5. Kazia
5
KAZIA
I felt better when I took a shaky breath and swiped at the last tears stuck on my lashes. Something about sobbing and whispering, “Why me?” helped let it all out. Returning to a grounded place, I focused on what I could do. My first thing to do was assess my surroundings.
Sliding my bound foot over, I checked the rope snaking around my left ankle. The thick black nylon was so tightly woven that it would take several hours to get through it, even if I had something sharp. Following the rope, I realized it was knotted into a carabiner hooked onto the bed frame, which was padlocked together. Ensuring I couldn't move far unless the whole bed did as well, which would make noise and alert them.
“Listen with your heart first. Head later. They’re yours, Chovihani.” My heart tugged at the mixture of missing and knowing it wasn’t her. She was dead. This voice had to be a figment of my imagination… right?
The words from that weird dream floated through my mind. My logical side wanted to reject the idea that I heard my mom's spirit in my dream, but the Romani side had doubts, knowing that signs were not to be ignored.
No matter what side I believed, I doubted she was right about them. These men didn't seem like they were anything close to being mine and I theirs. In the best of cases, Cezar was just a crazy person who kidnapped me on a whim and would keep me around as a pet until he grew bored or his brothers killed me just to get rid of me.
One thing was for sure: Cezar was the only one who wanted me here. The crazy, unstable psycho was my only lifeline. Great.
That familiar tightening of my chest as my stomach tied itself in knots rose again; my throat clenched to keep from upchucking at my situation. Closing my eyes, I shoved that anxiety away and reminded myself I could do this. I had tools in my head to be able to handle a psychopath.
Thinking back to my classes and what Dr. Centella taught me…
There are four subtitles of psychopaths: Narcissistic, Borderline Instability, Sadistic, and anti-social. Each has its primary objective. A narcissist is driven by an extreme sense of self-importance, a borderline individual exhibits emotional instability and a major fear of abandonment, a sadist finds pleasure in inflicting pain on others, and an antisocial psycho has a lack of remorse and disregard for social norms, often exhibiting manipulative and interacting in criminal behavior without concern for others.
From what I've seen, Cezar seems on the borderline inability track. Mood swings, making fast and quick connections, obsessive behavior, fear of abandonment, impulsivity, but I also knew that being a psycho meant you never fell into a perfect profile. I needed to spend more time with him. See all his sides before I could count on them.
Slumping against the backboard, I looked down, and flashes of my dream surged forward—the field of Romani flowers, my mom's voice, the dove, the mark on my arm. Running my hands against the cool, soft cotton sheets, a faint hint of floral fields hit my nostrils.
Then, when my mom called me Chovihani, I hadn't heard her use that term in years, not after our big argument at my high school graduation.
I wanted to attend college to live the typical American dream, but my mom had other plans. She told me that before she came to America, when she didn't even know she was pregnant with me, her grandma, the Puri Dai of her tribe, told her she would birth a great Chovihani for our people. I would need to be trained in our ways when I came of age.
I remember how mad she got at me when I told her it was superstitious nonsense. Never in her life had she looked at me with that mixture of horror, disappointment, and rage. It was the first and only time that she slapped me across my face, telling me that being a Romani wasn't just a background; it was a way of life, a different way of looking at life.
In the end, we both apologized, but I still went to college, and she was still disappointed in me. This dream that felt so real felt much more than just a dream that had me doubting my ‘Romani nonsense’ comment. Now that she’s gone, I missed learning more about that side.
A ghost of that burning sensation flared against my forearm, and I looked down at my clear skin. Not a blemish or burn in sight.
With the pad of my finger, I traced that spot, making the symbol by memory. The soothing motion calmed me, and I drew it repeatedly until something about that symbol jarred my memory. I’d seen this symbol before.
Scanning the area around me, I didn't find anything like it. Thinking back, I only remember it in passing, just a glance, not something I paid much attention to, as if I was watching something else more intently.
A tingly feeling crawling just underneath the skin had me looking around, trying hard to remember. My gaze landed on the door. A vision flashed before my eyes. Cezar was leaving the room, and I squinted as the light shone into the room from the hallway. Like before, he turned his neck to say his last words; I could see something was on his neck. A tattoo. One that looked familiar to the eye burned into my forearm.
What the fuck did that mean?
Before I went into an irrational spiral, I reminded myself I was already in a heightened state and that jumping to conclusions would only cause problems. I needed a better look at his neck before determining they were identical.
