2. Nikolai
NIKOLAI
M y foot is on absolute fire after she attempted to drill a hole into it with her fucking heel. Honestly, I didn't think the preppy blonde would have it in her. I certainly won’t make the same mistake ever again.
I sit across from her, excruciatingly impatient for her to wake up. I’d almost feel sorry for her, if I had a conscience. I’m not one to usually use such methods against women, but it was the most effective approach. And better me to take her than one of the other men.
It's not like it was her actions that got her into this situation. And I have suspicions that she doesn't even understand why she's here. Though, I imagine I'm going to see that pretty face of hers change the moment I explain who her friends really are and expose the lies they’ve told her .
My boss has grown impatient, and decided to move in a more radical direction. So, kidnapping it was.
I fitted the entire room for her arrival, in an attempt to make it more comfortable. Granted, she’s not waking up in the same country or with the same luxuries of her penthouse suite in London, but whatever.
After watching her closely for three months, I take pride in the fact that I know my target’s tastes well. The room is covered in silks, including the sheets she currently sleeps on, and the curtains covering the windowed alcove. I’m sure she’ll appreciate the view when those curtains are open.
The bathroom is marble with golden taps and a claw-footed bathtub.
I even went to the extremes to replicate her entire skincare regimen, down to some of the strange utensils she uses.
Everything is available to her, except of course, stilettos, which I’ve had my men confiscate from her wardrobe. I only need to learn a lesson once.
I sit in the ivy green chair in the corner, my men farther down the hall and in position for my next command. I just hope it doesn’t take long for her friends in New York to realize she’s gone missing, and for Luca Armani to be informed. After all, his wife is one of her best friends.
This poor little doll is nothing but a pawn to draw their attention, and the sooner Luca Armani has set his sights on us, the sooner she can return to her perfectly polished life as if nothing happened .
Sienna's eyelids flutter, and she moans in her sleep. “How could you do this to me?”
I very much doubt the person in question is me.
It’s most likely her B-list actor ex-fiancé, Michael Balfore, who publicly humiliated her in a cheating scandal.
If anything, she should be thanking me for taking her away on what might be considered a little holiday.
Depending how nicely and obediently she plays.
Her naturally curly blonde hair fans around her face, and suddenly, her bright blue eyes open. Although most people wake up groggily after the effects of the drug, she seems to snap right to attention, her gaze immediately finding me in the corner of the room.
“Where am I?” she demands in a clipped, cold tone, different from her usual warm nature that I’ve observed from a distance.
Though, this colder version of her surprisingly makes my cock twitch.
I've been watching her for some time now, and even when she's most depressed, I notice how she always fakes a smile.
I can't help but smirk in response, knowing she's showing me the real her right now. She’s not at all that perfect and put-together persona she shows to the world. At her core, she’s a woman willing to do anything to survive. A practical woman.
“You're somewhere safe, as long as you know how to keep your mouth shut and listen to orders.”
Her gaze narrows, and I can see the defiant clench of her jaw.
Is she no longer scared of me? Or even better, is she pretending not to be?
“I promised myself that I wouldn't take orders from a man ever again, so you're shit out of luck.” Her response surprises me, piquing the curiosity of my internal beast. “Why the fuck have you taken me? Are you after a ransom from my father?”
I can't help but chuckle. She’s definitely a spoiled little princess, but not a bad conclusion to come to.
“Oh, my dear, sweet Sienna Falcone, there is nothing your father can provide me with that I can’t provide for myself.
Unfortunately for you, it's not his attention I'm after, though I’m sure he’d pay handsomely for your return. ”
She unsteadily pushes herself up, despite the clear-headedness she feigns to have. Her gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Then whose attention are you after?”
Not yet shaking in her boots. How interesting. I thought this woman would crumble immediately, but perhaps the distance I was forced to watch her from caused me to read her wrong.
“Why, Luca Armani, of course.” Her eyebrows knit together, confirming my suspicions that she has no idea that one of her best friends is married to the head of the Italian mafia.
So, for good measure, I add, “And Dmitri Volkov.” Since I know the two work together, and Dmitri is also married to one of her best friends.
They’ve done well to hide this from her, considering how tight their inner circle is.
“What? Why? I’m not close to them. I mean nothing to Luca and Dmitri.” Her fingers curl into the blanket, and even through the obvious confusion, her chin is held high and her shoulders are pulled back, as if she’s commanding me to give her answers. That rubs me the wrong way.
“True, you don't mean anything to them, but you mean everything to their women, Arabella Armani and Elanee Volkov. They'll be quite upset when they hear about your disappearance, I’m sure,” I tack on, perhaps tormenting her a little more than I should, irked by the way she demands answers from me.
Tension coils in her body, and I’m surprised by her quick outburst. “This is kidnapping!” she yells, and jumps from the bed, swiping the bedside lamp and throwing it at me, pulling it from its socket.
I lean to the side, allowing it to smash against the wall beside me.
She’s a fighter after all, not just a glum little heartbroken doll.
“Careful, mishka , I quite enjoy my women feisty.”
She stiffens at that, and the energy in the room shifts. As intended. It would be her mistake to take me as anything but a threat.
“I'm not your anything,” she seethes.
“To put it simply, you’re my prisoner until a reasonable exchange is made with the Italian mafia. It’s up to you and your attitude as to whether you’re treated as a guest.” I emphasize my next words. “ Or otherwise .” She inhales a sharp breath.
