Page 5 of Make Me Your Hitta

Daddy’s full lips thinned. “The Toussaints are moving against us. We can’t trust anyone right now. We can only trust family.”

“So you stick me with Adonis?” My laugh was bitter, bordering on hysterical. “He’s not even realfamily, more like the adopted orphan you opened your doors to when his mother was killed. Plus, the guy’s a stiff. He’s going to get in my way and cramp my style.”

“With Santo gone and me in and out of the state on business, he’s the only one I trust completely,” my father admitted. His gaze softened a fraction. “Please, Xenobia. Let him keep you safe.”

I wanted to scream, rage, and shatter every priceless antique in this mausoleum of an office. But the fight drained out of me, leaving only a bone-deep weariness.

“Fine,” I muttered, turning away so he wouldn’t see the tears stinging my eyes. “But don’t expect me to like it.”

As I stormed out, I felt the walls closing in, my cage tightening its grip. And worst of all, a traitorous part of me whispered that maybe Ididn’tmind having Adonis watch over me. As much as I hated to admit it, I’d loved him once upon atime. More than a young girl should’ve loved her brother’s best friend. But after I was attacked, he disappeared, leaving me to rot here all alone.

I slammed the office door behind me, my heart pounding like a caged rabbit. The hallway stretched before me, all polished marble and priceless art, practically a museum of our family’s power. And here I was, just another pretty, powerless exhibit.

“Fuck this,” I muttered, my voice echoing off the cold stone. I needed to get out, breathe, and remember who I was beyond the scars and the Hawthorne surname.

My feet carried me down familiar paths, past watchful guards who tried to hide their pity.Poor little Nobi, always running away. If only they knew the storms that raged inside me. I burst into my studio, slamming the door so hard the windows rattled. It was my sanctuary, my escape. But even within the privacy of these walls, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. I could smell Adonis’s scent and knew he’d been here. Probably still was.

“Dammit, Adonis,” I hissed, spinning around. But the doorway was empty. Of course it was. He was too good to be caught so easily.

As my father’s only daughter, growing up in a house with not one but two pre-teenager tormentors was never my idea of a good time. My childhood was nothing short of overprotective chaos. The mansion was always buzzing with conversation, stamping feet down the polished staircase, and sometimes even heated arguments echoing through my father’s study walls. Santo, my older brother, had always been overly protective and often acted as my second father, ensuring I was safe from the cruel truth of our family’s deadly mafia ties. Having Adonis around only added another layer of excessive protection.

Although all my material needs were provided for, and then some, anything emotional that might’ve led to my happiness orsomeone getting to know me was nonexistent. Simple things like my likes and dislikes were of little to no interest to my parents, and mostly, all of my academic achievements had gone unnoticed throughout my school-age days. My father’s business deals always came first. The only thing I got was the art studio after the accident. I didn’t know if it was more of a consolation prize for surviving or a pacifier over the grief of losing my mother and brother, but I still loved it.

Without a second thought, I grabbed a paintbrush, attacking a blank canvas with furious, aggressive strokes—red, black, violent slashes of color, each a scream I couldn’t voice. Art allowed me to express all my pent-up emotions and frustrations in a way that words could never do. It was my therapy, helping me process the trauma and heartbreak from my past and giving me the constant structure I needed to keep the dark thoughts from taking over.

“I’m not some fucking damsel,” I growled to the empty room. “I’m not weak.”

But the lies tasted bitter on my tongue. Because deep down, in the darkest corners of my soul, I knew the truth. I was afraid, terrified of the violence that lurked just beyond our walls. I hated myself for that weakness, and a tiny part of me was glad to have Adonis’s watchful gaze around to keep the monsters at bay.

I stepped back, wiping sweat from my brow, leaving a smear of crimson paint across my skin. The painting before me was chaos, a storm of emotions I couldn’t control, just like my life. Growing up in an environment where trust was rare, my art became the only thing I trusted. The simplicity of putting my brush against a blank canvas and being in the driver’s seat to create whatever my heart desired gave me a sense of freedom and control that was otherwise unavailable in my life. Through my art, I could momentarily transport myself away from theweight of my family’s blood-stained legacy and into my safe haven.

“Fuck,” I muttered, tossing the brush aside. It clattered to the floor, splattering paint like blood.

That’s when I felt it—the weight of his gaze. I didn’t need to turn to know Adonis was there, silent as a shadow in the doorway.

“Come to make sure I don’t run away?” I spat, refusing to face him.

His voice was low, steady. “You know why I’m here, Xenobia.”

My scoffing laugh extinguished in a crackle of heat. “Yeah, thanks for that reminder. Now I can’t get the fuck away from you.”

My fingers traced the scars on my arm, memories of pain and fear carved into my skin. Adonis’s brown eyes followed the movement, making my stomach twist. I wore specific clothing and makeup to keep people from staring at the permanent scars I carried. They were a constant reminder of the time when danger slithered into our seemingly safe haven and blew up my life. It took a long time for me to stop looking at my marks as a form of punishment every time I faced my reflection in the mirror.

“You can’t protect me from everything,” I whispered, more to myself than to him.

But in the silence that followed, I knew he’d heard. And for a moment, just a heartbeat, I let myself imagine what it would be like to feel genuinely safe in his arms again. To let him siphon away the pain and fear.

I spun around, masking my feelings with anger, letting it flare hot and bright. “Why are you back after all this time, Adonis? To babysit me? To report my every move to my father?To get rid of your guilt for turning your back on us after we took you in and never looking back?”

His expression remained blank, but I saw the tension in his jaw. “I’m back to protect you in your father’s absence. And no. I am not reporting to Don about your movements unless you go off the property.”

“It’s been one day, Adonis,” I said, stepping closer. “And it already feels like you’re suffocating me. Following me everywhere, watching my every move. Can I even take a shit without you being there to wipe my ass?”

Adonis’s eyes narrowed, but his voice remained infuriatingly calm. “The threat is real, Xenobia. The Toussaint family—”

“Fuck the Toussaints!” I shouted, my paint-stained hands balling into fists. “I could die at any time, so what’s the point in worrying about safety?”

“You sound like a child.”

---