Who's to say the dream even meant anything anyway? I was in a traumatic situation, and maybe this was the way my mind was coping with both my mom's death and the kidnapping. Yes! They always say your dreams are your subconscious trying to resolve lingering feelings and issues. My mom just passed. I haven’t had a lot of time to grieve, and this was my mind's way of trying to help me. Making me think there were connections to things that weren't. I could’ve just seen the tattoo and dreamt about it. Swatting away that ache in my soul that told me I was wrong, I focused on what was real and in front of me.
Information. I needed more information about my surroundings. Peeking around the room, I tried to figure out clues to tell me what time of day it was. With no windows or clocks, I was completely lost. I was slightly sure that Cezar would feed me since I was his little pet at the moment, but that was relying heavily on a psycho to think about anyone but himself, so I wasn't holding my breath.
I didn't know if one of them, whether Cezar or his brothers, would eventually come in here wanting something, and I needed to be ready. I could ask about a bathroom break. Maybe find out if anyone else was here. Try to get a few of my questions answered before I could plan to escape.
Glancing at the water on the nightstand, I picked it up and took a long gulp. Stay hydrated and ready because right now, it was all about survival.
“Get up, woman.”
Someone shook me, and my eyes flew open. The scent of woodsy musk filled the air, and I knew I was not the only one in this room. With my eyes squinted at the space in front of me, three tall, masked manly shapes hovered near me. My mouth felt dry and chalky, and I desperately wanted something to drink. I must've fallen asleep again, but I had no weird dreams this time.
“Where’s Margaret Jones?”
The deep, commanding voice made me turn, opening my eyes wider to see three masked men standing before me. The one talking had his bulky arms crossed in front of him; even if I couldn't see his face or eyes, I could feel the annoyance in his voice.
“What?” I responded, confused as to why he was asking about my mom.
“Great! So, you got the dumb girl that can't answer simple questions.” The middle one threw his hands out, turning to the last mask beside him. This one had more of a slight build but was very animated, almost overly so.
The last masked man got into the middle one's face, “I told you to be nice!” The last masked man sounded much like Cezar, so I guessed the other two had to be his brothers.
When the middle masked guy didn't back down, I knew this would get me nowhere. “Cezar, it's fine.” Facing the first masked man who did nothing to stop the other two, just kept his attention on me, I responded. “What I meant was, what does this have to do with my dead mom? How do you know her?”
Cezar tore off his mask, smiling at me like I had passed some test. “See! I told you she was dead.”
“The fuck, Cezar!” The middle man tore his mask off and revealed luscious brown hair, long enough to pull but short enough that it only curled around his ears, and a chiseled jaw that made me think this man had no problems with ladies. I mean, at least until he opened his mouth. “I told you to keep that shit on until Nicu and I were done with our questions!”
“She already knew it was me, right, my wild Roma?” I nodded, not knowing what else to do when three men towered over me, demanding answers.
Before I could say anything, the middle one threw up his hands. “She knew what you looked like but knew nothing about us. Fucking think, Cezar!”
The silent man, still staring at me, Nicu, I think he said, tore off his mask and threw it on the bed beside me. Everything about this man was dark. Black clothes, deep chocolate hair, olive skin, even his eyes were like two onyx stones fixated on me when he called out, “Let it go, Ion. You tore your mask off before she knew anything.” He stepped closer, graceful and powerful like a leopard on the prowl. “Now, tell us about your mother.”
Everything about this man, from his meticulously kept hair, sharply ironed clothes, and shoes so polished they reflected light, spoke that this man was in charge. Even the stubble on his face was crafted to perfection, not long enough to be a beard but not short enough for him to look clean-cut. Even Ion, trying to make Nicu explode with just his eyes, kept his mouth shut after speaking.
“I don't know what she has to do with you.” It sounded like they wanted something from my mom, and I needed to find out what it was. See if I could use it as a bargaining chip. The more I knew, the better chance I had to live through this, whatever this was.
Nicu took a few decisive steps before me, grabbing my chin and lifting it as his dark eyes glared down at me like I was nothing. Disposable. A shiver ran down my spine, fear trying to spike my nerves, but I suppressed it and stared back at him.
“Nicu,” Cezar warned, but still didn't move towards me.
He lifted his other hand towards Cezar, silencing him before he spoke in a low, powerful baritone. “I think you have the wrong idea here, woman. You’re in the hands of the Azadian brothers, leaders of one of the largest mafias in Eastern Europe.” He bent over, his lips just a hair away from my ear as he growled, “And we won't hesitate to cut you limb from limb to get what we want from you.” He traveled down to my neck, making my skin shiver as he whispered for the two of us. “I would hate to mess up this pretty little face of yours,” his fingers pinched my chin hard in warning as his voice dropped lower, “but I will.”
