Chapter Seven
Nina's POV
"I'm bored," I announced, leaning against the kitchen counter while Dante and Nikolai discussed something in rapid Italian at the table.
Enzo looked up from his coffee, one eyebrow raised. "Bored?"
"Yes. Bored." I crossed my arms. "What am I supposed to do all day? Stare at the walls? Count the cameras?"
Dante's eyes flicked to me, unreadable. "You want entertainment?"
"I want something to do that doesn't involve being watched like a prisoner."
"You are a prisoner," Nikolai said flatly, not even looking up from his phone.
My jaw clenched. "Then at least give me books. A TV. Something."
Enzo set his mug down and stood, stretching. His shirt rode up slightly, revealing a strip of tanned abs. "Come on, kitten. I'll show you the gym."
I blinked. "The gym?"
"You said you're bored. Work it off." He jerked his head toward a hallway I hadn't explored yet. "Unless you'd rather sit here and sulk."
Dante waved a hand dismissively. "Keep her occupied, Enzo. And keep her out of trouble."
"Always do," Enzo said with that infuriating smirk.
The gym was massive.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the ocean. Equipment lined the walls ,weights, machines, punching bags, mats. And tucked in the corner was a small office space with a desk, filing cabinets, and a computer.
My pulse quickened.
Enzo crossed to a weight bench and started adjusting the settings, his movements casual, confident. "You work out?"
"Not really," I admitted, eyes darting to the office.
"Figured." He grabbed a pair of dumbbells and began a set of curls, biceps flexing with each rep. Sweat already gleamed on his forearms from whatever he'd been doing earlier.
I stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do with myself.
"You gonna just stand there and watch?" he asked, glancing at me mid-rep.
Heat crept up my neck. "I don't know what to do."
"Treadmill's over there. Or the bike. Pick your poison."
I wandered toward the treadmill, but my attention kept sliding back to the office. The desk had papers scattered across it. The filing cabinets were closed but not locked, from what I could see.
Focus, Nina.
I climbed onto the treadmill and started it at a slow walk, trying to look natural while my mind raced.
Enzo moved to the bench press, loading weights onto the bar with ease. He lay back and began pressing, his chest and shoulders straining with each lift. His shirt clung to him, damp with sweat.
I forced myself to look away.
Minutes ticked by. My "walk" on the treadmill was pathetic, barely more than a stroll, but Enzo didn't comment. He was in his own zone, focused on his workout.
Then his phone buzzed.
He sat up, grabbing it from the floor beside him. His expression shifted as he read the screen serious, focused.
"Stay here," he said, standing. "I need to take this."
He walked toward the far side of the gym, near the windows, phone pressed to his ear. His voice dropped to a low murmur, too quiet for me to hear.
This is it.
I slowed the treadmill to a stop and hopped off, glancing over my shoulder. Enzo's back was to me, one hand running through his hair as he talked.
I moved quickly, crossing to the office.
The desk was cluttered receipts, invoices, printed emails. I rifled through them, heart pounding, fingers clumsy.
Then I saw it.
A folder, half-open. Black ink on crisp white paper.
Salvatore Crime Family – Asset Transfer Agreement.
My breath caught.
I pulled it closer, scanning the document.
Nina Accardi. Age: 21. Status: Collateral.
Duration: Indefinite. Protection detail assigned to: Dante Moretti, Nikolai Volkov, Enzo Castillo.
My stomach dropped.
Collateral.
Not a guest. Not under protection.
Collateral.
I flipped to the next page, hands shaking.
In exchange for debts owed by Senator Marcus Accardi, totaling $4.7 million, the undersigned agrees to transfer custody of Nina Accardi to the Salvatore Family for the purposes of—
The text blurred. My vision swam.
Four point seven million dollars.
My father had sold me for four point seven million dollars.
"Find anything interesting?"
I gasped, spinning around.
Enzo stood in the doorway of the office, phone gone, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp, locked on me.
"I…" My voice cracked. "I was just …"
"Just what?" He stepped inside, closing the distance between us. "Snooping? Lying? Both?"
I stumbled back, but the desk blocked me. "I didn't…"
"What did you take, Nina?"
"Nothing!" I held up my empty hands. "I swear, I didn't take anything."
His gaze dropped, sweeping over me slowly. My T-shirt. My leggings. The way my chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.
"Then you won't mind if I check."
Before I could respond, he moved.
