XXIX
Andros Valetti
M y eyelids feel heavy as I struggle to pry them open. The metallic taste of blood is stuck to my tongue and the smell of damp, mixed with sweat hits my nostrils. Managing to finally open my eyes, I blink a few times to see a dark, dingy room. Dried blood and other bodily fluids coat the floors, whilst one small light flickers in the centre of the roof.
I look down to see I’m tied to a metal chair with industrial rope, making it almost impossible for me to escape. My shirt has been removed, and there are multiple open gashes along my torso that are only exacerbated by the rope.
As I turn my head, pain hits me suddenly and it’s clear my transportation to wherever I am was not a smooth operation. My muscles feel tight and exhausted, like all the energy from my body has been drained through my open cuts.
“You’re awake,” a heavy Russian voice rings throughout the dim room along with the sound of a metal door opening and closing. Footsteps edge closer to me until footsteps stand a few inches in front of the chair.
Looking up with a blank stare, I analyse the man. His black hair is slicked back with so much hair gel that it looks greasy. He’s on the older side, definitely in his late sixties and covered in wrinkles to show his wisdom of life.
Or lack of wisdom for fucking with the Italian mafia.
“Sleep well?” He asks, smirking with a Machiavellian glint in his hazel eyes.
“Like a peach,” I reply, clenching my jaw.
“We always hope to provide the best stay possible for our clients,” he takes a step forward and I lift my head to keep meeting his eyes.
“Do you know who I am?” He asks but I stay silent, so he continues, “I definitely know you. And I know that you know my daughter.”
I fight the urge to frown in confusion.
Daughter?
“Could you not tell by the eyes?” He bends down so his face is only a few inches from mine.
And then it clicks.
“That’s why you’re here, you see. My daughter is staying with you at the moment and I’d really like her back. She doesn’t understand that this reunion between her and I would be… beneficial for all involved.”
“What do you want with her?” I grunt out, straining against the ropes.
“Hazel’s mother never wanted her involved in the family business. I always had higher hopes for Hazel, though. So much so that she was promised to a man before she could walk.”
“Does she know about this?” I raise an eyebrow, my eyes cold.
“Women only need to be told what’s going on when it’s about to happen to them,” he chuckles, pacing the room slowly, “She’s going to produce some beautiful heirs for the Russian mafia.” His voice is almost dreamy, like he’s so stuck in his paranoid delusions that he truly believes it will be reality.
“The fuck she will,” I scoff, spitting a bit of blood at his feet, “You’re not getting to her.”
Instead of responding, he lets out a maniacal laugh. As he walks closer to me, he pulls a knife from his pocket and I watch as he raises it to my neck.
“That’s not your choice, now is it?” He asks in a menacingly low voice. I meet his gaze, completely unbothered by the knife at my throat. He chuckles again and pulls back, before stabbing it into my thigh.
I clench my teeth together as he pulls out the knife and uses my thigh as stabbing practice. Blood pools at my feet, integrating with the old that was there before.
Once he is satisfied with his attack, he leaves the room, the harsh clang of the metal door echoing his final message..
I’m trapped.
My head begins to feel woozy from the blood loss. I manage to keep my eyes open, despite the pain radiating from my thigh. When a strong-smelling chemical haze descends on the room, I try to hold my breath but ultimately fail and pass out.
When I awake again, it’s to a bucket of ice-cold water being poured over my head. The water burns against my leg but I look down to see the bleeding has thankfully stopped.
“Good morning, Starshine! The world says hello,” Hazel’s father greets me, his heavy Russian accent butchering the Willy Wonka quote. I roll my eyes, a blatantly bored expression covering my face.
“Not in the mood to chat? That’s okay,” he chuckles. I notice he’s changed his suit, suggesting it’s now the next day. There are no windows in this room, so no other way of knowing, and it’s not like they’ll bring me three meals a day.
When was the last time I ate?
“Ready to play some more?” He asks but I stare at him like I’m staring right through his body. The door opens and closes again, and another pair of footsteps fills the silence.
“Ready for this, Alexei?” Another man with a Russian accent asks. He responds in Russian and Hazel’s father goes to stand behind me.
“Just tell me one thing,” I say, my throat sore from not using my voice, “Why have you taken me if you want Hazel?”
There’s a moment of silence before he answers
“To teach Hazel that she can’t have pretty things.”
Over the next few days, I’m tortured and abused for Alexei’s own wicked entertainment. Although no full permanent damage has been caused, the blood loss and lack of nutrition is making me weaker and weaker.
After an especially brutal session, Alexei gives me one more piece of information before he leaves.
“I expect them to come find you, and I’ll let them take you. Just know that I will come to take Hazel when the time comes.”
The door slams behind him, leaving me alone, in pain and tortured by my thoughts.