Chapter 5 – Celine #2
When I was done eating the delicious strawberry, I dusted my hands and walked over to the bathroom. It wasn’t until after I finished bathing and had changed into some fresh clothes that I sat down and ate the food.
***
Later that day, I decided to explore the building before I died of boredom. The fact that the door was left unlocked meant that I wasn’t confined to the four walls of this room.
So, I headed out.
The hallways were lit with the warm glows of expensive chandeliers, the walls adorned with abstract paintings. While I moved through the mansion that seemed to stretch without end, the polished floors reflected my form like a ghost beneath my feet.
The place was silent. Too silent.
It felt more like a museum than a house; it was nowhere close to being a home. Not by a long shot. Everything here seemed expensive: the sculptures, the paintings, the antique vases that looked centuries old.
The entire mansion was strangely untouched by life. Breathtaking, but lacking the very essence of life. In my opinion, this place was just a gilded cage, a decorated cemetery.
Everything was curated to perfection, and nothing was out of place. No scattered shoes. No forgotten cups. No sound of laughter. Nothing at all to show that real people actually lived here.
The more I explored this massive building, the more I was convinced that if I wasn’t careful, I might end up getting lost.
I stopped by a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the estate grounds. From this perspective, I could see the extensive land. The winding driveway, the beautiful gardens, the trimmed hedges, and the smooth stone pathways weaving through them.
It turned out that the mansion was built on a rolling hill, resembling a private villa carved out of wealth and power. This place featured two large swimming pools and a damn helipad that sat like a coin pressed into the ground.
Muffled voices caught my attention, seeming to come from the west wing. Once again, my curiosity was piqued, and I moved toward the noise. I walked down the hall, following the sound until I reached another window.
Outside, I saw five armed men under the canopy of an oak tree. Two wore blank expressions on their mean faces, while the other three laughed quietly.
Confused, I squinted and looked more closely. That’s when I noticed another guard sitting under the tree. And although the other five were around him, I was able to catch a glimpse of his face. It was a mask of pain.
Then came the low growl, laced with sheer agony. The sound was so intense that it made my blood run cold. When I noticed the injury on his arm and the crimson dripping onto the ground, I understood what was happening.
He was wounded.
Why the hell were his colleagues laughing at his pain? They should be helping him, not mocking him. One of them said something in Russian and then chuckled while fist-bumping the guy next to him.
These people were savages!
This whole time, I thought they were gathered around the man and not lifting a finger to help. However, I soon realized I was wrong.
“This is why you should be more mindful of your surroundings,” a familiar voice spoke—deep, husky, and calm.
I recognized it.
This was my captor’s voice.
One of the five guys stepped aside to take a phone call, and in doing so, he revealed what I hadn’t seen earlier.
The boss was crouched before the wounded man, jacket gone, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His hands moved with practiced ease as he bandaged the man’s arm.
“You were clumsy,” he said to him. “And that almost cost you your life.”
The man winced in pain, his brows knitting together. “I’ll be more careful next time.”
“You better be.” The boss rose to his feet, wiping his bloodied palms with a white handkerchief.
Someone else helped the wounded man up and ruffled his brown hair while making a joke of him. Unfazed by his colleagues’ mockery, he shot back in Russian, and they all laughed.
All but him. The boss. My captor.
This was the first time I heard the sound of laughter in this cursed place. I wasn’t sure whether that was a good sign.
While watching them from up there, I shifted my gaze for a moment. By the time I looked in their direction again, he was already staring right at me.
My breath hitched when I met his eyes, those cold blue eyes. His expression was blank as usual, unreadable. He didn’t speak and didn’t look away either.
Fuck, he’s hot.
I couldn’t help thinking about it, and it was shameful. So shameful. This man was the devil himself. He was a Mafia boss who kidnapped me and locked me up in his mansion. The last thing I should be thinking about was how attractive he was.
He was evil. And evil was not attractive.
The only emotion I was permitted to feel for him was hatred. Not even fear. Hatred. Pure, unadulterated hatred. Yet, for some reason, I couldn’t help the mix of fear and another emotion I refused to name, prickling under my skin.
His gaze was too intimidating, and without a second thought, I looked away. I didn’t stop there; I turned sharply and retreated down the hall.
The image of this ruthless man kneeling before his wounded soldier and helping bandage his wound lingered in my mind. I thought men like him were heartless. I thought he didn’t give two shits about anyone else but himself.
He could’ve commanded one of the other men to attend to the man. Or better still, let him bleed to death. But he didn’t. He chose to handle the situation himself.
I wasn’t sure what to make of this, honestly, but one thing was for sure. That was not an act of kindness, nor was it a sign of weakness.
Yet, like a moth to a flame, I was drawn to it.