His head lifted slowly, letting go of my chin as his eyes tracked my every breath, every flutter, every beat of my rapid pulse. I knew nothing about this man, but at this moment, I knew he would make good on his threat. This man would kill me without a second thought. Cezar’s wishes be damned.
Fuck. What the hell did my mother get me into?
Reminding myself that letting the fear take over did me no favors, I took a breath and gritted my teeth. “I have no idea who you are; how would I know what you want from my mom.”
The expressive one, Ion, scoffed, giving me a nasty glare that looked odd on his model-perfect face. “Come on. Your mother left Armenia twenty-five years ago in a hurry; if the paperwork she submitted was correct, she must’ve brought something with her or mentioned some family. We just need a name. Was it the Hovsepian?” His eyes moved into slits, a cruel smirk on full display, “It would make sense if it were a part of those southern whores.”
Anger licked at my veins. My mom’s voice sounded in my head, and it chided me for that Lee temper she said I had in spades, but everything about this man irked me in the worst of ways. I wasn't able to keep my mouth shut as I growled, “My mother wasn't a whore.”
Something about how his eyes rolled, his head nodded like he’d heard it all before and wasn't buying it, infuriated me. Moving to stand up to defend myself and my mom, my leg jerked against the rope, making me immovable. Balling my hands into fists, a fire roared in my soul, growing more and more pissed off. Trying something else, I got to my knees just to give myself some height as I crossed my arms and faced them. “She was a Lee, a Romani princess of her tribe.” Nicu and Ion’s eyes slid to each other, silently talking before glancing back at me.
“A Lee, you say?” Nicu’s tone said he was now interested, but my gut told me I’d made a mistake.
“I tried to tell you, but you don't listen! You never listen!” Cezar threw up his hands, nodding away at something none of us could see. “I know, Nan, I know. They are foolish boys. They think too much with their wiggles and squiggles, not about the thumps.”
Neither Nicu nor Ion looked surprised by Cezar’s outburst, which meant they knew he was unstable. Thinking back to Nicu’s threats and Ion’s attitude, maybe they’re all unstable.
“Where did your mother live? Why did she leave Armenia?” Nicu’s rapid-fire questions came at me quickly, but I knew I didn't want to give him those answers. If things got worse for me, I needed to have something in my back pocket.
“I don't know.”
Nicu’s eyes turned into black granite, and he took a big, hard breath like a bull before approaching me. He snatched at my throat, squeezing so tight it was hard to wheeze out a breath. “I told you not to fuck with me, woman.” His threat rang in my head as my eyes began to blur.
Cezar's voice bellowed in the background. A scuffle sounded behind Nicu’s large frame, Ion cursing at his brother, but nothing could tear my eyes from Nicu's cold, dead look. This man was going to kill me; his eyes said so, but I couldn't let that happen.
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I tried to grip his unyielding hand, desperately trying to make some room for me to breathe. “C-can’t tell… w-what… I d-don't… r-rem-memb-ber.”
His fingers were unclenched, and I fell onto the bed, gasping for air, coughing with my hand around my neck like I could protect it from any further damage. A shadow fell over me, and I turned to see Nicu’s pinched, cunning eyes and frowning mouth encompassing my view.
“You better start thinking of some answers, woman. He can’t save you forever.” Biting the inside of my cheeks, I caught my breath as I focused on the man in front of me who had no issues with choking me out.
He turned away from me, done with his threats, as he averted the two brothers fighting on the floor on his way to the door. Cezar was on his back, his arms locked around Ion’s neck, Ion howling out, “Fuck you, Cezar!”
Nicu’s voice called out with a menacing sigh, “Fucking quit it, you two. We’ll give the woman some time to think about her situation.”
Cezar let Ion go, shoving him onto the floor. He popped up and waved a switchblade at Nicu as he advanced. “I told you not to hurt her. She’s ours, but if you don't want her, then she’ll just be mine, and I’ll fight you for her.” He looked to the side and whispered, “Of course, I can take him, Cal; who the fuck do you think is the real badass in this family. Don’t doubt my skills.”
Ion rolled over, holding his side as he spat out, “You fucking stabbed me, you crazy asshole!” Flinching back, my eyes slid over to the man still staring at me with ruthless dead eyes, like his brother stabbing his other brother was nothing to be bothered with. What the fuck was I doing here? How the fuck was I going to get out of this?
