Page 16 of Taken By the Enforcer

The nickname slithers around me, a noose made of velvet. My hand flies to my belly as if my palm could shield my baby from the weight in his voice.

His eyes flash. Not just dark obsidian—alive, molten, lethal. “Did you really think you could run from me,bella mia? Did you think you could keepmychild from me?”

Tears sting my lashes. My heart ricochets. I back up until my spine collides with the door with nowhere left to go.

“Donatello—” My plea a hoarse whisper.

He stalks closer, every step measured, deliberate, until his shadow swallows mine. His hand presses against the door above my head, caging me without even touching. “You thought you could leave Sicily. Leaveme. Disappear. Carry my baby. Tell me, Paolina—” His voice drops, deadly quiet. “—what kind of fool do you take me for?”

My lip trembles. “I—I only wanted?—”

“You wanted to survive,” he cuts in, sharp. “But survival without me is suicide. And you know it.”

His other hand drops suddenly, cupping the curve of my stomach. My breath seizes. The baby kicks as if answering him. His jaw flexes, nostrils flaring.

“My child,” he growls, reverence tangled with possession. “Our child.”

“Please—” My hands flutter uselessly. “I can’t—I don’t?—”

“You don’t what?” He leans closer, his breath brushing my cheek. “Don’t want me? Don’t want this?”

His thumb strokes over the swell beneath my shirt, slow and deliberate. “Then why does your body still answer mine, bella? Even now.”

Tears spill hot. I shake my head. “I can’t go back.”

“You’re not going back.” His lips curve in something crueler than a smile. “You’re going forward. With me. Always with me.”

The decision is already made. It always is.

He steps back, hand gripping mine before I can resist. He grabs the small bag where I keep my prenatal vitamins, tucks it under his arm. “You take these. Nothing else. Everything else you need—I provide.”

“Donatello—”

“No, Paolina.” His tone silences me. “No more running. No more lies. You are mine. The baby is mine.La famigliais mine. And now, so are you.”

I stumble as he guides me out the door. He straightens me with ease and continues down the stairs, into the night. A black SUV idles at the curb, sleek and gleaming in the moonlight. A man in a suit opens the door.

My gaze darts around. Dare I call for help? Would my neighbors dare to intervene?

As if reading my thoughts of escape, Donatello crushes the thought with his grip. His lips hover near my ear, breath burning across my skin.

“Don’t even try it, Paolina. Your days of running are finished.”

He doesn’t release me until we’re inside. The city blurs past in streaks of neon and shadow. My breath hitches when a private airfield appears.

The Gulfstream waits like a dark-winged predator. Steps lower, lights glow softly inside. He doesn’t let go until I’m buckled into a leather seat. My bag disappears into a storage bin. His hand returns to mine, possessive and grounding.

The engines roar. My body trembles. Adrenaline drains, leaving exhaustion in its place. My little one moves, probably just as drained as me. I place a calming hand on my belly.

“Are you hungry?”

The question scrapes across my nerves. The thought of eating knots my stomach tighter. My insides feel like a coiled fist. I shake my head and close my eyes, as if shutting out the world will silence him too.

“You don’t look good,” he murmurs, more observation than sympathy. “You’ve lost weight when women gain during pregnancy. The doctor will check you. I’ll make sure you—and our baby—are healthy.”

A sigh is all I can manage—part defiance, part surrender.

Donatello grunts, the sound low and disapproving, like he already knows my silence is temporary.