Claimed by the Mafia Don Chapter 5: Safe With Me

ZOE DEAN’S POV

I followed Nero down the quiet hallway, my footsteps echoing softly against the polished floor. He stopped at a door and swiped the key card the receptionist had handed him. A soft click, then the door swung open.

He stepped aside. "Go on," he said, motioning for to enter first.

I hesitated for a second, then stepped inside.

My breath caught in my throat.

The suite wasn’t just a hotel room; it was another world entirely. Warm lighting spilled over marble floors so polished they reflected everything above them. Heavy velvet curtains frad wide windows. The furniture looked like it belonged in so glossy magazine: dark wood, rich fabrics, soft leather. It was quiet, luxurious, intimidating.

I couldn’t stop myself from spinning once, my fingers brushing the back of a sofa as though to check it was real. I’d never been anywhere like this. It was too much, too rich, too clean, too perfect.

I glanced over my shoulder. Nero had already crossed to the sitting area and set down the branded bags on the couch. When I turned fully, his greenish-blue eyes were on . Steady. Assessing. A faint glint hid there, like he was watching more than my reaction, like he was reading .

Heat crept up my neck. Why was he looking at like that?

"What?" I asked, trying to sound casual. "Is there sothing on my face?"

He shook his head slowly. "No. You’re good."

Then he disappeared through another door, and I followed on instinct, still taking in the space. We stepped into the bedroom—bigger than the apartnt I’d grown up in. A king-sized bed sat at the center, crisp white sheets, pillows stacked like clouds. There was a separate lounge area, a walk-in closet, and beyond that, the bathroom.

Nero slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

The click of the door left in silence.

I sat on the edge of the bed, hands in my lap, and exhaled. Everything was happening so fast. My heart hadn’t caught up to my body. How was I here? With him? In a place like this?

The water ran for a few minutes. I pressed my palms into the mattress; it was softer than anything I’d ever touched.

When he erged, his presence filled the room again. His gaze swept over sitting on the bed, and a faint smirk tugged at his lips.

"You look comfortable," he teased.

I smiled despite myself. I was comfortable. Sohow, despite everything, I wasn’t scared anymore.

"You stay here alone?" I asked, voice small but curious.

He nodded once. "I used to stay here alone. But now..." His greenish-blue eyes t mine. "...now you stay with ."

I blinked, caught off guard by how simply he said it. Like it was already decided.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning back slightly. "You’re not going to ask questions?" His tone was calm, almost inviting.

I surprised myself with my answer. "You don’t seem like the type who answers much."

His smirk deepened, a glint of approval flickering in his eyes. "You notice," he said quietly. "I like that. I like that you’re real. You don’t pretend."

I let out a slow breath. "I’m still trying to understand everything. I’m still trying to understand how I ended up here... with you."

He gave a single nod. "Take your ti." Leaning forward now, his voice softened. "I won’t rush you."

My throat tightened. The way he spoke, the way he looked at —this wasn’t what I’d expected from soone like him.

"I like your energy," he said. "Your vibe. You’re different. I don’t believe in coincidences or chance etings."

I just stared at him, unsure what to say.

"But know this..." His voice dropped, deliberate. "You’re safe here. Safe with ."

Those words landed heavy. Safe. In a place like this? With a man like him? My heart skipped a beat anyway. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I felt calm. Grounded. Even though logic said I shouldn’t.

Then his phone rang, slicing through the mont. He glanced at the screen, and his expression darkened slightly. But instead of answering, he pressed the screen to silence it and looked back at .

I steadied my breathing. I had to know sothing. The question had been burning in since the restaurant.

"Are you... Italian?" I asked, my voice soft but clear.

He raised a brow at , his face unreadable, like he wasn’t used to people asking him personal questions. The silence stretched.

Finally, he said, "Yeah. Half." A pause. "Mother Arican. Dad Italian. Why?"

I swallowed, embarrassed but curious. "Because of how you talk," I murmured. "You look foreign. Different."