He turned away from Nicu for a second, pointing the knife at Ion, “And there's more where that came from,” before turning back to face the man who was much more bulky than him.
Nicu eyed him up and down, assessing him before folding his arms and shrugging. “If you want to talk about it, brother, we can step outside,” he left without an answer.
Ion glared at Cezar as he moved around him to follow Nicu out. He spat under his breath, “Fucking psycho. Get your head on straight.”
As soon as Ion slammed the door shut, I could see Cezar’s back rise and fall, the knife still in his hand dripping crimson onto the floor. He really did stab his brother. What the fuck?
Cezar’s labored voice came out harsh and cold, “I'm sorry. I’ll do better at letting them know not to hurt you.” Glancing over his shoulder with a savage grin, his voice lightened, “It's just how this family is, my Roma. This family only knows loyalty and violence, and they often come hand in hand.”
His eyes narrowed on my neck before he shook his head and whispered to himself. “I know, I know. It was close, but he was also so close. It might work, it might not.” He whined, “I can't do it alone, being the only one to try.” He stomped his foot, jabbing the knife in his hand to the floor, “Stupid, stupid, stupid brothers!”
It seemed he was on the verge of some breakdown or rage, and I knew I needed to calm the situation. “It's okay, Cezar,” I croaked, wincing at my raw throat and hoarse voice. “I’m okay.”
He was next to me in a second, his shadow encompassing me just like his brothers, but when I looked up, I didn't see cold, harsh eyes looking down at me. There was a wildness, a frantic need in these eyes that called to the softer side of me, the side of me that wanted to help people with mental illness. He trailed a feather-soft finger down my neck, growling like an animal until his eyes met mine.
“He doesn't know, but he will. They both will.” He leaned down, smelling like violent waves that could consume me. His lips were a hair away from mine as those wild eyes focused on me. My heart thumped in my ears, eyes shuttering as my body trembled. Fear at all that crazed attention solely on me made my adrenaline spike… and I didn't hate it. How fucked up was that?
“You’re the only one. They told me so, and we should always listen to the dead. They know their stuff.” His words made no sense to me, but I caught the words that simultaneously made the most and least sense. Dead. Did he think he was talking to the dead? Was he clairvoyant? Was that what made him… this way?
The next moment, his lips crashed into mine. I froze, my mind and body warring within themselves, telling me I should shove this man away and wipe my lips, while the other was coaching me on letting this happen, to enjoy it to see if he let his guard down.
His hot tongue swiped at my bottom lip, teasing, asking to be let in, to be able to consume me. I let survival win over dignity and wrapped my arms around his ink-covered neck, tracing my fingers along his spine.
This time, he hesitated, probably not expecting my enthusiastic response, but he adjusted quickly. He pushed me backward onto the bed, cupping my head to make sure I was set down gently as his tongue explored.
For just a moment, I let go of the fact a psycho kidnapped me, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, wanting the friction, the attention. Just to feel good after so long of feeling shitty.
His mouth broke from mine, kissing up to my ear as he cooed, “Wild Roma girl.”
“Kazia,” I exhaled, feeling entirely too good too fast.
He propped himself up, his eyes turning into a calm green ocean of sanity. “Kazia. My Roma. Our Roma.”
My brows furrowed, and I blurted out, “I'm more than just Romani.” It felt like he was focusing on one piece of me, and I didn't like it… which was just crazy of me. Why do I give a shit what he was focusing on as long as he isn't going to kill me?
His thumb ran down my cheek and over my lips, pulling the bottom lip out. He licked his lips, staring at that bottom lip like a wolf, itching for a bite. “Yes and no. You're more and yet just as you are. What we need and what we shouldn't have.”
With his eyes roaming my face as he saw it for the first time, his eyes changed to that sporadic wildness right before someone banged on the door.
Cezar jumped off me, backing away with a wiry smile and a hand sailing through his hair. “I have to go fight the dragon,” his head tipped up in thought, “or maybe he’s more like a wolf… so I guess I just need a red cape and an axe, right?”
Before I could answer, he ran off, opened the door, and slipped out of the room like he wasn't ever there. My hand went to my lips; the feeling of his still pressed against them made me feel like I was the crazy one. How the hell did he turn that all around on me? Was I starting to like the lunatic that talks to the dead and speaks to me in riddles?
This was going to be harder than I thought.