Mine by blood and bullet

Chapter 2: Taken

The elevator ride to the penthouse was silent except for the low, sophisticated hum of the elevator and the steady drip of rainwater falling from Rori’s soaked uniform onto the polished marble floor. She stood as far from Enzo as the mirrored space would allow, arms wrapped tightly around herself, his heavy suit jacket still draped over her shoulders like a claim. The jacket smelled like him—sandalwood, gun oil, and something darker, more masculine. She hated how it made her feel both protected and trapped at the same time.

Enzo leaned against the mirrored wall with casual dominance, hands in his pockets, his sharp dark eyes never leaving her. In the reflections surrounding them, she saw their contrasting images repeated endlessly: a small, drenched young woman next to a towering, powerful man in an impeccable black suit. It looked like a scene from a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from.

The elevator doors opened directly into the penthouse with a soft chime.

Rori stepped out hesitantly, her wet shoes leaving faint tracks on the black marble. The sheer scale of the place stole her breath. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the entire living area, offering a breathtaking—and terrifying—view of the rain-lashed city skyline glittering far below. Forty-two floors up. The lights of the city blurred through the streaks of water on the glass, making everything feel dreamlike and distant.

The interior was pure dark luxury. Expansive open-plan space with sleek modern furniture in black leather and deep charcoal tones. A massive fireplace dominated one wall, currently unlit. To the left was a gourmet kitchen that looked completely untouched, all stainless steel and dark granite. A grand piano sat in one corner near the windows, and expensive abstract art hung on the walls. Everything screamed old money mixed with new power.

This wasn’t an apartment. It was a king’s fortress in the sky.

“Welcome home,” Enzo said quietly, his deep voice echoing softly through the vast space. He walked ahead of her, removing his shoulder holster with practiced ease and placing it on a side table. The black pistol gleamed menacingly under the warm chandelier light.

Rori stopped in the middle of the room, water still dripping from her hair. “This isn’t my home. This is a prison.”

Enzo turned to face her, unbuttoning the top button of his black dress shirt with deliberate slowness. The movement revealed a hint of ink—tattoos peeking from his collarbone. “Call it whatever helps you sleep tonight, Aurora. But this is where you live now.”

She watched him move toward a sleek bar cart, where he poured two glasses of chilled water. He offered her one. She didn’t take it. Instead, she glared at him, anger finally pushing past the numbness of shock.

“I want to call my best friend, Isabella,” she said firmly. “She’ll worry if I don’t show up for our morning shift at the diner. We always text each other when we get home.”

Enzo set the untouched glass down and studied her with those unnerving dark eyes. “No phone calls. Not yet. Not until I’m certain you won’t do something stupid like try to run or tell anyone what you witnessed earlier tonight.”

Rori’s heart stuttered. “I didn’t see anything,” she lied quickly, too quickly.

Enzo’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile that sent chills racing down her spine. He closed the distance between them in three measured steps, invading her personal space until she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. Up close, he was overwhelming—broad shoulders, sharp jaw shadowed with stubble, and an intensity that made the air feel thicker.

“You saw me execute a man with a single bullet to the head in that warehouse,” he murmured, voice low and intimate. “Don’t insult me by pretending otherwise, little storm. I noticed you hiding behind the crates the moment you walked in.”

Rori’s stomach plummeted. She had hoped the dim lighting and her quick escape had hidden her. Clearly, nothing escaped this man.

Enzo’s thoughts:

She was even more captivating up close. Fire and fragility wrapped in one small package. The way her wet uniform clung to her curves—full breasts, narrow waist, flared hips—ignited something primal and possessive deep in his chest. He had claimed territories, eliminated threats, and built an empire with ruthless efficiency. But claiming her felt different. It felt inevitable. The moment her useless father offered her as payment, something dark and obsessive had clicked into place inside him.

She belongs to me now. Completely.

He would tear apart anyone who tried to change that.

Rori’s thoughts:

His proximity was suffocating. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with rain. Part of her wanted to shove him away. Another treacherous part noticed the way his eyes softened almost imperceptibly when they lingered on her face. This is how they get you, she warned herself. This is how dangerous men make you forget they’re monsters.

Enzo reached out slowly, giving her time to flinch away. When she didn’t, he tucked a soaked strand of dark hair behind her ear with surprising gentleness. “You’re smart. That pleases me. It means you understand the rules of survival in my world.”

“And what are those rules?” she whispered, voice barely steady.

His fingers lingered on her jaw for a heartbeat longer than necessary. “Rule one: You stay here. You don’t leave this penthouse without my permission or an escort. Rule two: No contact with your old life until I deem it safe. Rule three…” His voice dropped even lower, “No one touches what is mine. Not ever.”

Rori swallowed hard. “I’m not property, Enzo.”

“You are now,” he replied without hesitation. “Mine by blood. And I will spill more of it than you can imagine to keep you safe.”

He finally stepped back, giving her breathing room. “There are clothes in the master bedroom closet. All in your exact size. Shower. Change. Get warm. We’ll discuss the rest of the arrangement in the morning.”

Rori glanced down the long hallway. “How did you know my size? How long have you been planning to do this?”

“I wasn’t planning it,” Enzo said honestly. “But when your father made his offer tonight, I had my men gather information immediately. I’m thorough, Aurora. When something belongs to me, I take care of it properly.”

The casual way he spoke about “taking care of her” made her skin crawl and flush at the same time.

She walked down the hallway on shaky legs, hyper-aware of his gaze burning into her back. The master bedroom was enormous—dominated by a massive king-sized bed dressed in black silk sheets that looked sinfully soft. The walk-in closet was already stocked: designer dresses, cashmere sweaters, silk nightgowns, and lingerie that made her cheeks burn. Everything in her size. Everything expensive enough to pay several months of her old rent.

She locked herself in the luxurious marble bathroom, finally letting the tears fall as she slid down against the door.

My father sold me. I’m trapped in a penthouse with a murderer who calls me his. What the hell am I going to do?

Outside, Enzo poured himself two fingers of expensive whiskey and stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the stormy city he ruled. His phone vibrated in his pocket.

Marco (Don Rossi): Status on the debt collection?

Enzo: Collected. New living arrangement in the penthouse. She’s here.

Marco: Don’t get attached, little brother. p***y makes even the strongest men weak. Use her and keep your head.

Enzo’s grip tightened on the crystal glass until he heard it creak. He didn’t reply.

Too late for warnings.

He was already obsessed.

And God help anyone who tried to take her away from him.

In the distance, thunder rolled across the sky as rain continued to lash against the glass. Enzo finished his drink and glanced down the hallway toward the closed bathroom door.

“Sleep well, my little storm,” he murmured to the empty penthouse. “Tomorrow, you begin learning what it means to be mine.”