21. Kazia
21
KAZIA
T his was not where I expected to be.
When I first woke up in a too-soft, extra plush bed, warning bells went off in my head. When did prisoners get such a nice place to stay? Running my fingers over the silky red sheets, fingering the ornate golden pillows, I thought someone must have put me in the wrong room. There was no way that I, the daughter of the woman their father had a grudge with, would be placed in a room like this.
This had to be Cezar’s or Ion's doing.
Careful of my shoulder, I sat up, scanned the room, and noticed the shape was more of a hexagon, with the bed on one side and four doors. Curiosity kicked in, and I slid off the bed and tiptoed my way over to the closest door to my left. Putting my ear up to the door, I didn't hear anything on the other side. Grasping the hard brass knob, turning it as slow as possible, I took a quick breath before opening it just a crack.
Seeing no one inside, I opened it further to reveal a bathroom, but it wasn't just a bathroom; it was something gaudy and overbearing. Walls lined with white marble, golden lines cracked through it like lightning. Each fixture was a bright, shiny gold that made my eyes hurt. In fact, this whole room gave me a headache.
Closing the door as quickly as I could, I moved to the next three doors, being just as careful as I was with the first, but this time, they were all locked. I was being held prisoner, again.
Slumping against the red silk chase at the end of the bed, the only positive thought I had was that I wasn't tied up to the bed this time.
Tears pricked at my eyes, my nails dug into the silky cushion, the pain in my shoulder anchoring me in this world. Why did this happen to me? Why did you leave me with all this uncertainty, Mom?
A sob caught like a lump in my throat, refusing to come out as a single tear carved its way down my cheek. I’m alone. An orphan. The only person who ever really loved me and could be there for me has left me.
Darkness whirled around me, crawling its way around my heart, threatening to take over and consume me. A single thought sliced through my pain: I was being punished for my mom's past. The tears dried up as I grabbed onto that thought.
This vicious viper of a man was going to imprison or hurt me, not because of anything I did, but because of my mom. Warmth flooded my chest as rage raced through my veins. The unfairness, the injustice. Even if I was mad at my mom for putting me in this situation and not telling me about any of this, I couldn’t place all the blame on her. Plus, what good would that do? She was dead; it wasn't like I could yell at her for it.
No, the only person I could place this burning wrath on was the man who demanded I come across the country to be a prisoner in his home. The man who was the leader of the Armenian mafia.
Even if he was the one with all the power, the one who could order my death as easily as speaking it into existence, I refused to make it easy for him. I would find a way to make him pay as I went down, too.
Jumping to my feet, I searched the room, looking for anything I could use as a weapon. It didn't even need to kill him. If I could just take out an eye or give him a big old scar, something that said Kazia Lee was here and didn’t go down without a fight, I would be happy.
Starting with the drawers, I wrestled open every single one, and I found nothing. An annoying dull pain worked its way through my shoulder, reminding me that while the outside was sewn up, the muscles that laid beneath was still working on healing, but I wouldn't let that stop me. Looking through the room, in the closet, and under the bed, I still found nothing. Not a coat hanger, not a pencil, not anything sharp or useful.
Staring at myself in the mirror, I took a few ragged breaths to calm down, to keep myself from going to one of those locked doors and banging them with all my might, demanding someone to open the door. Then it hit me. The mirror. If I couldn't find something sharp, I could make something sharp.
Stomping over to the nightstand, I ripped the lamp out of its socket. Pain sliced down from my shoulder, but I clenched my teeth and pushed through it. Carving out my path for destruction, I made my way over to the mirror, shielding myself as I raised the bottom of the lamp up and arched it downward.
“What the fuck do you think you're doing?!” The lamp was ripped from my grip, my hand burning from the extraction, and I whirled around to face a furious Ion. “You could hurt yourself!”
“Or I could hurt you.” It slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it, and a piece of me regretted the words. The rage ball inside of me thought it wasn't enough.
His voice went low, his eyes looking straight into mine, not hurt or laughing at me, like I expected, but more like he was intrigued. Throwing the lamp onto the bed, he stalked up to me, face to face, before he grabbed the hand of my good arm and placed a gun in it. Curling both hands around my one, he lifted the gun up to his chin. “If you want to hurt me, at least do it right.”
Glaring up at him, I wondered if he thought I wouldn't do it. Even with my hands shaking, I kept the barrel steady. My rage still simmered right underneath my skin, waiting to take out some vengeance. Wanting to show them that their little prisoner had some fight left in her, but my damn heart thumped beneath my chest as it threw itself against my ribs.
Flashes of him on top of me, restraining me, had me tightening my hand on the gun. The next moment, I pictured him holding me as we both fell asleep drunk and emotionally exhausted. My arm trembled. A ghost of heat tingled along my lips, reminding me of our kiss before the shoot out, then of him in the plane begging me with his eyes to be controlled. I felt my resolve begin to break.
“Oh, are we playing Shoot the Second Husband?” Cezar appeared behind Ion, who stiffened at his arrival. “I wanna play,” he cocked his gun and pointed it at Ion from behind.
Ion stiffened, raising his hands as he talked to his brother, his eyes still fixed on me. “You’re going to shoot your own brother?”
