Page 33 of Taken By the Enforcer

I can hear her breathing from the chair, slow and even, the peace I never had in me until she put it there. The wind off the balcony whispers. The sea answers. My hand itches to go to her belly again, to say good night to the little life we made with promises and heat.

A couple more weeks before our baby is born. Time enough.

She already needs me. I feel it. She already loves me. I see it when she forgets to guard her eyes.

But I want the words.

I wantI love you, Donatello,spoken into my mouth, against my throat, into the skin over my heart where I’ll keep it. I want the vow to travel the same road my name does when she moans it, to live where breath meets truth.

So, I wait, work, watch, worship.

And when she’s ready, I’ll take what’s been mine since the first time she looked at me across a crowded room and didn’t look away.

Not her body. Not her obedience.

Her yes.

Because I already said it, if only in my mind and actions.

I love you, Paolina.

CHAPTER 12

Paolina

The pain startslike a tightening deep in my back, low and sharp, pulling me out of restless sleep before dawn. At first, I think it’s just another false alarm—I’ve had Braxton Hicks for weeks now. But when the second one rolls through ten minutes later, my breath catches. By the third, I can’t stay still.

I shift in bed, my hand reaching instinctively for Donatello. He’s there, as always, curled against me, his palm curved protectively around my swollen belly.

“Donatello,” I whisper. My voice cracks. “It’s time.”

His eyes open instantly, with no haze of sleep. Obsidian sharp, deadly alert, as if his body’s been waiting for this moment. “Cristo.” He’s already moving, swingingout of bed, grabbing his phone and barking orders in rapid-fire Italian.

Within minutes, the villa comes alive—guards in motion, the nurse and doctor rushing in. Faustino and Marcello appear from the rooms they’ve been staying in while they hold vigil with Donatello, calm but intense, like two dark pillars in the hall. My breath hitches again as another contraction claws its way through me.

Donatello is at my side in a blink, sliding an arm around me. “Breathe with me,bella mia. In. Out. I’ve got you.”

His calmness steadies me, but fear gnaws at my chest. The island feels suddenly too small, too far from the rest of the world. “I can’t do this here,” I gasp. “I need a hospital.”

“You’ll have one.” He sweeps me into his arms as if I weigh nothing, carrying me down the stairs.

The double doors burst open to reveal the helicopter already whirring on the pad, blades cutting the dawn.

The flight is a blur of pain and motion. I’m stretched across Donatello’s lap, his hand gripping mine, his other hand stroking my hair. Faustino sits across, jaw tight, eyes steady on me as if willing me strength. Marcello murmurs into his phone, already clearing landing space at the hospital.

“You’re strong,” Donatello whispers, lips against my temple. “Stronger than anyone. Our daughter is strong too. We’re almost there.”

The contractions come faster, stealing my breath, mypride, my composure. I cling to him, burying my face in his chest, letting the steady thrum of the rotors drown out my fear.

The hospital is chaotic. Bright lights, sharp scents, voices barking orders. And then—faces I never expected.

My mother.Tears streak her cheeks, her hands reaching but not touching, as if afraid I’ll vanish. Behind her, my father stands grim, pale with fury and something else I can’t name.

“Paolina,” Mamma breathes, voice breaking.

I can’t answer before another contraction grips me, dragging a scream from my throat. Donatello’s arms tighten around me, his glare slicing through the crowd. “Back. All of you. She doesn’t need your bullshit.”

And then I see them—his parents. His mother, regal in black silk, eyes sharp and assessing but with a glimmer of warmth. His father, older, stoic, with the same brutal jaw as his sons. They nod once, as if acknowledging me as theirs.