Chapter 6 - BEHIND THE FORTIFIED PENTHOUSE DOORS
Instead of dropping me off at my modest Queens apartment, Enzo ordered the driver to take us straight to his private Midtown penthouse—a towering fortress of bulletproof glass, discreet security checkpoints, and minimalist luxury. "You are not safe in that building alone while the Santoro family is probing our logistics," Enzo stated flatly as we stepped out of the private elevator into his sprawling, dimly lit living room. He poured two glasses of scotch, handing one to me while watching me carefully to ensure I drank.
The penthouse felt vast, intimidating, and deeply intimate all at once. I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the glittering expanse of the New York skyline, feeling like a bird trapped in a gilded cage. Enzo materialized behind me silently, his body heat wrapping around me like a physical barrier. "Why do you keep fighting me, Elena?" he asked quietly, his breath warm against the sensitive skin of my neck—the exact spot Marco had touched with sunscreen weeks ago in Monaco. "Because if I let go of my independence, I have nothing left," I whispered, closing my eyes as the memory of his cologne overwhelmed my senses. "You would have everything," he corrected fiercely, turning me around to face him. "You would have an empire standing behind you, shielding you from every harsh wind this city blows." The raw vulnerability in his voice terrified me more than any threat from a rival mafia boss ever could.
