{ Enzo }
I kept my tone calm, deliberate, as I played with the knife between my fingers. "I know Scarlett isn't just a name in your phone. She's your handler. Your partner." I leaned forward, my gaze narrowing. "So tell me the truth. Who do you really work for? Which family sent you?"
Her lips parted, confusion spreading across her face. "Family?" Her voice slowed, but the shock in her eyes looked genuine.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
" Don't play dumb with me..." I whispered tracing the knife across the back of my hand.
Her fingers gripped the phone tighter, her knuckles whitening. "I… I don't know what you mean," she whispered, voice barely audible but defiant.
I leaned closer, the knife sparkling near her face. "Don't lie to me," I said, low, controlled, every word heavy with warning. "I know you're hiding something. And I know Scarlett isn't just a friend. So, talk. Or this little chat gets… uncomfortable."
Her breath hitched. She swallowed, blinking quickly as she glanced toward the edge of the bed, then back at me. "She's… she's just… helping me," she stumbled over her words. "Nothing to do with any family. I—"
I raised an eyebrow, letting the knife trace lightly across the back of my hand for emphasis. My heart beat harder than I wanted to admit. God, she's so fragile… and yet so unbroken. I could crush her in a second, but could I live with the guilt ?
"Helping you how? Planning your little escapes? Giving orders? Or maybe making sure you survive while pulling off missions someone like you had nothing to do with?" I pressed, but a flicker of hesitation made me pause. She's not just some enemy. She's… human. She's…
Her wide eyes flicked to the knife, then back to me. "I—I don't know what you're talking about!" Her voice grew firmer, though I could see the fear sparking behind it.
I leaned back slightly, the knife still in hand, my gaze locked on hers. "I see the truth in your eyes," I said softly, almost teasingly. And I don't want to hurt her… not really. But I need the truth. "You're part of something bigger. A mafia family, maybe. And you're trained… like my men."
Her pupils shrank, and she whispered, unwillingly."What? No! I'm… I'm just… just trying to save someone!"
I pressed forward, letting the tip of the knife hover near her shoulder, my fingers tightening unconsciously. Why do I care this much about a girl I just kidnapped? "Save someone? Or kidnapp them ? You tell me, and maybe... I'll believe it."
Her chest rose and fell quickly. "I… I don't know what you think, but I'm not who you think I am. Scarlett—she's just helping me, that's all!"
I studied her, every flicker of movement, every hesitation. Her pulse, the tremor in her fingers, the way her eyes darted—she was telling part of the truth, but hiding something crucial. And still… I don't want to hurt her. I can't. Not really.
My lips curved into a half-smile, dark, calculating. "Interesting," I murmured. "You're bold, strong… and slippery. But you will tell me the truth. Eventually."
She swallowed, a tiny bead of sweat rolling down her temple, and I knew this dance had only just begun. And maybe part of me doesn't want it to end too soon.
Her gaze flicked to the bathroom door, her voice quiet but steady. "I… I need to wash up. Can you… help me get there?"
I raised an eyebrow, studying her carefully. She's trying to change the subject...isn't she? Yet there was something about the way she held herself—slight wobble, but still defiant—that piqued my interest.
"Walk straight?" I asked, my tone measured, almost teasing.
She nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. "I can manage."
I crouched slightly, offering a hand. "Then up you go."
Her fingers brushed mine as she took my hand, a subtle defiance lingering in the light squeeze she gave back. I guided her carefully to her feet, feeling the tension in her muscles, the cautious grace in each step. She didn't limp, but her body betrayed the exhaustion and lingering pain from the bullets and chains.
Together we made our way toward the bathroom, my grip firm but not restrictive. I let her lean slightly on me, keeping a watchful eye on every movement. She didn't speak, just focused on steadying herself, and I found myself letting out a slow breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
At the door, she paused, turning to face me. "Thank you," she murmured, a quiet acknowledgment that seemed to carry more than just gratitude.
I nodded once, stepping back. Don't push, don't push… I reminded myself, curiosity clawing at me. She may be cautious, clever, maybe even dangerous—but there was something undeniably human about her. Fragile, yes, but also strong in ways that made me… intrigued.
"Take your time," I said finally, my voice low, deliberate. "I'll be right outside if you need me."
She gave a small nod and slipped inside, closing the door. I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, my mind racing. She's testing me. Or maybe… I'm the one being tested.
The quiet settled around me, but my pulse remained alert, every sound from behind the door sharpening my focus. And even as I waited, I couldn't shake the thought that this girl—this human I was supposed to control—was already starting to twist the rules in her favor.
I stayed by the door, leaning slightly, watching the faint shadow of her movements through the frosted glass. When she finally emerged, wrapped in the oversized shirt I'd lent her, I couldn't help but notice how she still carried herself—cautious, deliberate, measuring everything.
"Sit," I instructed softly, gesturing to the edge of the bed.
She obeyed, smoothing the shirt over her frame. I studied her carefully, the way her hair clung damply to her neck, the faint tremor in her hands.
"I need to know…" I began, voice low but firm. "Your name. How old you are. Everything that matters."
She blinked, startled, like she hadn't expected the question to come so suddenly. "My… name? You mean you don't know it?"
I shook my head. "Not yet. And don't try to lie."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Fine. It's… Mia. Sixteen. And I'm… well, that's all you get for now." She crossed her arms, defiance flickering despite the vulnerability in her eyes.
I raised an eyebrow. "Sixteen?" My voice was rough, not mocking, but a note of disbelief threaded through it. She's younger than I thought… still, damn… clever, bold, dangerous even.
She followed my gaze, her own eyes narrowing slightly. "And you? What's your name? What do you do?"
I froze for a fraction of a second, caught off guard by her directness. My chest tightened, and for a moment the usual control I maintained faltered. Do I tell her? Should I?
"I—" I started, then hesitated, feeling the weight of the truth pressing against my ribs. "…Enzo. That's all you need to know."
Her brow furrowed, lips twitching with curiosity—or maybe amusement. "Just Enzo? And that's supposed to explain everything? What do you… exactly do?"
I cleared my throat, scratching the back of my neck, suddenly aware of how awkward it felt to be put on the spot by a girl who was barely supposed to survive the night. "I… handle things. Complicated things. Dangerous things. People like you…" My voice trailed, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of my lips, though it didn't quite reach my eyes.
She stared at me for a long beat, eyes wide, then let out a small, incredulous laugh. "People like me?"
"Yes." My hands flexed at my sides, a mix of frustration and fascination stirring within me. "You're reckless. Bold. And apparently still alive after my men tried to kill you."
Her lips pressed together, a mixture of pride and defiance flickering across her face. "And apparently still breathing," she shot back.
I exhaled slowly, leaning back against the headboard. This is going to be… interesting. My mind buzzed with a strange mix of irritation, curiosity, and something I hadn't felt in a long time: intrigue.