Page 39 of Claimed By Daddy

The city feels different after weeks of watching it from behind glass or overlooking it from the terrace. It’s quieter than I remember and smells different. Or maybe I’ve just forgotten what outside air smells like—food carts, garbage, and exhaust fumes.It’s weird that I missed it.

Hawk and Jagger flank us like silent shadows as we walk down the street from the parking garage, never more than a few steps behind. Their presence isn’t subtle—nor is the fact they’re both heavily armed. That’s the point. Anyone watching will think twice before trying anything.

Still, I tense every time someone gets too close or their eyes linger on me a little too long. In the back of my mind, I can’tshake the thought that the Armenians are nothing more than an arm’s length away, just waiting for their chance to take me like they’ve threatened. A threat we’re all waiting for them to try to follow through.

As though he can sense my discomfort, Enzo reaches for my hand and laces his fingers with mine. He holds it tightly as we walk, his other shoved into the pocket of his jacket—likely wrapped around the grip of a gun hiding within it. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he murmurs without looking at me.

I nod, with a hard swallow. “I know.” I believe him fully when he says he’ll do anything to protect me. My hesitation stems from the intrusive thought I can’t seem to shake.What if he can’t?

Enzo stops outside a glass-fronted electronics store, the door already open. The clerk inside gives a small nod when he sees Enzo, clearly expecting us. Jagger heads inside while we wait with Hawk on the sidewalk, returning a moment later and informing Enzo it’s clear.

“A phone?” I raise an eyebrow. “That’s not what you brought me out for.”

“It is now,” he insists, tightening his hold on my hand, tugging me inside. “Come on, princess.”

“Enzo,” I mutter, dragging my heels. “I don’t need a phone. I don’t even leave the apartment. Who would I text?”

“Me,” he responds simply. “It’s for when I’m not with you.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re always with me.”

“Not always,” he disagrees. His business with my brother and Nik pulls him away sometimes without warning. And while I try to pretend it doesn’t bother me, I fight against the urge to unravel every minute he’s gone.

He abruptly pulls me close—close enough to whisper into my ear. “And you’ll pay for that one later. YouknowDaddy doesn’t like it when you roll your eyes.”

“Sorry, Daddy,” I mumble my apology into his shoulder.

“Now, be a good girl and let me spoil you today. You deserve it.”

He picks out a sleek phone and has the store clerk set it up in under ten minutes, ensuring his number is placed into the favorites so I can reach him within seconds.

“Now you can harass me all day, even from the next room,” he teases as we walk out.

I slide the phone into my coat pocket, my cheeks warm. I’m not used to being doted on the way Enzo pampers me. “Thank you, Daddy.”

He lifts our joined hands to his lips and kisses the back of mine. “This next part’s more fun.” His words vibrate softly against my skin. I follow his gaze to the painted storefront to my right with delicate lettering on the small sign above the door.Lucullan Boutique.The small display windows house mannequins in flowy dresses and barely-there silk lingerie.

“This is dangerous,” I exhale with a smile, beyond eager to buy myself something new.

Enzo quips, “That’s the idea, princess.”

Inside, the shop smells like roses and fresh linen. A stylish older woman in an impeccably fitting, classic little black dress and perfectly styled hair greets us with a knowing smile. She offers me a mimosa and assures us both she and the store are solely ours for the hour—no other appointments, no interruptions. On such short notice, I can only assume it’s a privilege Enzo has paid handsomely for.

Hawk and Jagger station themselves at the front and rear doors like sentries, arms crossed, silent as ever, as I trail my fingers along a rack of soft summer dresses. “Pick whatever you want,” Enzo insists from behind me, his voice low and warm.

I glance over my shoulder with a smirk. “You sure you trust me with that?”

“I trust you with my life.” He matches my playful tone, a coy smile spreading across his face. “And my wallet… Begrudgingly.”

A smile plastered across my face, I start selecting things I like from the racks. A blush-toned wrap dress. A forest-green sundress. A sleek black cocktail number with an open back—even though I have nowhere to wear it.Maybe someday when things are back to normal…

Every time I hand something to the attendant, he follows behind with a little smirk, slipping something else into her hands. “I’m picking your lingerie,” he states simply, when I notice the pattern.

I arch a brow. “Is that so?”

It becomes a game—one I’m increasingly losing. Every soft floral dress or outfit I choose is met with a more risqué counterpart: sheer panels, silk ribbons, lace that barely qualifies as coverage. I snag the lingerie from his hands before he can hand it to the saleswoman. Holding up the deep plum set, I snark, “This is see-through and hardly enough fabric to bother putting it on.”

“Exactly,” he says, not even pretending to be innocent.

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