Taken

Chapter Seven

Chiara

I 'm losing my mind.

The days—if you can even call them that—blur together into one endless stretch of suffocating silence.

My captors still haven’t told me why I’m here, and they haven’t told me what they want.

Nothing.

Every time I find myself drifting off to sleep, I wake up not too long after, finding either one, or even both, of them there, looming over me like a shadow that clings too tightly.

They watch me at all times. It’s a maddening cycle—wake, exist, sleep, repeat—with absolutely no meaning or explanation.

I’ve tried to count the hours in my head, but it’s impossible.

Is it morning?

Or is it night?

I don’t know.

There aren’t any windows in here, in the bathroom, in the kitchen, or even the hallway.

I have no idea how I haven’t just suffocated to death yet.

And I know that they’re trying to break me.

At first, I was strong. I knew I wouldn’t give in to them, wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of ever seeing me like that. I made sure to refuse to speak to them, to refuse to move whenever they wanted me to, and to never acknowledge them in any way.

But that didn’t last long.

It left me trapped in my own head, spiralling deeper and deeper into my own thoughts, questions of whether I’ll ever be able to escape this place floating around in my mind.

I wrap my fingers around the duvet, sitting up on the bed now. They brought it in a day or two ago, and as much as I hate them for the situation they’ve put me in, I’m also a little bit grateful for this since I’m no longer sleeping on the cold floor.

My stomach growls loudly in the silence of the room as I press my hand to my stomach. It’s been a while since they last brought me anything to eat, and my hunger gnaws at me, twisting my insides into painful knots.

I need to eat. I need to move.

Before I can talk myself out of doing it, I find myself standing up on shaky legs, walking through the room. I take hesitant steps into the hallway, and I continue walking until I’m near the makeshift kitchen. It’s pathetic—I know it is—but the thought of food is the only thing drawing me forward.

And as I step inside, I spot the twins.

They’re always here with me.

Nikolai sits at the table, his posture relaxed, yet also commanding. His eyes track my every movement as I walk towards him, his gaze sharp and calculating.

Mikhail leans against the counter, a slight smirk playing at his lips as he watches me approach them both.

Ignoring them, I focus on the plate of food already on the table, and my stomach growls louder.

My face flushes with embarrassment but I don’t care.

I’m too hungry to care.

Two slices of bread, both slathered with a thick layer of strawberry jam, are waiting for me.

I sit down opposite Nikolai, reaching out for the plate. The ache of hunger overpowers the sickening feeling in my stomach, so I don’t hesitate to take a bite of the food, chewing before I force it down. As I continue eating, I feel their eyes all over me.

Their stares are heavy and relentless, like weights pressing down on my shoulders.

It makes my skin crawl, knowing that my every movement is magnified under their scrutiny.

I want to shout at them, to demand that they stop staring at me like this, but I can’t.

The words are stuck in my throat, trapped by fear and exhaustion.

The silence in this room is unbearable.

When I’m finally done eating, Mikhail passes me a plastic cup filled with water, and I greedily drink it all. I glance between both men, suddenly feeling my throat become dry.

Nikolai leans forward in his seat, both elbows resting on the table, one eyebrow lifting to look at me.

“Good girl.”

He says, his voice smooth, almost like a predator toying with its prey.

I quickly look away from him, feeling heat blooming in my cheeks.

I can’t keep living like this, trapped in this endless loop of fear and uncertainty, but there’s no other choice.

Discreetly glancing over towards the hallway, I wonder how they even leave from here. I’ve looked all over, but there’s no sign of a door, or even any windows I can crawl out of.

There’s no way to escape this hell.

Mikhail chuckles softly, the sound dark and mocking. I look over at him.

“Don’t even think about it.” He murmurs. “We’ll just find you all over again, and tie you up too if that’s what you want.”

A shiver runs through me.

I drop my eyes to the table, my heart beating hard in my chest.

They’ve taken everything from me—my freedom, my sense of time, even my dignity—and I hate them for it.

But more than anything, I hate myself for being so weak, so afraid to even attempt to fight back.

The only thing I can do now is sit here, giving them the satisfaction of being able to watch me, and dissect every little move of mine. It terrifies me to think that this might be my new normal.

Nikolai speaks again, his steady voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

“Tell me something, darling.” I take a deep breath in before I even think about looking up.

When I do meet his eyes, the weight of his gaze as it bores into me is enough to make my heart stop beating altogether.

“How do you know about the Russians?” Nikolai asks, his tone calm yet also dangerous in a way.

“How do you know about the Italians?” My stomach flips.

Sweat trickles down the back of my neck as my heart rate picks up too.

“You’re from London.” He continues, tilting his head slightly as he watches me.

“You’re a London girl, Chiara. How the hell do you know about things like that? ”

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat refusing to go down.

I force myself to breathe as my eyes dart between both brothers in the room. Mikhail is still leaning against the countertop, his arms now crossed over his broad chest, his expression unreadable. Glancing back to Nikolai, I somehow manage to find my voice, opening my mouth to speak.

“I…I thought you were Bratva…”

His eyes narrow as his gaze sharpens.

He doesn’t even move, and he doesn’t even blink, but his presence feels larger, heavier as it closes in all around me.

“And why,” he says slowly, “Chiara, would you ever think that?”

My tongue feels heavy in my mouth, but I force the words out anyway.

“They way you look…” I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper. “...your accents…the way you both speak to each other sometimes…” I look over to Mikhail, noticing him shift slightly. “I thought you were Bratva the minute I realised I would be taken.”

