XXXI
Hazel Winters
M y fingers shake as I turn the page of my book. Although I have nothing else to do, anxiety is stopping me from being able to understand the words on the page. I’ve read the same sentence over and over again, failing each time to move onto the next one.
As soon as I’d recognised my father as the one who took Andros, things have been different between the guys and I. Atlas left the room without speaking to me, whilst Theo drove me back to their house silently. I’ve barely seen Dawson in the past few days and have taken to my room in an attempt to stay out of their way and avoid the awkwardness.
Giving up on the book, I put it down on my bedside table. My stomach grumbles and I walk over to the door, ignoring the wave of dizziness that threatens to pull me down to the floor.
Opening my door a crack, I startle at the figure standing in front of me. They’re facing away from me, but I can see the ginger buzz cut that stands out amongst his all-black attire. His body language is intimidating and his height makes me have to crane my neck to stare up at him.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door fully and clear my attention, watching as the ginger giant turns around to face me.
“Who are you?” I ask, trying not to sound weak despite not eating in at least a day.
“Sean,” he gruffs out. There is a hint of an Italian accent, just like the guys’ have and it raises my suspicions.
“Well, Sean, what are you doing here?” I ask, sounding haughty and entitled.
“Making sure you don’t escape,” he shrugs, crossing his arms. His biceps almost burst out of his shirt, and I can tell he would snap me in two if I did try.
“So, I am a prisoner? Thanks for the confirmation,” I shrug and slide past him into the hallway. I walk down towards the stairs before stopping at the top and turning to him, “Do you like pancakes, Sean?”
He shrugs in response but I take it as a ‘yes’ and skip downstairs, completely unbothered by his previous comment. I wander into the kitchen and hide my frown when I see it’s empty.
Again.
About fifteen minutes later, I have whipped up two drool-worthy plates of pancakes. Sean even licks his lips when he sees me place them down on the island. Hopping on one of the barstools, I nod to the empty one next to me to sit down.
“Is that for me?” He asks, cocking his head as he eyes me suspiciously.
“If you want them,” I shrug before rolling my eyes, “No, I haven’t poisoned them. See?” I take a bite from his plate and his suspicions relax slightly. Still, he grabs his pancakes and stands in the corner of the room, watching my every movement as I eat.
Knowing I’ll have to be the instigator of the conversation, I take my opportunity to grill him.
“So, what did you do to get the pleasure of being my Babysitter?” I ask, stabbing at my pancakes with my fork. He grunts, filling his mouth with food so he doesn’t have to respond.
“You’re a real talker, aren’t you?” I tease, changing to a different tactic, “Got a girlfriend?”
He shakes his head. “No time,” he answers, gruffly.
“Do you want one?” I ask, tilting my head as I narrow my eyes.
Sabrina would destroy him.
“You offering?” He raises his eyebrows sarcastically, staring at me suspiciously.
“She’s not offering anything,” Atlas growls as he walks in with Theo at his side. They pin Sean with an accusatory glare before turning their attention to me.
I try not to squirm at the sight of them in flawless suits, but they still have the same effect on me that they always have. Despite the atmosphere amongst us feeling tense and cold, I don’t feel like a true prisoner. Something in Theo’s eyes tells me there is more to the story.
And I’m right.
“Hazel come into my office,” Atlas commands, staring at me with cold eyes. I almost freeze from his stare. Hopping off the stool, I follow him and Theo into the study, and my eyes drift around the grand room with high ceilings.
A large, expensive, wooden desk sits in the centre, emulating power and control. The blinds are closed and look as though they are never open. Warm lights illuminate the office behind gold lamps on the wall.
“Sit,” Theo nods to the chair in front of him. Hesitantly, I perch on the tan, leather chair, noting the way Theo doesn’t move from behind me.
Is he expecting me to bolt?
My eyes follow Atlas as he stalks over to the chair behind his desk and sits down, commanding the room in an instant. He watches me, before clearing his throat and leaning back in his chair.
“What do you think we do, Hazel?” He asks, his tone full of authority.
“Own a bar?” I scoff, thinking it’s the most obvious question ever.
“Not quite,” Atlas responds and I hear Theo’s deep chuckle behind me. Theo clears his throat and comes to sit in the chair next to me, angling it so he’s facing me as Atlas continues speaking.
“I’m the Don of the Italian Mafia.”
My blood runs cold. A wave of sickness rushes through me and I fight the urge to run away, terrified.
“D-don?” I manage to stutter. I see Theo frown at my reaction in the corner of my eyes, but I keep my focus pinpointed on Atlas.
“Boss,” Atlas clarifies, leaning forward with clasped hands on the desk, “Theo is my right hand,” he nods to Theo, “And Andros and Dawson have their own special abilities that make them my highest men.”
My breathing catches as my eyes blur, the information too heavy to process. Lowering my gaze to the desk, I zone out and begin to think about all the consequences of being involved with these dangerous men.
One consequence is the most pressing.
“Are you going to send me back to my father?” I ask, not caring that my voice is quivering at this point. I manage to lift my eyeline to Atlas, waiting for his response as he studies my face.
“Your father took Andros to help the Russian mafia,” Theo answers, his voice as detached as Atlas’.
My hand flies to my mouth and my eyes widen in shock.
He’s close.
“He wants me,” I whisper, my eyes searching the ground for an answer.
“How did you know?” Atlas asks, clearly surprised.
“Because I ran away from him,” I answer, not wanting to look any of them in the eyes as I say what’s coming next, “The nightmares are of him. I was his favourite plaything.”
The nausea overwhelms me and I jump from my seat, running out of the office without thinking twice. My shaky legs carry me into my room and I just manage to keel over the toilet before I’m sick.
The doorknob rattles on my bedroom door but I’m too busy throwing up my breakfast to answer it.
The last thing I hear before I pass out on the floor is Sean’s voice.
“I had a feeling you weren’t involved.”