Chapter 5 Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Nina’s POV
The knock came again.
Three short taps. Not loud, but firm. Like whoever was on the other side knew I’d heard the first time and was being patient. Kind. Or pretending to be.
I stayed frozen against the door, heart still racing from what I’d seen downstairs.
Another knock.
“Go away,” I called, voice too thin. “I’m sleeping.”
Silence for a second.
Then a low male voice, amused. “You talk in your sleep now, kitten?”
My stomach flipped.
“I said I’m sleeping,” I repeated, trying to sound firm.
The doorknob turned.
I’d locked it.
The lock clicked once… then popped.
I gasped and stumbled back as the door pushed inward.
One of the men stepped into my room.
He was the youngest-looking of the three I’d seen earlier, maybe mid twenties. Dark blond hair, a little messy like fingers had just been in it. Sharp cheekbones. Full mouth. A boyish face ruined in a good way and by the dangerous glint in his blue eyes.
He was shirtless.
Just bare, tanned skin and hard muscle from his throat all the way down his chest. Strong shoulders. Defined abs that looked like they’d been carved out of stone and then warmed by the sun. A faint trail of hair disappearing under the waistband of his jeans.
His jeans were unbuttoned, riding low on his hips like he’d dragged them on in a hurry.
My brain short circuited for a second.
Sweat gleamed along his collarbones and chest, catching the soft light of my lamp. He was breathing hard, like he’d run up the stairs. Or like he’d been doing exactly what I knew he’d been doing downstairs.
He smelled like soap and sweat and something rich and dark ,sex and cologne and salt.
“Food,” he said simply, as if he wasn’t standing half naked in my room in the middle of the night.
Only then did I see the tray in his hands.
He walked in like he owned the place, which, to be fair, he kind of did. Or at least he owned every inch of air he walked through.
On the tray was a plate with rice and grilled chicken, golden and steaming, with sauce on the side. A small bowl of fruit and berries, grapes, slices of mango sat beside it. A glass of water with ice. A folded napkin.
My mouth watered on instinct.
“I’m not hungry,” I snapped.
My stomach chose that exact second to let out a loud, painful growl.
His gaze dropped to my midsection. One eyebrow rose, slowly.
“Sure you’re not but we promised your father to take good care of you and we are the best in doing that,” he said.
He brushed past me, the heat of his bare chest inches from my arm. I caught his scent again sweaty, clean, complicated and my head swam for a second.
I turned with him, watching as he set the tray down on the small table by the window like he’d done this a thousand times.
My stomach screamed Yes.
My pride screamed No.
He straightened and walked back to me, stopping close. Too close. I had to tilt my head up to meet his eyes.
He studied my face for a moment, lips curving slightly.
“Eat,” he said quietly. “You’re starving.”
The way he said it…
It felt like he meant more than food.
Heat crawled up my neck. I squared my shoulders, trying to make myself feel taller, stronger, less like a little girl in an oversized T-shirt in front of a very distracting man.
“How did you even know I was awake?” I demanded.
He smirked.
“We can see and hear everything in this house, kitten,” he said. “Cameras. Mics. Motion sensors. You pace, you cry, you open your door? someone knows.”
My cheeks burned. “So you were just… watching me?”
“Not me,” he said, but there was amusement in his eyes. “But someone is always watching. It’s our job to make sure you’re still breathing. So.” He jerked his chin toward the tray. “Eat. And maybe next time, cry and tip toe around softer.”
“You’re insane,” I muttered. “And stop calling me kitten.”
He shrugged one bare shoulder. “Stop acting like one.”
I glared at him.
“What’s your name?” I snapped, more to distract myself than because I cared.
He seemed to consider me for a moment, then gave a small, crooked smile.
“Enzo,” he said. “Youngest of the three devils your father hired.”
“Devils,” I repeated.
He grinned. “His words, not mine.”
I didn’t believe that for a second.
He took a step back, finally giving me some space. The air felt thinner where he’d been standing.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, voice going oddly dry, “I have business to attend to.”
My mind flashed, unhelpfully, to the scene downstairs. Three men, one woman, her voice breaking on the word “daddy.”
My face went hot again.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “I noticed.”
