Page 9 of Taken By the Enforcer

“Condom,” I manage, breathless.

“Always prepared.” He tears one open with his teeth, sheathing himself in one swift motion. Then his eyesmeet mine, dark and burning. “Look at me when I take you, Paolina.”

The blunt head of his cock presses against my entrance. My breath catches, body tense. His thumb strokes my cheek, gentling even as his voice roughens. “It will hurt for a moment. But I’ll be your first… and your last.”

He pushes slowly, stretching me wider than I thought possible. Pain and pleasure twist until I cry out. He stills instantly, eyes searching mine.

“Breathe, bella. Let me in.”

I nod, clutching his shoulders, fingernails marking crescents in his skin. He moves again, inch by inch, until he seats his full length deep inside me. Full. Claimed. Branded.

The pain ebbs, replaced by a fullness so consuming I can’t breathe. When he moves—long, deliberate thrusts—my body ignites. Pleasure builds again, sharper, brighter, unstoppable.

His pace quickens, hips slamming into mine. The bed creaks, my moans rise, his growls fill the suite. Each thrust drives the truth deeper: I’m his. Always his.

When I break again, it’s violent, blinding, stars bursting behind my eyes. He follows with a roar, spilling into the condom as his body shudders above mine.

For a long moment, we just breathe together, tangled in sweat and silk sheets. His lips brush my temple, softer than I ever imagined Donatello Romano could be.

“You belong to me now,” he whispers, final and absolute.

And though I should deny it, my heart answers before my mouth does.

Yes.

Until the haze of ecstasy clears and reality returns.

My gaze turns to the partially closed bathroom door.

Steam fogs while he showers. My body aches in places I didn’t know could feel pleasure and pain at once. My heart hammers with a dangerous truth: Donatello Romano just claimed me in every way that matters.

And yet…

I stare at a leather duffel on the chair. A stack of euros spills from the half-zipped pocket, careless in its abundance. My gaze drops to the notepad on the desk. My hand trembles as I scrawl a single line:

I’ll pay you back one day.

I leave the note on the nightstand. The veil too.

Then I slip into my dress and out the door, clutching the bag to my chest like it’s the only lifeline I have left.

I don’t look back.

CHAPTER 4

Donatello

Steam ghostsacross the bathroom mirror as I rake water from my hair. The hotel’s rain shower still drums behind me, a steady hiss that should calm a man who knows how to control breath, pulse, and pain—his and other people’s. It doesn’t touch me. Not when the sheets on the bed are cooling around an absence shaped exactly like a woman who just became mine.

Paolina.

Her name tastes like a vow.

I drag a towel down my chest and freeze.

The nightstand holds two things: a folded veil that looks like surrendered clouds… and a note on hotel stationery written in a quick, feminine hand. I lift it between wet fingers.

I’ll pay you back one day.