My heart is beating so hard, I’m sure they can both hear it.

For a moment, neither one of them speaks.

Nikolai leans back into his chair, his lips pressing into a thin line. His expression is impossible to read, and there’s a sharpness in his eyes, a glint of something dangerous. Mikhail stalks towards us, and I see a flicker of a glance being exchanged between both brothers.

It’s quick—so quick that I almost miss it—but it’s there. A silent conversation is passing between them, something unspoken, but something understood.

They don’t confirm what I’ve told them, and they don’t deny it either. The uncertainty of their identities only makes my stomach hurt harder.

What does their silence mean?

Am I right?

Are they really Bratva?

I squeeze my hands, ignoring the way it hurts when my fingernails dig into my palms. My head spins, making me feel a little lightheaded, as my thoughts run wild.

Finally, Nikolai looks back to me, letting out a quiet, and almost amused, hum.

“Interesting of you to say that, darling.”

Mikhail chuckles at his brother’s words, the sound of it dark and humourless.

My chest tightens as both brothers share another look, one I can’t decipher passing between them. The tension in the room thickens as I wait for them to say something—anything—but they don’t.

They look at me, mockingly, and deep down, I know that I’ve only made things worse for myself. It takes all of me to continue forcing the words out, desperate to get to the bottom of this.

“I thought…” I lift my head, looking between both men again. “I thought you planned to take me for a reason. That maybe, you both would use me for a ransom. I thought things would move quickly from then.”

The scrape of a chair being pushed back is heard, and as I look over at Nikolai, I see him standing up from the table.

He doesn’t say anything to that, and he doesn’t interrupt me either. For some reason, that only makes my stomach twist tighter.

“I still have no idea why you’ve brought me here.” I release a shaky breath, pressing my palm to my stomach. “You say you want me, and you say you have me. You haven’t done anything though.” My voice falters slightly, my throat tight with emotion. “Why am I here? Why?!”

Neither Nikolai, nor Mikhail, answers me.

My breathing quickens as panic slowly creeps up on me.

My family.

The thought of them sends a sharp pain through my chest.

“My family.” I whisper softly. “Are they okay? Have they done what was asked of them? Will I be returned to them?”

Then suddenly, the room erupts like a storm.

Both men move at once, their large forms closing in on me as they tower over me. I press myself back into my chair, staring up at them both with pure terror in my eyes.

Mikhail’s eyes are furious as he moves in closer, and Nikolai looks like a predator ready to go hunting, his jaw clenched so tightly that I can see the muscle jumping in his cheek. He leans down, his thick arms braced on the table as he growls into my face, making my entire body tremble.

“Who the fuck are you?”

He spits out at me.

The weight of his question crushes me, my breath stuttering as tears prick the back of my eyes. My throat tightens as I swallow hard, a sob threatening to claw its way out. My voice shakes as I answer him.

“After moving to England, we changed our surname from Giovanni to Navo.” I wrap my arms around my middle, desperate to hold onto something as I continue.

“My name is Chiara Giovanni. I’m the daughter of Francesco Giovanni, and the sister of Dario Giovanni.

My father was an underboss, but my brother… ”

I trail off as the expressions on their faces morph into something unrecognisable.

Nikolai’s brows furrow, and Mikhail explodes.

“Fuck!”

He curses as he reaches for my plate, hurling it against the wall.

I flinch violently at his outburst, shrinking further into my chair.

As Mikhail runs a hand over his face, he begins to pace around the room, his chest heaving as he roars out a string of curses in Russian.

It’s a terrifying sight.

Tears burn at the back of my eyes as I try to stop myself from crying, knowing that another show of weakness will only make things worse. My throat becomes raw as I swallow back a sob, my mind still racing because of their reactions.

My gaze shifts to Nikolai. He’s still standing in the same place, his tattooed hands folded against the back of his neck as he shakes his head, his icy blue eyes locked on mine. There’s something there—confusion, frustration, disbelief—but I can’t bring myself to hold his stare.

I look back to Mikhail, realising that he’s no longer pacing as he glances back over to his brother. My heart pounds harder in my chest as I try to breathe, terror spreading through my body as both brothers move towards each other.

They exchange sharp words in Russian, their voices laced with anger and frustration. With every word that they throw at each other, my head feels lighter and lighter. Everything around me ceases to exist except for the deep growls of their voices.

Soon after, they escalate to shouting, but then suddenly, it stops. A strange quiet fills the room, broken by their shallow breaths. I force myself to look away from them as they switch languages—softer murmurs in English now—voices clear enough that I’m able to understand them.

Together, they take a step closer, and in fear of what they might do to me, I force myself to look up at them. When I do meet their eyes, I gasp.

There’s an undeniable mix of possessiveness and control there.

“What’s done is now done.” Nikolai states, his voice hoarse, but firm too.

“We had a doubt, and you have proven us right, darling.” Mikhail remains silent.

Together, their presence fills the space around me.

“We won’t harm you.” Nikolai tells me softly, his words anything but reassuring.

“We just want to love you. And we want to keep you. You’re ours, darling. ”

I shudder at his words, unable to even process what he’s saying.

The last thing I want is this psychotic version of ‘love’, especially not with these two Bratva soldiers.

I want to scream, to fight back until they’re both a pile of bloody mess, but I know that’s not possible. They’ll kill me before I even touch them, and maybe then, that will be my way out.

Sometimes, I still can’t believe this is real.

Sometimes, I feel like this is another awful nightmare, like the ones I would have after Mama’s death.

Blinking through my tears, I look up again at the two men.

I’m losing myself already.