Page 58 of Claimed By Daddy

The city is quieter than usual this morning, or maybe it just feels that way.

Sunlight peeks through the clouds, painting the terrace with golden streaks. There is a light breeze, the kind that lingers before the day heats up. I tug gently at the hem of Enzo’s shirt—the one he was wearing last night. It’s far too big on me, and I have the sleeves rolled up several times, only for them to still keep falling over my hands. The collar hangs loose, slipping off my shoulder every time I try to move a sleeve.

I stretch my legs over the chaise, curling my bare toes around the edge as I take a slow sip of my coffee. The book in my lap is open, but I’ve been rereading the same page for twenty minutes. My eyes—and thoughts—keep drifting, and I’m not really absorbing the words. For the first time in what feels like forever, things are... normal. Or, well, our version of it. Yet, I’ve been struggling for days to focus on the future without worrying about what threat is going to come storming through our front door next.

The boys let me out of the apartment the past few days, which is their way of saying I’m no longer on total lockdown—or in immediate danger. Of course, one of them is always with me.

Grocery store? Cillian.

A walk to the coffee shop on the corner? Gunnar, sunglasses on, hand casually resting near the inside of his jacket like we’re just two people on a very edgy date.

It’s freedom… sort of.It’s already more freedom than I had under my father’s reign.

Enzo has been exceptionally busy lately, leaving the apartment far more often than usual. Normally, he tells me where he’s going and why, but he’s been keeping most of his recent outings secret. I know he’s hiding something—I just don’t know what.

He steps onto the terrace just as I’m about to reread the same page for the umpteenth time. His hair is still damp from the shower, casually slicked back from running his fingersthrough it. He’s wearing gray sweats and a fitted black T-shirt—an outfit that shouldn’t be legal this early in the day.

“Morning,” he croons, his voice warm and a little too smooth for someone who hasn’t had coffee yet.

I smile over my mug. “Morning.”

He drops onto the chaise next to me, his hand falling onto my thigh and tenderly squeezing it. “I have something I want to show you, princess.”

I lower my book slowly, trying to hide the smile that already pulls at my lips. “Pretty sure you already showed me something last night. Twice.”

He chuckles, his eyes darkening a little. “I mean something else.”

“More than twice?” I tease.

He leans in, his lips brushing against my jaw and placing a soft kiss there. He stands and offers me his hand. “Come on.”

“Right now?” I ask, glancing down at my lack of appropriate clothes. “Enz, I’m not dressed to go anywhere.”

“What you have on is absolutely perfect for where I’m taking you.”

His statement doesn’t help my confusion, but I set the coffee cup on the end table and slide my hand into his. His fingers curl around mine: warm, familiar, and strong in that protective way that always makes my pulse skip.

He leads me through the apartment and to the elevator. In the cab, he doesn’t press the button for the lobby, but for the floor just below ours.

My brows furrow, and I glance at him. “What’s on the thirty-eighth floor?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, that maddening smirk of his tugs at the corner of his lips—the one that infuriates me and makes me melt all at once. He steps out first, spinning to face me. Walking backward, he pulls a small set of keys from his pocket.

“Enz?” I ask as he slips one key into a door just around the corner from the elevator. It unlocks easily. He pushes the door all the way open, then steps aside so I can see into the apartment. “What is this?”

He tilts his head, the smirk spreading into a full smile. “Yours.”

I step into the apartment, my eyes darting left and right, trying to take it all in. It’s empty, but stunning—floor-to-ceiling windows, light hardwood floors, a modern kitchen with clean lines and soft lighting. There are still tags on some of the appliances, and it smells faintly of fresh paint and sawdust.

“My what?”

He steps in behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist. “I have contractors coming to build a staircase connecting this place to the penthouse this week. It’ll keep you close toCillian and Nikolai—with them able to get to you if needed—but it’ll be your space.”

“You bought me an apartment?” I ask, stunned.

“No.” He kisses the lone word against the crook of my neck, and it vibrates against my skin. “I boughtusan apartment.”

This isn’t just a gift. Enzo is carving out something just for us—something normal, or as close to it as we’re going to get. He’s giving us a space that’s still protected, still near the men that will keep me safe, but... ours.

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