Page 27 of Taken By the Enforcer

“Burn him,” I order. “Scatter the ashes in the sea. Let the fish choke on him.”

Hours later, I step into the villa, the weight of blood washed from me but still clinging in my chest.

The scent of jasmine greets me, soft, incongruous. Upstairs, our suite is dim, the sea murmuring outside. I nod at the soldier as he opens the doors for me.

I strip. Paolina stirs as I slide beneath the covers. Her eyes flutter half-open, searching. I draw her into me, pressing her back to my chest, one hand cradling the curve of her belly.

“Shhh,” I murmur against her hair. “It’s done. You’re safe.”

She sighs, already falling under again, and I hold her tighter, the echo of vengeance still humming in my veins, anchored only by the woman and child who are mine.

Forever.

CHAPTER 10

Paolina

The sea isa restless thing tonight. It throws itself against the cliffs below the villa, then drags back with a sound like teeth gnashing in the dark. I sit on the terrace, the cashmere shawl Donatello bought for me wrapped tight around my shoulders and try to breathe past the unease coiled in my chest.

It’s been two days since he left. He didn’t tell me why. He never tells me where he goes when he boards that helicopter at midnight with his jaw set and eyes hard. But I know.

Aldo.

A month later and the memory of his call still crawlsacross my skin, his words echoing:dirty slut, I’ll cut that baby from you.Even now, bile rises at the sound of his voice in my head. And Donatello—he heard my confession, kissed the top of my head, and tucked me into bed like I was something fragile. Then he left, carrying fury like a blade in his hand.

It still gnaws at me—how Aldo knew. How he found me here when Donatello took every precaution, when this island is supposed to be untouchable.

Then it clicks. Nora.

Sweet, kind Nora, with her gentle hands and her careful way of checking my blood pressure every morning, her soft humming when she lays the stethoscope against my belly. She never meant harm. But kindness doesn’t erase carelessness. I can picture it too clearly: a night off the island, wine flowing too freely, her guard slipping as she boasted to a friend about the employer who paid her in diamonds and discretion.A runaway Corsetti bride, seven months pregnant, hidden away on a private island.All it takes is one friend with loose lips of her own, and Aldo has his thread to pull.

I should hate her for it. I can’t. She’s human, weak the way we all are.

Donatello didn’t kill her. He could have. Men have died for smaller mistakes. But when I asked where she went after Aldo’s call, his answer clipped, final. “She’s gone. Fired. No woman dies by my hand unless it’s an extreme situation.”

That’s their code. Brutal. Absolute.

I can still see Nora’s face in my memory, flushed from drink, laughing too loudly as words she couldn’t take back slipped into the world. Her mistake nearly cost me everything. Yet Donatello only cast her out, sparing her when he would have already scattered a man in her place as dust at sea.

I don’t know whether to be grateful or afraid.

I press both palms to my belly. The baby shifts beneath my skin, strong now, rolling like waves. Eight months. One left until my body is no longer just mine.

“You’ll be safe,” I whisper to the little one. “Your father promised. And when he promises…” My throat closes. “He keeps it.”

The helicopter returns just before dawn. I hear it first—the deepwhump-whumpof the blades cutting the sky—before I see the lights through the curtains. My pulse jumps. I run a hand through my hair, heart hammering with something that feels too much like relief.

The front doors open, heavy, deliberate. Boots strike marble. I don’t realize I’ve gone to meet him until I’m halfway down the stairs, silk trailing behind me.

Donatello looks carved from stone and shadow, shirt open at the throat, forearms bare except for tattoos. His eyes find mine at once. I stop, breath caught in my chest.

He crosses the foyer without a word, sweeping me into his arms. The scent of soap clings to him, but beneath it—faint, metallic—something darker lingers. I don’t ask. I don’t need to.

“You’re back,” I breathe against his collar.

“Always,” he says, voice low, rough. His palm spreads over my belly, grounding us both. “I told you. You’re safe. He’ll never touch you again.”

A shiver runs through me. My heart knows what my mind fears to name. Aldo is gone. Donatello made sure of it.