A low chuckle escaped him. "Stefano Russo." He said it like it ant sothing—like it carried weight.

I blinked. "What?"

"That’s my real na. Nero is what they call on the street."

My breath caught.

Stefano Russo.

It sounded rich. Dangerous. Foreign. Like soone you shouldn’t cross. And yet here I was, alone with him in this room.

"So... you run an Italian mafia?" I whispered.

He smirked, leaning closer, the movent smooth but deliberate. "Now you’re asking too many questions, sweetheart." He winked. "But I’ll answer. Just not now. I don’t want you running before I get back."

A chill slipped down my spine. Half fear, half fascination. I was starting to understand just how dangerous this man was, and how dangerous it was to be near him. But running? That wasn’t an option. Not with him.

He stood, phone in hand. "Freshen up. I have sothing to deal with."

I nodded quietly, and he walked out, his cold presence fading as the door clicked shut behind him.

Only then did I let out the breath I’d been holding.

After lying on the bed for a while, staring blankly at the ceiling, I finally forced myself up. My body felt heavy, sore in a way I couldn’t na. I wandered into the bathroom, locked the door behind , and let the hot water run until the steam filled the small space. I stayed there longer than I needed—changing my pad, washing off the sll of fear, switching into fresh clothes.

By the ti I stepped out, my head felt clearer, though my chest still carried a strange tightness.

That’s when I noticed one of the branded shopping bags on the table vibrating faintly. My brows furrowed. I thought I left my phone at the bar. Heart skipping, I rummaged through the bag until my fingers closed around the familiar shape.

The screen lit up: Fredda.

Relief hit so fast I almost laughed. Without thinking twice, I swiped to answer.

"Zoe! Oh my God!" Her voice cracked with so much relief I could almost see her clutching her chest. "I was so scared. Why weren’t you picking up? Where the hell did you even drop your phone?"

I sank back on the edge of the bed, rubbing my temple. "I... I thought I left it at the bar," I admitted softly.

"My goodness, are you okay? Where are you? Are you hurt? Did sothing happen?" Her words tumbled out in a rush, one over the other.

A small, tired laugh escaped . "Fredda, slow down. One question at a ti."

"How do you expect to slow down when that motherfucker took you?" she snapped, her voice shaking. "I swear I thought you were dead already."

Her panic pinched sothing in my chest. I swallowed, trying to sound calr than I felt. "I’m fine. Honestly. He didn’t hurt ."

There was a pause, like she was trying to decide if she believed . Then, quieter: "So... where are you?"

"At a hotel."

"A hotel?" Her voice shot up an octave. "Zoe, did that bastard rape you? Did he... did he do sothing?"

The raw fear in her tone tugged at , but I forced a small chuckle, hoping it would ease her. "No. He didn’t. I’m okay, Fredda. Really."

Silence. Then a shaky exhale. "God, don’t ever scare like this again. I almost had a heart attack."

I leaned back, resting against the headboard. "I’m fine, really. I don’t think he wants to hurt ." The words felt strange on my tongue, but sohow true. "You don’t need to worry."

"Are you sure?" she pressed. "He’s not... forcing you to say this, right? He’s not standing there with a gun to your head?"

I shook my head even though she couldn’t see . "No. He’s not even here right now. He left to... do sothing."

"Then when is he letting you go?"

My chest tightened at the question I’d been avoiding. I let out a slow sigh. "I don’t know. Honestly? I don’t think that’s part of his plan right now."

There was a beat of silence on the line, then her voice wavered. "Zoe... do I need to call the cops?"

That made laugh softly, though there was no humor in it. "I don’t think the cops can do much against him. But it’s okay. Trust , I’m safe." I hesitated, then added, "If you want proof... I can even video call you right now. You’ll see I’m comfortable."

Another pause. Then she let out a resigned sigh. "Fine. If you say you’re good..."

I smiled faintly. "Yeah," I whispered more to myself than her. "I’m good."