Page 24 of Taken By the Enforcer

Faustino and Marcello continue planning our next move.

I listen. But my mind drifts to my universe—my woman and our daughter.

Because no matter what this Family chooses, no matter what profits line their books, she will never see this world. Not my wife. Not my child.

Madonna Santa Maria,the thought burns through me, raw and absolute.

No onewill ever sell my daughter on a stage. Never shove her into a brothel. Never make her into a commodity for men like the Bratva to paw at. She will be safe. Hidden. Protected by walls no man can breach.

For years, I didn’t care who bled, who broke. I enforced the Family’s will because that was my role. A made-man with a gun in his hand and nothing to lose. But now—now I have something to lose. Someone.

Two someones.

Paolina softens me when she looks at me with those moss-green eyes, when her hand brushes my arm and tells me to be careful. But she also sharpens me, steels me, because I will kill the world before I let it harm her.

And our daughter… she’s already changed me. I feel it every night when I cradle Paolina’s belly while she sleeps. Every morning when I take care of the ache myself so I don’t wake her. Every time I catch myself imagining a future I never believed I’d have.

Family isn’t just the Lucchese name anymore. It’s Paolina. It’s the child within her. And nothing—no business, no brother, no Bratva—will touch them.

Faustino breaks the silence. “How is she?” His tone is neutral, but I hear the weight behind it.

Marcello smirks. “How’s our runaway bride? And the little heir?”

My grip tightens on the glass. I sip before I answer, voice low, clipped. “Healthy. The baby kicks strong. The doctor says both are well.”

Faustino nods once. “Good. It’s been quiet. No word from her father. None from Aldo.”

My jaw clenches. “It stays that way.”

Marcello chuckles, leaning forward. “So, she’s softening you,fratello. Who would’ve thought Donatello Romano could be domesticated?”

My eyes cut to his, sharp enough to kill. “Don’t mistake softness for weakness. She is mine. And I’ll paint the streets red before I let anyone take her from me.”

Marcello’s grin widens, satisfied. Faustino only lifts his glass, toasting silently, as if he already knew I’d say it.

I drink, the whiskey burning down my throat, but nothing burns hotter than the vow carved into my bones: Paolina and our daughter will never bleed for this Family.

They’re mine to protect. Mine to worship. Mine to keep safe.

At all costs.

CHAPTER 9

Paolina

The phone shouldn’t even be here.Donatello confiscated mine the moment he pulled me off that airplane months ago. I haven’t had a number, a signal, a tether to the outside since. But somehow one slipped past him—Nora, the nurse, left a backup mobile in the nightstand after checking my blood pressure. Probably meant for emergencies. Probably thought I’d never notice.

I noticed.

It buzzes now, screen glowing an unfamiliar number. Curiosity wins over caution.

“Hello?” My voice is tentative, caughtbetween fear and longing.

“Troia.”

The word slams into me like a slap. Aldo.

My breath locks.