His hands landed on my waist, firm and warm, sliding up my sides. I gasped, pressing back against the desk.
"Enzo…"
"Stay still," he murmured, his voice low.
His palms skimmed over my ribs, my stomach, checking for hidden paper or a phone. His touch was methodical, professional but the heat of it burned through the thin fabric.
My breath hitched as his hands moved higher, brushing just beneath my breasts.
"Nothing here," he said softly, almost to himself.
Then his hands slid down, over my hips, my thighs. He crouched slightly, fingers trailing down the outside of my legs, then back up the inside.
I bit my lip, heat pooling low in my belly despite the fear, despite everything.
His hands paused at my waistband. He looked up at me, blue eyes dark and dangerous.
"You sure you didn't take anything, kitten?"
I couldn't speak. Could barely breathe.
His fingers hooked into the waistband of my leggings, just barely, and…
BEEEEEEP. BEEEEEEP. BEEEEEEP.
A loud, piercing alarm shattered the moment.
Enzo's entire body went rigid. His hands left me instantly, and he spun toward the door.
"Fuck," he hissed.
He grabbed my wrist and yanked me forward. "Move. Now."
"What's happening?" I stumbled after him as he dragged me out of the gym.
"Perimeter breach," he snapped. "Someone's here."
My blood turned to ice.
He pulled me down a hallway I hadn't seen before, past closed doors, toward what looked like a closet. He shoved it open, revealing a narrow staircase leading down.
"Go," he ordered, pushing me forward.
I descended quickly, legs shaking. The stairs were steep, lit only by dim emergency lights. At the bottom was a heavy steel door.
Enzo punched a code into the panel beside it. The door hissed open.
"Inside," he said, shoving me through.
The room beyond was small, windowless. Concrete walls. A single bulb overhead. A bench along one side.
A panic room.
Enzo stepped in behind me, pulling two guns from the waistband of his joggers. I hadn't even realized he was armed.
"Stay here," he said, checking the magazines. "Don't move. Don't make a sound. Understand?"
I nodded, my throat dry.
He started toward the door.
"Wait…" I grabbed his arm. "What if, what if they get in? What if…"
He turned, cupping my face with one hand. His thumb brushed my cheekbone, surprisingly gentle.
"They won't," he said firmly. "I promise."
Then he was gone, the steel door slamming shut behind him.
The lock engaged with a heavy clunk.
I stood frozen, heart hammering, the alarm still wailing somewhere above.
Someone's here.
Someone's trying to get to me.
For the first time since arriving at this house, real, gut-deep fear crashed over me.
This wasn't a game. It wasn't some twisted kidnapping fantasy.
People wanted me dead.
And the only things standing between me and them were three men I didn't trust.
I exhaled shakily, turning slowly to take in the small space.
That's when I saw it.
Another door.
Tucked into the far wall, painted the same gray as the concrete but with a heavy steel handle.
My pulse spiked.
I crossed the room and gripped the handle. It turned.
The door swung open.
And I stopped breathing.
The room beyond was bathed in dim red light.
Red. Everywhere.
The walls were padded dark leather, stitched and buttoned. In the center was a large, low platform covered in black cushions and silk sheets.
But it wasn't the bed that made my stomach twist.
It was everything else.
Chains hung from the ceiling, gleaming silver in the red glow. Handcuffs leather, metal, padded and dangled from hooks on the wall. Whips. Floggers. Crops.
A cross stood in the corner, wrist and ankle restraints open and waiting.
And on a long table against the wall: toys.
Vibrators. Dildos in different sizes. Plugs. Clamps. Gags. Things I didn't even have names for.
My breath came fast and shallow.
What the hell is this place?
The red light pulsed softly, casting shadows that made everything look alive. Dangerous. Tempting.
I took one step inside.
Then another.
The air smelled faintly of leather and something else
,rich and dark, like smoke or spice.
My fingers brushed over a silk blindfold hanging from a hook. Soft. Expensive.
This wasn't just a room.
This was a playground.
And judging by the pristine condition of everything, it was used. Often.
My mind flashed to the scene downstairs. The woman. The three men.
Daddy.
Oh God.
A sound echoed from somewhere above muffled, distant. Gunshots, maybe.
I flinched, heart lurching.
But I couldn't move.
Couldn't look away.
Because staring at this room at the chains and the silk and the tools of pleasure and pain I felt something I shouldn't.