as she turned the key. The door creaked open. Frank Vale sat on the threadbare couch, elbows on his knees, face buried in his shaking hands. Two men in perfectly tailored black suits flanked him like grim reapers. But it was the third man who sucked all the air out of the room. Enzo Rossi. Rori’s heart slammed against her ribs. She had heard the name whispered in fear around the neighborhood for years. The Reaper. Underboss of the Rossi crime family at only twenty-seven. Ruthless. Unforgiving. Devastatingly handsome in the way that made women stupid and men cautious. He leaned against the cracked wall with deceptive casualness, arms crossed over a powerful chest. His black suit looked obscenely expensive in their run-down living room. Sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and eyes so dark they seemed bottomless. A thin scar traced along his left temple, disappearing into thick, raven-black hair. He radiated controlled violence. God, he’s even more terrifying in person. “Dad?” Rori’s voice came out hoarse. Rainwater dripped from her dark hair onto the dirty carpet. “What’s happening?” Frank lifted his head. His eyes were red, swollen, and filled with a toxic mix of shame and relief that made Rori’s stomach twist. “Rori… baby, I’m sorry. I swear I’m sorry. This was the only way.” Enzo pushed off the wall slowly, his movements precise and predatory. His gaze locked onto her, sliding from her soaked hair down her clinging uniform to her scuffed shoes, then back up. He took his time, studying every inch of her like she was something he had already decided to own. Rori’s mind raced. This can’t be happening. Not like this. I’ve given him every cent. Every extra hour. How could it still not be enough? Enzo’s voice was low, smooth, and dangerous. “Three hundred and forty-seven thousand dollars, Miss Vale. That is the exact amount your father owes my family. Loans. Gambling. Years of bad decisions and empty promises.” Rori felt the floor sway beneath her. She had known the number was big, but hearing it spoken so coldly made it real. She had been killing herself trying to pay it down—skipping meals, ignoring her own dreams, lying to her best friend Isabella about how “everything was fine.” “I can fix this,” she said, stepping forward even as fear clawed up her throat. “I’ll get another job. I’ll quit school. Just give us more time—please.” Enzo raised a single hand. The room went deathly silent. “Time is a luxury your father no longer has.” His dark eyes never left hers. “Tonight, in a moment of drunken desperation, he offered me something far more valuable than cash.” The silence stretched until it became unbearable. Frank whispered brokenly, “I had no choice, Rori.” Enzo’s lips curved into the faintest, coldest smile. “He offered you.” For a moment, Rori’s brain refused to process the words. Then they crashed over her like ice water. He sold me. My own father sold me to the mafia. She whipped her head toward Frank. “Tell me he’s lying. Dad. Dad. Look at me and tell me you didn’t just sell your daughter to pay off gambling debts!” Tears streamed down her father’s face, but he still couldn’t meet her eyes. “You’ll have a good life, sweetheart. Better than this. Food. Clothes. Safety. He promised. The debt will be gone. All of it.” Rori’s chest heaved. Betrayal burned hotter than any fear. This was the man who used to carry her on his shoulders. The man who cried with her at her mother’s funeral and swore he would do better. Enzo’s POV: She was smaller than he expected. Fragile-looking in that cheap, wet uniform. But there was fire in those hazel eyes—anger, defiance, strength. Most girls would already be sobbing on the floor. Not this one. She stood there dripping wet, fists clenched, glaring at him like he was the devil himself. Good, Enzo thought. I don’t want a broken doll. I want something worth keeping. He had come here tonight planning to collect with blood if necessary. Instead, Frank Vale had handed him something far more interesting. Something that made dark, possessive instincts he rarely acknowledged roar to life. Mine. Enzo stepped closer until he could smell the faint scent of cheap diner coffee and rain on her skin. He reached out and tilted her chin up with two fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her skin was soft. Warm despite the cold. “You are not cattle, Aurora,” he murmured, voice low enough that only she could hear. “You are payment. From this moment on, you belong to me. My protection. My rules. My responsibility.” His thumb brushed her jaw once—gentle, almost reverent. “And no one touches what is mine.” Rori’s POV: His touch should have terrified her. Instead, it sent unwanted electricity racing across her skin. Up close, he was overwhelming—tall, broad, radiating raw power and masculine scent. Part of her wanted to slap his hand away. Another, smaller, more treacherous part noticed how steady his fingers were. How controlled. He smells like danger and expensive cologne. Like the end of everything I know. “I’m a person,” she hissed, jerking her face away. “Not a bargaining chip you can just take.” “You were a person with debts hanging over your head,” Enzo replied calmly. “Now you are mine by blood. And I will spill rivers of it if anyone tries to take you from me.” One of his men stepped forward and gripped her arm firmly. Enzo nodded, and they began guiding her toward the door. Frank stood up suddenly, sobbing. “Rori, please forgive me. I love you. This is for the best—” “Don’t,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Don’t you dare speak about love while you watch them drag me away.” Enzo placed a large, warm hand on the small of her back, guiding her out into the pouring rain. A sleek black SUV waited at the curb, engine humming. Before she climbed in, he removed his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders. It swallowed her small frame, heavy and warm, carrying his scent. She hated how safe it made her feel for even a second. Inside the car, the world outside became muted behind tinted windows. Enzo sat beside her, legs spread with absolute dominance, one arm resting along the back of the seat. The silence stretched as the city lights blurred past. “You’re not crying,” he observed after several minutes, voice quiet. Rori stared straight ahead, jaw tight. “Crying won’t change that my father just sold me to the devil for money.” A low, rough chuckle escaped him—surprising and darkly amused. “The devil keeps what he claims, Aurora. And I protect what is mine with my life… and with the blood of anyone foolish enough to hurt you.” He leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear. “Welcome to your new life. Try not to make me kill anyone on your first night.” Rori pulled his jacket tighter around herself as the car climbed toward the glittering downtown skyscrapers—toward the golden cage where the Reaper ruled. And deep down, in a place she refused to acknowledge yet, a terrifying thought flickered: What if part of me doesn’t want to run?