Page 8 of Hunted to the Altar (Caputo Crime Family #3)

CHAPTER SIX

N ina

He didn’t carry me far.

Just past the echoing marble of the entryway, through a hallway filled with too many doors and too few answers, until we reached a room that looked nothing like a prison.

It looked like a dream—if dreams were twisted things draped in luxury and laced with chains.

My body ached in his arms. My wrists and ankles were raw from the rope—soft, yes, but firm enough that every shift reminded me I wasn’t free. That I hadn’t walked in here. I’d been taken.

He paused in the doorway, his single visible eye flicking across the room before landing back on me. The other eye was covered by his long hair, leaving him looking psychotic. I wanted to take a step away from his unhinged glances.

“This room’s yours now,” he said. “Get used to it.”

I stayed silent .

What the hell was I supposed to say to that?

He carried me to the bed—king-sized, plush, covered in deep emerald linens—and set me down like I was fragile. Breakable. He sat beside me as the mattress dipped under our weight, and for a second, I was sure he was going to unfasten the ropes.

He didn’t.

Instead, he reached behind him, grabbed a knife from somewhere I hadn’t seen—his boot maybe—and slid it through the rope binding my ankles. He didn’t touch my wrists.

Not yet.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said quietly. “Not tonight.”

“Gee, thanks,” I muttered, throat dry, voice raw. “That’s reassuring.”

That damn half-smile curved his lips—like my sarcasm entertained him, like he found joy in me still trying to fight when I was clearly caged.

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

I flinched when he leaned over me, but all he did was unlace his boots and tug them off. Then his jacket. Then his watch. Then he slid onto the bed like he belonged there.

Like we both did.

I tensed immediately. My body curled into itself like I could shrink down to nothing, make myself too small to touch, too invisible to want.

He didn’t reach for me.

Didn’t press against me.

He lay on top of the covers, arms behind his head, boots on the floor, gaze on the ceiling. Watching nothing. Or maybe just listening to the tight wheeze of my breath, to the way the mattress creaked every time I shifted to keep space between us.

I hated that the room smelled warm and clean. That the pillows were soft. That the bed didn’t feel like a dungeon, even though it should have.

“Why me?” I whispered .

He turned his head slightly, that eerie blue eye catching the moonlight through the curtains.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting tonight.”

My pulse skittered beneath my skin.

He wasn’t touching me. He wasn’t threatening me. And somehow that made it worse. It made my imagination do all the work.

But then he added, almost like an afterthought?—

“I’ll be here all night. Don’t try anything. You won’t like what happens if you do.”

I didn’t say anything after that.

Outside the windows, the city blinked like a distant dream. I listened to the rise and fall of his breathing—slow, even, like he didn’t have a single regret in the world.

And after a while—long enough that the panic wore itself out, long enough that the adrenaline crashed and my eyes stung from the weight of exhaustion—I started to believe he meant it.

That he really wouldn’t hurt me.

Not tonight.

Eventually, my body slumped against the pillow, one wrist still bound, my thoughts still spiraling... but slower now. Muted.

I fell asleep to the sound of him breathing beside me.

Like the monster in a fairy tale that knew he didn’t have to chase the princess anymore.

She was already his.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the penthouse windows, casting long shadows across the room. I stared out, standing there wondering how this was my life. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt this suffocated.

The man who claimed to be my protector sat on the other side of the room, his piercing blue eyes locked onto me like a hawk watching its prey. Samuel said little, but his silence was as oppressive as his presence. Every move I made felt scrutinized, cataloged, and analyzed. It made my skin crawl.

My apartment had been stripped from me, my freedom stolen, and now I was caged in Samuel’s luxurious penthouse.

It wasn’t the cramped, suffocating prison I’d expected, but its gleaming surfaces and sprawling views felt more like a trap than an escape.

The taste of coffee lingered bitter on my tongue, reminding me of how little comfort even small indulgences offered now.

Samuel’s voice broke the tense silence. “You’ve been quiet.”

I didn’t bother turning to face him. “What’s there to say?”