My boss wants to test the Armanis’ resources and how quickly they retaliate.
I advised it was in his best interest to keep the blonde alive, avoiding torture.
He wants intel on them, and I know without a doubt, this woman knows nothing.
All he’ll learn is how long it takes for them to realize she’s missing and what kind of influence and manpower they can gain to get her back.
“If I were to offer you one suggestion, it would be to shut up, do as you're told, and kick back. Relax.”
“You're a fucking psychopath,” she bites back, and I dare say I’m slightly impressed she still has backbone.
Most can’t even speak when I intentionally intimidate them.
And it’s best for her to quiet into submission while in my care.
It’s what will offer her the highest probability of walking away unscathed.
“I don't know what you want with them, or anything about this bullshit you’re talking about them being part of the mafia, but it's pointless using me to get to them.
My father will call the police, and you'll rot in prison for the rest of your life.”
My mood darkens with tempting thoughts of all the ways I can show this precious little doll how I've avoided being behind bars for so long already.
I stand and adjust the cuffs of my black shirt.
“You can do as you like in your cage. Any items that can be used as a weapon or for inflicting self-harm have been removed.
If you require anything, knock on the door, and one of my men will cater to your needs.
I suggest you don't try to escape. I'm not particularly fond of having to use force against women, but make no mistake, mishka , it will be used if and when necessary.”
“How fucking dare you do this to me! I don't even know what Luca and Dmitri have to do with you, but this has nothing to do with me!”
I angle my head, really taking in the beautiful woman in front of me.
Her makeup is smudged, black smearing beneath her bright-blue eyes, making her look more warrior than model.
But it’s obvious from the way she holds herself, the way her nails are flawlessly manicured, in her glossy hair, and those legs that go on for days, even without heels, that she is a prim and proper beauty who has been polished to perfection.
Sienna Falcone is a woman who has no clue she's been dancing on the outskirts of the underworld for years, only to be confronted by it now.
Maybe I'm the asshole for taking such pleasure in ruining her perfect little life.
“You really have no idea who your friends are, do you?” I ask.
It's only slightly, but her eyebrows pinch together as she tries not to give too much away. But her poker face isn't as good as she thinks. Especially when it’s in contrast to the way her chest rises and falls in panic. She's only ever had to train her appearance for polite society, whereas someone like me has trained it for survival. Every slight tell of her body is a weakness, and she’s none the wiser to the prey she’s become.
“What do my friends have to do with this?” she demands, trying to take another step, but this time she wobbles, catching herself against the wall.
I curl my hands into fists, fighting the urge to reach out and help her.
No, I won’t be getting close to the target.
I'm here on a job. This woman is a means to an end, and if she plays nicely, she'll go back to her perfect little life as promised.
“Perhaps I should start with Arabella Armani, wife to Luca Armani, who is head of the Italian mafia in New York.”
The remainder of the color in her face drains. Her lips kick up in a half smile so forced, it makes her look deranged. “That's ridiculous.”
I casually shrug. “I have no need to try to convince you. Shall we discuss Dmitri Volkov, then? The outcast son of a very prominent, recently murdered Bratva figure called The Lion?” This is the reason why my boss’s attention is on them in the first place.
Not in revenge for the fallen Lion, but to succeed in where he failed—infiltrating New York and extending business there.
The only way to do that is by overthrowing the Italian mafia or striking up a deal with them.
“It might then come as a surprise to you that your friends Romi and Lily are dating members of the Italian mafia. The Moretti brothers both work for Luca Armani. Did you never question any strange happenings when it came to these people?”
My gaze narrows on the tears building in her eyes, even as her face twists to fight it. “You're full of shit! You might not want money from my father, but how dare you try to trick me into believing that my friends have lied to me. I demand you take me back home!”
A cruel smile graces my lips because I take satisfaction in enlightening people as to where they really are in life.
Pulling back the curtain to look past the facade of everyone pretending like they have their shit together in what’s considered superficial norms. Nobody lives genuinely, and it seems like Sienna might be the type I despise the most—living a life that was handcrafted for her.
She’s only ever known the splendor and riches of it, never having to earn it herself.
“And where is home for you, Sienna Falcone?
You haven't taken up any permanent residence or accepted any modeling or acting gigs since returning to London. You are but a lost girl. Perhaps you should be thanking me for giving you time and a place that will help you reflect. Just play good little hostage, and you can treat this like a holiday.”
A visceral rage bubbles to the surface from within her, her neck turning a darker red as she seethes, “I might not have my life together right now, but I'm sure as hell not a piece of shit who kidnaps women for my own spiteful gain. At least I have a moral compass, and I'm a good fucking person.”
“I agree. The first error you made here is assuming that I have a moral compass,” I say as I walk toward the door. “Enjoy our hospitality, Miss Falcone. ”
She reaches for the vase beside her that holds a bouquet of fresh sunflowers, and I close the door just before it crashes against it accompanied by her scream of anger and frustration.
I look to my left where my second in charge, Andrei, looks at me with a raised eyebrow.
“I think we might have our hands full with this one, sir,” Andrei says in Russian.
“She’s one woman, one babysitting task. Make sure no one enters, except me and Agata. Ensure the mess she makes destroying that room is cleaned up. I don’t want her doing anything stupid on my watch.”
I’m not accustomed to women’s emotions. But I do know they’re unpredictable creatures. So, the tighter the chain, the less she should be able to wriggle and create problems.