Kidnapped by the Ruthless Mafia Boss

A Promise of Comfort

The walk back to Camila’s room was silent, save for the soft shuffle of her feet and the quiet sobs from the boy clutched tightly in her arms. She moved with purpose, but every step felt heavy. She could still feel the weight of Zachary’s cold gaze on her back, though he had left. But now, she only cared about the child—his safety, his well-being.

Camila pushed the door open with one hand and stepped inside. The dim light of the room barely touched the corners, but it was enough to guide her as she gently lowered the boy to the bed. His face was still wet with tears, his tiny body curled up in a ball as if he could disappear into the covers. His innocence felt like a beacon in this storm, and Camila’s heart ached for him.

“You’re safe now,” she murmured, brushing the hair from his forehead. He looked up at her with wide eyes, but he didn’t speak.

Camila pulled the chair from the corner of the room and sat beside the bed, keeping her hand on the boy’s back as she spoke softly to him. “What’s your name, sweet one?” she asked.

He didn’t respond, his eyes unfocused, as if the trauma had stolen his voice.

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to talk right now. Just rest.” She reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the small bowl of fruit she had brought earlier, the only thing she could manage to eat in the midst of everything. She offered it to him. “Do you want to eat something? You must be starving, poor thing.”

The boy hesitated, then slowly nodded, reaching out with trembling hands. Camila smiled faintly, encouraging him as he took the fruit from her and ate it slowly, carefully. Watching him reminded her of the world she had lost—before all this chaos, before Zachary and the Mafia. She had been a part of that world too, but her heart had always longed for something simpler, something kinder.

As the boy ate, Camila finally gave in to the pang of hunger that had been gnawing at her since she had locked herself away in this room. She grabbed a sandwich from the food tray that had been left earlier and took a bite. The food tasted almost foreign, but it was a relief to fill her empty stomach.

Minutes passed in quiet companionship, and the boy’s trembling seemed to subside. He finished the fruit and settled back into the bed, clutching the edge of the blanket as though it were his only protection. Camila sat there, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of the bowl, her mind wandering.

As the night stretched on, the room grew still. The boy’s breathing deepened, and Camila assumed he had finally fallen asleep. She felt a sense of peace settle over her, but it didn’t last long.

In the darkness, a soft whimper broke the silence. Camila turned, her eyes snapping open to find the boy tossing and turning in his sleep, his small body wracked with fear. His breathing quickened, and his face contorted in terror.

Camila's heart leapt in her chest. “Hey,” she whispered, rising from her seat and moving to his side. “It’s okay, sweetie. You’re safe.”

But the boy’s whimpers turned to muffled sobs, and in a panic, he reached for her, his small hands clutching at her gown desperately.

Camila’s instincts kicked in. Without hesitation, she lifted him into her arms, holding him close as his cries echoed in the room. “Shh,” she murmured, rubbing his back soothingly. “I’ve got you. Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

His face was buried in her chest, his tears soaking through her gown. “I’m scared,” he mumbled between sobs. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’m here,” Camila whispered softly, her voice breaking with the weight of his pain. “You’re not alone. I promise.”

She turned and walked quickly out of the room, the boy still clinging to her tightly. He was like a fragile thing, so small and lost, and she felt the responsibility settle heavily on her shoulders. She couldn’t help him forget the nightmares, but she could at least try to comfort him.

She moved toward the kitchen, the only place she could think of where she might offer some small solace.

“Do you want some warm milk, baby?” she asked softly, her voice tender. “I promise it’ll make your nightmares go away.”

The boy looked up at her, his eyes wide with both fear and a flicker of hope. “Promise?”

“I promise,” Camila said, kissing his forehead as she carefully set him down on the kitchen counter. She moved to the refrigerator, her hands trembling just slightly as she pulled out the milk. Her mind was too full of everything to calm down, but for this moment, she focused on him.

She poured the milk into a cup, warming it slightly in the microwave. As she did, the boy stood on the counter, watching her with wide, trusting eyes. The soft hum of the microwave and the clink of the cup were the only sounds.

As she turned around with the cup, Camila was startled by the sound of the kitchen door creaking open. Her breath caught in her throat as she found Zachary standing in the doorway, his tall figure silhouetted by the dim light from the hallway. He was holding a glass of water, his gaze cold, yet something else—something unreadable—seemed to flash in his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” she asked sharply, the instinct to protect the boy instantly rising again.

Zachary met her gaze with that familiar, unnerving calmness. “Don’t flatter yourself that much, Camila,” he said, his voice smooth and unbothered.

He walked past her, his eyes flicking over to the boy who was now sitting on the counter, clutching the cup in Camila’s hands.

“What are you doing with him?” he asked, his voice unusually soft, as though he was asking her a question he already knew the answer to.

“I’m taking care of him,” Camila replied, her protective stance not wavering. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Zachary paused as he moved to the refrigerator, his eyes still on her as he grabbed the carton of milk and set it on the counter. “Do you like chocolates, kid?” he asked, his voice casual, as though he hadn’t just barged in uninvited.

The boy didn’t answer immediately, his wide eyes still full of uncertainty. Camila stepped forward, putting a hand on his small shoulder. “He doesn’t talk much,” she said quietly. “Thanks to someone’s… horsy face.”

Zachary chuckled low in his throat, unfazed by her jab. He turned back to the boy, his demeanor softening slightly. “What’s your name, kid?” he asked, kneeling in front of him. “You need to tell us. We want to protect you.”

The boy looked at Zachary, his eyes wide with fear, before looking back up at Camila. He still didn’t speak, though his small hands trembled in his lap.

“E-ezra”, the small boy stuttered softly with shaky voice.

Zachary let out a long, drawn-out sigh, standing up. He placed the milk on the counter and pulled out two chocolates from his pocket giving it to Ezra. His eyes now fixed on Camila. “I’ll make sure he’s safe,” he said, though the words were more like a quiet command than a promise.

Camila didn’t respond. Instead, she wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders and pulled him close, offering him the cup of warm milk.

As she kissed his forehead once again, she couldn’t help but feel the strange, unexpected connection between herself and Zachary. He was still dangerous, still a threat—but there was a sliver of something else there. Something she couldn’t quite understand.

She didn’t know what the future held for her and the boy, but as she held him in her arms, she vowed she’d do whatever it took to keep him safe—even if it meant facing Zachary Xavier Sullivan again and again.