Chapter 6 (Aura)

Each second stretches endlessly as I sit here, trapped within these four walls that feel like they're closing in on me with every passing moment. The room is so damn hot, making the air thick and harder to breathe. Through the cracks in the boarded window, I watch the sun's descent. The light gradually fades, transforming from bright gold to deep amber, then to a muted purple before darkness claims its territory.

From somewhere in the house, the faint sound of a football game drifts through the walls. Enzo must be watching it.

I stare at the plain walls.

Getting out of here has to be my priority. My fingers trace invisible patterns on the rough surface as I force myself to think logically. If I'm going to break free, I need to keep my head clear and my body ready.

I need to be smart about this.

My thoughts drift to Enzo, and I hate how fascinating I find him.

Earlier, when I attacked him, he had every right to hurt me back. I went at him with everything I had, truly trying to cause damage. But instead of retaliating with violence, he only restrained me, using just enough force to control the situation.

I can still feel the intensity of his gaze as he held me still, those piercing blue eyes locked on mine. There was something almost gentle in the way he subdued me, and that paradox unsettles me more than any display of brutality would have.

When he warned me about tying me up and gagging me if I misbehaved again, I knew with absolute certainty that he meant it. Yet somehow, despite everything – despite him being connected to my family's death – I'm not terrified of him the way I should be.

After I spilled the water he brought earlier during my attack, he came back with a water bottle. Such a small gesture, but it keeps playing in my mind.

It's like he's this walking contradiction – a greek god with the face of an angel and the soul of a demon. My brain can't seem to reconcile the person who orchestrated my family's murder with the man who makes sure I have water to drink.

The darkness has fully settled now, and with it comes a chill that makes me pull my knees closer to my chest. I'm trapped in this room with my confused thoughts about a man who should be nothing but a monster to me.

Perhaps this is what captivity does to you – makes you lose your grip on what's right and wrong, blurs the lines between captor and savior.

As my captor, he could have left me thirsty after I knocked over the first glass, but he didn't.

Maybe they need me alive for something specific – that would explain the food, water, and relative comfort.

When I didn't recognize the "Bellini people," he seemed genuinely taken aback. I suppose I should have known who they were, being a mobster's daughter and all. But I was never part of that world – my father's "business" was something that existed entirely separate from our family life. At least, that's what I always believed.

God, I hope Enzo and whoever he's working with believe me when I say I know nothing about any of it.

I'm already a liability. I've seen too much – faces, locations, actions. The risk of letting me go would be too great. And even if I somehow managed to escape, going to the authorities would only paint an even bigger target on my back. There's no safe way out of this maze I've found myself in.

I'm startled awake by a knock at the door.

I sit up, groggy and disoriented, as the eyehole in the door slides open. Enzo's intense blue eyes peer in, and my breath catches despite myself.

"Breakfast time," he announces, his voice low and controlled.

I manage a nod, unable to look away from his piercing gaze. He enters carrying a plate in one hand and a mug in the other. Steam rises from what I assume is coffee, and my stomach betrays me by growling at the sight of bacon and eggs on the plate. When he sets the plate at the end of the mattress, I can't help but feel pathetically grateful for this small comfort.

He hands me the coffee mug, and I take it, immediately bringing it to my lips. My hunger takes over, and I grab the plate, devouring the food with an urgency that would embarrass me under normal circumstances. But nothing about this is normal, is it?

Enzo doesn't leave.

Instead, he leans against the door, arms crossed over his chest, watching me eat. I glance at the fork in my hand, and before I can stop myself, the words tumble out.

"I could stab you with this if I wanted to."

A smirk plays at his lips. "Try it."

I consider it for a moment, but shake my head instead.

"What is this weird room anyway?"

"We set it up while you were unconscious," he replies matter-of-factly.

"How long was I out?"

"Hours."

"I probably have a concussion," I mutter, and he acknowledges this with a slight nod but doesn't elaborate.

As I finish eating, I'm angry at myself for engaging in conversation with him, but I'm even more frustrated by how distracting his presence is. He's handsome – no, gorgeous is more accurate. The kind of man who would turn heads anywhere he goes.

I hate that I notice this, hate that my mind wanders to places it shouldn't.

I place the empty plate down and pick up my coffee again. Enzo collects the plate and fork without a word, leaving briefly before returning to resume his position against the door. His quiet confidence fills the room, making the space feel even smaller.

"What do you want from me?" I finally ask, needing to break the suffocating silence.

"I want you to submit to me."

The words send an involuntary shiver down my spine. "What does that mean?"

He smiles, the expression both beautiful and terrifying. "You'll know when the time comes."

"Is this some kind of game to you?"

"No," he responds, his tone serious. "This isn't a game."

"I don't particularly want to be involved with you," he continues after a moment, "but circumstances have made it necessary."

"Why do I need to submit? What follows if I do?"

"It will make things easier for both of us," he says cryptically. "As for what follows..." He pauses, considering. "I don't know exactly, but staying with me is your best chance of survival."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Why would you care if I survive?"

"I'm not inclined to kill women." His gaze shifts slightly. "Your father kept you completely in the dark about his business, didn't he?"

The change of subject catches me off guard. "I only found out he was a mobster a few years ago, when I left for college," I admit. "He kept that life separate from home. My brothers knew, apparently, but I..." I trail off, feeling sadness creep in.

"Why did you do it?" I ask suddenly, my voice barely above a whisper. "Why did you target my family?"

His response is immediate and emotionless: "Your father was a bad man."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "That's not true," I protest. "He was kind, gentle..."

"He was one of the most violent, deadly mobsters in the city," Enzo cuts in. "Your brothers were even worse."

"And my mother?" The question comes out choked.

"Just unfortunate," he replies, and the casual dismissal makes my blood run cold.

"What about my uncles?"

"Also mobsters. Not as extreme as your father, but still pretty fucked up."

"Oh, and I suppose you're the good guys?" I can't keep the sarcasm from my voice. "Murdering my family and kidnapping me?"

"I never said I was good," he responds calmly. "I'm a bad guy. But your father and brothers? They were much, much worse."

He crouches down in front of me suddenly, and my heart races at his proximity. To my horror, I feel a slickness pooling between my legs. I lean back, trying to create distance between us.

"Submit to me," he says again, his voice low and compelling. "It will be easier."

"You're lying about them," I whisper, but uncertainty creeps into my voice.

"Whether you believe me or not doesn't matter. You need to submit."

I shake my head. "No."

Without another word, he takes the coffee mug from my hands and leaves, closing the door behind him with a decisive click.

Alone again, I replay his words in my head. The things he said about my father, my brothers, my uncles – they can't be true. My family loved me, protected me. They didn't deserve to die. But a nagging voice in my head whispers that Enzo wasn't lying.

I clench my fists, anger coursing through me. I will never submit to him, this lying, manipulative bastard.