{ Enzo }
Her defiance made my blood boil. She crouched low, muscles coiled, a smirk tugging at her bloodied lips as if daring someone to touch her. My heart thudded with frustration—and something else, a sharp twist of helplessness. She doesn't know who I am, but she's bold enough to challenge any man who stands in her way.
Her eyes, brilliant and piercing, scanned the room, testing the edges, inching toward the shadows. Every subtle shift, every flicker of movement was a silent dare: Try it. See if you can catch me.
And for a moment, I wanted to leap forward, grab her, stop her—but I couldn't. Duty, rage, confusion—it all tangled together.
She whispered under her breath, teasing, mocking even: "Come on… you're too slow. Afraid of me?"
The words twisted something inside me. She thinks she can play with danger and win.
I barely registered the movement from behind her until it was too late. One of my masked men stepped silently, bat raised, and in a sickening instant, it connected with the side of her head.
A strangled cry, sharp and wet, tore from her lips as she crumpled forward, her body folding under the impact. Blood and sweat mixed on the floor. My stomach turned.
"No—!" I roared, voice breaking, fury and horror colliding. Every step I took toward her felt slow, heavy, as though the world had turned to stone. I knelt beside her trembling form, hands shaking as I lifted her just enough to see her face.
Her cheek was already bruised, a trickle of blood curling at her temple. My chest tightened so sharply it was almost painful. My throat burned, my heart pounded—not with anger alone, but with a crushing, raw guilt. I should have been there. I should have protected her.
I sank to the floor with her in my arms, clutching her as though holding her closer could erase the attack. Her small, broken body felt impossibly fragile against mine. My fingers trembled as I brushed the blood from her forehead, my own eyes stinging with the weight of helplessness.
"God… I'm so sorry," I whispered, voice rough, low. "I should have stopped him. I should have kept you safe."
Her small whimpers, barely audible, tore through me. Every beat of her heart against my hands, every shiver of pain, made my own chest ache. I'd never felt rage, guilt, and grief collide like this. And yet, amid the fury, a fierce, protective fire burned brighter than ever: I will not let anyone touch her again.
My eyes suddenly turned cold and my lips twisted into a wicked smile.
" You dare touch her?!" My voice roared fury building inside me.
" B-Boss I'm sorry I thought — "
I smiled coldly. " Thought ? " I whispered my voice oddly calm. " I didn't hire you to think... I hired you to obey..."
" S-Sir I —"
" Follow me... "
" But —"
" I said NOW ! "
*********
I shoved the masked man roughly by the shoulder, forcing him to stumble forward. His eyes widened under the mask, but he didn't dare resist. I didn't give him the chance. My grip was iron, unyielding, and my anger a living thing.
"Sit," I barked, jerking him toward the heavy chair in the center of the dimly lit execution room. The cold metal gleamed under the low hanging light, and the shadows clung to the corners like silent witnesses. He obeyed, trembling, every movement stiff with fear.
I lowered the girl gently onto a small couch in the far corner, careful despite the burning ache in my arms. Her body sagged against the cushions, bruised, bloody, wrists raw from chains, yet even now her chest rose and fell with stubborn resilience. I could feel my chest tightening again, a strange mix of fury and protectiveness that refused to let go.
She didn't wake. I let her be for the moment, my hands brushing her hair aside, noticing the way her blond strands caught the dim light. She looked almost too delicate to survive this night unscathed, and yet there was fire in her, even unconscious.
Turning back to the masked man, I let my gaze roam across the weapons laid out on the nearby table. Knives, axes, brass knuckles… each one a promise of pain, each one a tool I could use to decide his fate. My hand hovered, brushing over the cold steel, the weight of each decision pressing down on me.
"Tell me," I muttered to myself, tone low, almost conversational. "Is it better for him to die quickly… or should he feel every second before it ends?"
The man in the chair swallowed hard, eyes darting nervously as I circled him slowly, each step deliberate. My chest ached, my pulse thundering not just from rage, but from the sight of the girl—fragile, broken, and yet somehow still alive.
I wanted him to understand fear, the kind that burns through every nerve, the kind that comes from knowing someone with my skill and my resolve had him in their power. My hand brushed a heavy blade, the cold metal pressing against my palm. The decision loomed over me like a storm: punishment for defiance, or swift eradication.
"You took her," I hissed, voice barely above a growl, but heavy enough that he felt it in his bones. "You hurt her. You made me hold back my own wrath just to keep from killing you on the spot. That's a gift. Do you understand me?"
He nodded quickly, shivering. I could smell the sweat mixing with his fear.
"Good," I whispered, letting the knife slide back onto the table with a clatter that sounded far too loud in the tense silence. "Then let's decide… how much this lesson is going to cost you."
I glanced toward the girl again, curled on the couch, fragile and bleeding, and my resolve hardened. Whatever happened next, she would survive. And he… would learn, one way or another.