Page 5 of His Mafia Captor

Enzo paces in front of me, his steps measured and precise. He's like a caged tiger, all coiled muscle and restless energy. I can practically feel the tension radiating off him, the air crackling with it.

"Do you have any idea what you've stumbled into?" he asks, his voice low and intense. "Any concept of the shitstorm you've brought down on your own head?"

I shake my head mutely, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. He lets out a harsh laugh, the sound devoid of humor.

"Of course you don't. You're just a civilian, a normal person living your normal little life. You have no idea what goes on in the shadows, the things that people like me do to keep the world turning."

He stops pacing, turning to face me. His eyes bore into mine, dark and fathomless. "But now you know. You've seen behind the curtain, glimpsed the ugly truth. And that makes you a problem."

My heart stutters in my chest, a sick sense of dread coiling in my gut. "I told you," I whisper, my voice cracking. "I won't say anything. I'll forget I ever saw you, I swear it."

He shakes his head, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "It's not that simple. In my world, there are no loose ends. No witnesses left alive. Once you've seen what you've seen, there's no going back."

I feel like I'm going to be sick, my stomach churning with fear and revulsion. "So what?" I choke out, my voice wavering. "You're just going to kill me, is that it? Put a bullet in my brain and dump my body in the river?"

He flinches, a muscle ticking in his jaw. For a moment, he looks almost...pained. Like the thought of hurting me is physically painful to him. But then his face hardens, the cold mask slipping back into place.

"I don't know," he says flatly. "I should. It's what I'm supposed to do, what any sane man in my position would do. But for some reason, I can't bring myself to do it."

I stare at him, hope and dread warring in my chest. "Why not?" I whisper, hardly daring to breathe. "Why am I different?"

He looks away, his jaw clenched so hard I can hear his teeth grinding. "I don't know," he grits out, frustration and confusion coloring his tone. "There's something about you, something I can't put my finger on. It's like...like you're not afraid of me, even though you should be. Like you see something in me that no one else does."

I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my ears. "I do," I say softly, the words spilling out before I can stop them. "I see a man who's haunted by the things he's done, the choices he's had to make. A man who's never known kindness or compassion, who's had to fight and claw for every scrap of power and respect."

His head snaps up, his eyes blazing with something I can't name. "You don't know anything about me," he snarls, taking a step towards me. "You don't know the first thing about my life, about the things I've seen and done."

I stand up slowly, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Then tell me," I say, my voice steady despite the fear churning in my gut. "Help me understand who you are, Enzo. Because right now, all I see is a man who's torn between his duty and his conscience. A man who's capable of great violence, but also great compassion."

He stares at me, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. For a long moment, we just stand there, the air crackling with tension. Then, without warning, he lunges forward, slamming me back against the wall. His hands fist in my shirt, his body pressing against mine in a line of searing heat.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he growls, his face inches from mine. "You have no idea what I'm capable of, the things I've done. If you did, you'd be running as far and as fast as you could in the opposite direction."

I suck in a shaky breath, my heart slamming against my ribs, sensing that I've hit a nerve, that I've gotten to him somehow. "I'm not running," I whisper, my voice thin and thready. "I'm right here, Enzo. I'm not going anywhere."

His eyes search mine, dark and intense. I can feel the heat of his body, the coiled strength in his muscles. He's so close, so warm and solid and real. I can smell the spicy scent of his cologne, the underlying tang of sweat and gunpowder.

"Why?" he rasps, his breath hot against my lips. "Why aren't you afraid of me? Why do you keep pushing, keep trying to see something in me that isn't there?"

I swallow hard, my mouth dry as bone. "Because I believe in second chances," I whisper, my voice cracking. "Because I think everyone has the capacity for change, for redemption. Even you, Enzo. Especially you."

He makes a sound low in his throat, halfway between a growl and a groan. His hands tighten on my shirt, his body pressing closer. I can feel the heat of him, the hard lines of his muscles, the thrum of his heartbeat against my chest.

"You're playing with fire, little mouse," he murmurs, his lips brushing my neck. "Keep pushing me, and you might just get burned."

I shudder, a bolt of heat lancing through me. "Maybe I want to be burned," I breathe, the words spilling out before I can stop them. "Maybe I'm tired of playing it safe, of living in ignorance. Maybe I want to see what happens when I step out of line."

His eyes blaze, his grip on me tightening to the point of pain. For a moment, I think he's going to hit me, or kiss me, or both. The air between us crackles with tension, with the promise of violence and desire.

But then, just as suddenly as it began, the moment is over. He releases me abruptly, stepping back like he's been scalded. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Get some rest," he says, his voice flat and emotionless. "We'll talk more in the morning."

With that, he turns on his heel and stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind him. I stand there, my heart pounding and my legs shaking, trying to process what just happened.

I don't know what I'm doing, pushing him like this. It's reckless, foolish, bordering on suicidal. He's a dangerous man, a killer, someone who could end my life with a flick of his wrist.

But there's something about him, something that calls to me on a primal level. A darkness, a pain, a longing for something more. I see it in his eyes, in the way he looks at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention.

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