His laugh was soft, barely audible, but it grated on my nerves. “You’re always full of words when you’re angry, Nina. I find it hard to believe you’ve suddenly run out.”

“I’m trying not to waste my energy,” I replied, my tone icy. “You’re not worth it.”

That brought him to his feet. I caught the subtle shift in his body language from the corner of my eye—the predatory way he moved, his steps slow and deliberate as he crossed the room. He stopped just behind me, his presence looming like a shadow.

“You think I’m your enemy,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “But the people out there?” He gestured toward the city skyline, his words hanging in the air like a noose. “They’d do far worse than throw you in the trunk of a car.”

My stomach twisted at the memory, and I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. “Why don’t you let me take my chances, then?”

Samuel leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Because I don’t trust anyone else to keep you safe.”

The conviction in his voice sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like this, but hearing it up close, with his presence suffocating me, made it impossible to ignore the weight behind his words .

I twisted, my gray eyes locking onto his. “What makes you think I’m worth protecting?”

His gaze didn’t waver, his expression unreadable. “You do not know what you mean to the people hunting you. To me.”

His words felt like a slap. I stumbled back, bumping into the window, my pulse roaring in my ears. “This isn’t about me, is it? It’s about whatever game you’re playing with your mafia friends.”

Samuel’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t deny it. That silence told me everything I needed to know.

We headed out of the room and downstairs.

I sat at the kitchen island, staring blankly at the breakfast Samuel’s staff had prepared.

The spread was almost infuriating in its perfection—eggs cooked just right, toast golden and crisp, and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

It was like the meal you’d see in a commercial, not the aftermath of a nightmare.

Samuel sat across from me, sipping his coffee with an air of calm that made me grit my teeth. He acted as though everything was normal, as though locking me in his penthouse and throwing me in a car trunk was just another Tuesday.

“Eat,” he said, his voice even.

I glared at him, crossing my arms over my chest. “No.”

Samuel set his coffee cup down, his movements deliberate, controlled. “You need to keep your strength up.”

“For what? More of your kidnappings?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like a man dealing with a stubborn child. “Nina, I will not argue with you about breakfast. Eat or don’t, but don’t expect me to feel sorry for you when you pass out later.”

My jaw tightened, but I refused to back down. “I don’t want your food. I don’t want your help. I want nothing from you.”

Samuel leaned back in his chair, studying me with an intensity that made me squirm. “And yet, here you are.”

The smugness in his tone was the last straw. I shot to my feet, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I don’t have a choice!” I snapped. “You’ve taken everything from me—my sense of safety—and now you expect me to just... what? Be grateful?”

His expression darkened, and for a moment, I thought I might have pushed him too far. But instead of lashing out, he stood slowly, his movements measured.

“You think I like this?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm. “You think I enjoy being the one who has to keep you alive because you’re too damn stubborn to see the surrounding danger?”

I faltered, his words hitting harder than I’d expected. “I didn’t ask for your protection.”

“And I didn’t ask for this responsibility,” he shot back. “But here we are. So you can hate me all you want, Nina, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m the only thing standing between you and the people who want you dead.”

The absoluteness in his tone sent a chill down my spine.

It was the way he said it, like it was a fact of the universe, like there was no room for argument.

For the first time, I felt the full weight of what he was saying.

Samuel wasn’t just protecting me because he felt like it—he believed, wholeheartedly, that it was his duty.

And that terrified me more than anything.

The rest of the day passed in tense silence.

Samuel stayed in the living room, alternating between his laptop and phone, while I paced the length of the penthouse like a caged animal.

I tried to ignore the way his presence filled the space, but it was impossible.

Even when he wasn’t looking at me, I could feel the weight of his attention, like an invisible tether tying us together.

It didn’t help that he worked with the same intensity he brought to everything else.

His brows furrowed in concentration as his fingers danced over the keyboard, the glow of the screen reflecting off his sharp features.

I glanced at him more often than I wanted to admit, my gaze lingering on the way his shirt clung to his broad shoulders or the way his jaw tensed whenever he read something he didn’t like.

And then there were the moments when I caught him looking back.