His eyes flicked over my face, sharp and knowing, and for a second I was sure he’d ask what I meant. Or worse, call me out for spying.
He didn’t.
Instead, he gave me one last look slow, lingering, like he was memorizing me and headed for the door.
“Be careful where you wander at night, Nina,” he said, his hand on the handle. “This house is safe, but not everything in it is… innocent.”
I swallowed. “Including you?”
He chuckled, low. “Especially me.”
Then he pulled the door open and stepped out.
I watched him go, eyes glued to the line of his back, the flex of his muscles, the way his jeans hung low on his hips.
The door closed softly behind him.
I didn’t hear a lock.
He didn’t need one. I wasn’t stupid enough to think they didn’t have spare keys.
Still, I crossed the room in three quick steps and turned the lock myself. The soft click made me feel a little less exposed.
Then I leaned against the door, breathing in and out, trying to steady myself.
What was wrong with me?
My mother was dead. People were trying to kill us. I was trapped in a strange house on a beach with dangerous men who worked for money and blood.
And yet my heart was racing because one of them had walked into my room without a shirt.
“Pathetic,” I muttered to myself.
My stomach answered with another loud rumble.
“Fine,” I sighed. “You win. Again.”
I went to the table and sat down.
The food smelled amazing. Warm and spicy and comforting. I picked up the fork and took a small bite, just to test.
It was… good.
Like, too good. The kind of good that made your eyes close for a second.
I ate fast, shoving rice and chicken into my mouth like I hadn’t seen food in days. Which, emotionally, felt true. My body didn’t care about pride; it cared about survival.
Between bites, my mind kept trying to replay what I’d seen downstairs.
I pushed the images away.
They came back anyway.
The woman’s head tipped back and the way her large boobs kept bouncing back and forth in between throaty loud moans.
The way one of the men had held her by the throat so gently yet firmly. The way she’d said “yes” like it was the only word she knew.
I washed the food down with cold water, trying to force my brain to think about anything else. Classes. My friends. My mom. The color of the walls. The number of steps from my room to the stairs.
Every time my guard dropped, my memory filled the gap with tattoos and hands and mouths.
When the tray was finally empty, my stomach was full, but the restless feeling in my chest hadn’t gone anywhere.
I moved the tray back to the dresser and climbed into bed, pulling the sheets up to my chin like they could protect me from my own thoughts.
I turned off the lamp. The room fell into darkness, broken only by a faint line of gray around the edges of the curtains.
I closed my eyes.
I opened them again, staring into the dark.
Sleep didn’t come.
My body hummed, thrumming with leftover fear and something else that curled low in my belly, hot and persistent. Every time I blinked, I saw flashes.
Enzo’s bare chest.
The flex of a tattooed hand on a woman’s thigh.
The lazy smirk on his lips.
The way the woman’s voice had cracked when she moaned.
“Stop,” I whispered to the ceiling.
My skin felt too tight, too sensitive. The sheets rasped against my legs in a way that made me bite my lip.
I rolled onto my side, then my back, then my stomach. Nothing helped. The more I tried not to think about it, the worse it got. My body and my brain were arguing, and my body was clearly winning.
I threw an arm over my face.
“You’re sick,” I told myself quietly. “Your mom just died. You can’t… you can’t feel like this. Not now. Not about them.”
The ache didn’t care.
It was deep, pulsing, building slowly like a storm.
My hand slid down from my stomach to my hip, fingers tracing light, meaningless patterns over the T shirt. Just something to focus on. Just something to do.
It didn’t stay meaningless for long.
Almost without thinking, my fingers drifted lower, under the soft fabric, brushing bare skin underneath my panties. My breath hitched.
I knew I shouldn’t. I knew it was wrong. That it would only make things more complicated in my head.
But lying there in the dark, heart pounding, cheeks hot, the sound of the waves outside and the memory of those four bodies tangled on the couch playing behind my eyes…
I didn’t stop.
“Fuck! I’m doomed”
“Poor Innocent girl, she doesn’t know that her father sold her to the den of vipers , the wolves and he will pay dearly for this mistake “
“He must have been desperate to get her bodyguards to trust the Mafia , sometimes politicians are the dumbest ever…“
These few words she overheard from the window of her soon which was still open made her sit upright with a new fear.