Page 52 of His Little Angel
Why would I ever do that? Who looks at a man so obsessed he’s willing to give them everything and thinksI need to run?
That person isn’t me.
“That if you leave,” he continues, “you don’t leave empty-handed. That you’re never powerless with me.”
I study him—the man who controls rooms, markets, people—offering leverage instead of taking it.
“And if your obsession scares me?” I ask quietly. I don’t even know why. Maybe to taunt him. It’s becoming my favorite hobby.
“Then I’ll chase,” he says. “Relentless. But never from above you.”
That answer would terrify any sane woman.
Turns out I’m not sane.
“Sign them,” Enzo says calmly.
That’s the dangerous version of him.
“If I ever run—”
“I won’t let you finish that sentence,” he cuts in, eyes locked on mine. “If you ever run, I want the game to be fair.”
A chill slides down my spine.
“You already have everything,” I say. “Money. Power. Reach.”
“Yes,” he agrees easily. “And I’ll use all of it. Influence. Obsession. Time. I don’t lose things that belong to me.”
“You’re not even pretending this is normal.”
And I love that it isn’t. I don’t want normal. I don’t want safe. I want worship. Obsession. I want to be the reason someone’s heart keeps beating.
“No,” he says. “I’m being honest. This protects you. When I become the thing that scares you, you won’t be empty-handed.”
This is what people don’t understand about Enzo Morelli. He isn’t cruel for the sake of it. He’s principled in a way that borders on monstrous.
“When a monster tells you this is your insurance,” I murmur, “you take it.”
“I’m not a monster.”
“No,” I sigh. “You’re the farthest thing from one. But when you want something and don’t get it… that’s what you become.”
He doesn’t deny it.
That’s why I was drawn to him in the first place—the monster I always sensed beneath that polished suit.
I pick up the pen. He watches my hand like it’s sacred as I sign.
When I reach to give it back, he stops me.
“Not so fast, Mila.”
His eyes turn dark, feral. “There’s more of me that belongs to you. Something you need to claim.”
He looms over me, scars and ink stretching across coiled muscle.
“Sign me everywhere, angel. Let everyone know I’m yours. Your property. Your fucking territory.”