All Chapters of Captive To The Mafia Lord: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

LORENZO'S POVKozlov was already inside when we arrived. He was standing near the back with two of his men, arms folded and face neutral.I had been doing this for twelve years; collecting debts and settling accounts.This should have been routine.But something felt wrong and as much as I tried to shake it off, it became worse."Stay close," I whispered to Ethan."Always do," he said.Kozlov nodded when he saw me. "Lorenzo. On time as always.""Punctuality is respect," I said. "You have what we discussed?""Most of it."I stopped walking. "Most is not all.""I'm aware. The remaining balance will be delivered by the end of the week.""That was not our agreement." I frowned. “ I did not put aside important stuff just for you to tell me this bullshit.”"Agreements change," Kozlov said. His voice was too casual and way too comfortable for my liking. "Circumstances change. Surely you understand that."I looked at him, then at his men and the way they stood like they were waiting for an or

LORENZO'S POVLater in the day, I returned to the office after changing into neat clothes and taking a much needed bath.The meeting room at Castillo Security smelled like coffee and stress. I sat at the head of the table while I pretended to listen to my operations manager give updates on active contracts.But I was thinking about Jovan and the way he had looked at me when I came in. He was getting suspicious and that was not good.The question he'd asked: "I don't even know your last name." I'd never told him because I never wanted him to look me up."Boss?" Marcus—my security chief, not my informant—was looking at me. "Did you hear the question?""No.""The Mendez contract. They're asking for extended protection. Three more months.""Fine. Whatever they're paying, add twenty percent.""They won't agree to—""Then they don't get extended protection."Silence around the table. Everyone knew not to push when I was in this mood.My phone buzzed. It was a text from the hospital.“Ethan

JOVAN'S POVThe massage parlor smelled like eucalyptus and lavender, the scent so thick it was almost visible in the air.We were shown to a couples' suite by a woman with a voice like honey. Two massage tables side by side, separated by gauzy curtains that didn't provide any real privacy. Candles flickering. Music playing so softly I had to strain to hear it—something with wind chimes and water.The masseuse explained the process in that same honey voice, asking about pressure preferences, areas of tension, Injuries and allergies.Then left us to undress and get comfortable under the sheets that felt like silk against my skin.I stripped down to my boxers then hesitated and looked at Lorenzo across the small space.He was already shirtless, and I made myself look away from the expanse of tan skin, the muscles moving under his shoulders as he folded his clothes with meticulous care.I lay face-down on the heated table. The face cradle smelled faintly of sanitizer and essential oils. H

Lorenzo's POV"You make it sound simple.""It is simple. You're just making it complicated because you're afraid." She shrugged. “You have to man up in situations like this unless you're afraid.”"I'm not afraid."She looked at me with those knowing eyes. "Everyone's afraid of being rejected by the person they love. Even men who kidnap people."Fair point.Jovan walked in, looking like he'd slept about as well as I had. Which is to say, not at all.Elena handed him coffee. "Good morning, Jovan. Eggs will be ready in a moment.""Thanks," he said quietly and he wouldn't look at me and I did not find that strange at all. At this point, I think I deserve all the ill treatments.Elena glanced between us, raised an eyebrow at me then disappeared into the hallway with impressive timing.Jovan and I stood in the kitchen silent. The tension was thick enough to choke on until I got tired. "About last night," I started."Don't.""I shouldn't have yelled. I shouldn't have blamed you for—""You we

ELENA'S POVThe thing about a kitchen was that it told you everything about a house.Not the food — the food was obvious, the food was what everyone looked at. I meant the rhythms. Who came down early and who came down late. Who ate standing up and who needed to sit. Who used the kitchen as a place to think and who used it as a place to hide. Three days in Lorenzo’s house and I knew all of it — knew that Marco always appeared at seven forty-five hoping for leftover bread, knew that Lorenzo took his espresso like a punishment, short and black and no ceremony, knew that Ethan came down when the rest of the house was quiet because he preferred to be alone with whatever he was carrying.Which was how I knew, that Tuesday morning, that the footsteps on the back stairs were his.I kept chopping. “Morning,” I said, without looking up. “Sit down. I’ll make you something.”He hesitated in the doorway the way he always did — that beat where he decided whether the room was safe — and then the s