Cezar stepped up behind him, and a crazed kind of pain took over as whispering in his ear. “You forget, dear brother, I’ve already killed my own family before.” Ion’s eyes widened, real fear seeping its way in. “If it’s what my wife wants, then this is what she gets.”
No. I stared at Cezar, his eyes already devoid of their usual life. This wasn't what I wanted. I don't want Cezar to kill another family member. I don’t think he could handle that. He might be broken beyond repair, but at this point, I could hold the pieces for him and rebuild him every single day until the pieces start to stick. If he did this, there would be no pieces left.
Looking back at Ion, I realized that I didn't want to hurt him either. I didn't want that fucking bastard to win, to tear apart his own sons for his own greed. I can't let him win. He was the real enemy. Lowering the gun, letting myself hold it just a second more before handing it back to Ion. “No. I don’t want to play this game, Cezar. I don’t want to hurt Ion.”
“What the fuck is going on in here? Why the fuck are you pointing a gun at Ion? Didn't I tell you two to get her ready for dinner?”
Cezar lifted his hands in the air with his gun dangling by a finger. “What are you talking about? This is a game between a wife and her two husbands.” He chided Nicu, who was standing in the doorway. “But you wouldn't know anything about that because you're not a husband yet.” He made a show of counting his fingers, “And even if you do…you’ll be like… third.” His face scrunched up with the disgust in his voice making it sound so bad, and I couldn't help but bang my head on Ion’s chest.
“Cezar, we talked about this.” It was getting too taxing to keep having this conversation over and over with him.
“Yes, yes, yes. A white dress, a ring, and a signed piece of paper.” His eyes rolled so hard I thought they would stay that way. “Sure, ya, for you to believe it, but for me ,” he shoved Ion out of the way and pulled me in for a kiss. “It's already set in stone.”
“Oh fucking christ.” We all looked at Nicu, who rarely showed that much emotion and was glaring at us with his arms crossed. “We need to get you ready for dinner. Father’s waiting.”
He threw a soft gray, knee-length, quarter-sleeve dress onto the bed before I could complain and tell him I had nothing to wear. “Wear that with your flats,” was all he said before turning his back.
Ion went around me and picked it up, “Why did you get her a sleeved dress? It's just going to be hard for her to get into it with her shoulder wound.”
“That's why, idiot,” Nicu threw over his shoulder, “if the wound is showing, it's easier for him to find.”
Ion’s eyes lit up with understanding before coming up to me. “You’re gonna need help.”
Cezar popped over, “Oh, I can-”
Ion got right in his face, “ I will fucking help her,” his tone telling me that it was final. It didn't matter either way to me because they had both seen me naked…well, for Ion, mostly.
“Come on, let's get this over with,” I whined, my hands going to the hem of my shirt when Ion stopped me.
“Let me help.” He was surprisingly gentle and considerate. He went slow, never made any remarks, or let his gaze stay too long in one spot. His hands touched me like I was made of glass, fragile and hesitant. Like I was something he shouldn’t be near of, let alone touch, and it kinda broke my heart.
Once we were done, Nicu took my good arm and put it in his. “We’re going to dinner. Try to keep your mouth shut unless he talks to you directly. Do you understand?”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
He smiled down at me for only a millisecond before putting on that ruthless, I-have-no-soul mask.
“And you two,” he paused, turning to face his brothers. “No matter what goes on down there, I need you to trust me.”
Cezar was the first to step forward. “What if-”
Nicu said it again, this time giving Cezar his full attention. “I need you to trust me. Follow what I say, and we’ll get her out of this alive, alright?”
Cezar still didn't say anything, but gave a short nod. “Alright, brother. Old signs?”
Nicu nodded, facing forward, “Old signs.”
We continued down the hallway, down the stairs and took a left. As soon as we turned, a large dining area opened up, already set with china and flickering candlelights down the center. Plates of food were served in the center in large dishes, family style. Big, muscular men with large guns were at the ready, lined against the walls, and I knew this was trouble. At the end of the table, in a large king-like gold chair, sat a man who looked like he was in his sixties.
He wasn't terrible looking; his slicked back salt and pepper hair, more salt than pepper, gave him a distinguished look. He had a shaved down beard, well trimmed, and his forehead had large laugh lines, but that was the only thing that aged him. He smiled and waved for us to come in. “Come. Come! Sit down; the food is getting cold.” It sounded nice enough; his English almost held no trace of an accent, but when Nicu’s arm clenched underneath mine, I knew something was up.
Nicu took the seat next to his father, putting me on his other side while Ion and Cezar sat across from us. All of us sitting in silence, waiting for their father to talk first.
“Kazia… can I call you Kazia?” I nodded, even as I wished I could rip his tongue out of his mouth so he couldn't say my name again.
“Try the manti! Geta makes the best manti in all of the country.” He smiled as he motioned for Nicu to get it for me.
As soon as he grabbed the plate, his father barked out in a cruel laugh, “What is this? Why are you so slow in front of this beautiful woman? What did that time in the States teach you? How to be slow and dim-witted?”
I bit my tongue, wanting to bark out at him to quit it, but Nicu looked unfazed, just scooped a couple of the tomato sauce covered dumpling looking things onto my plate, adding some of the white cream to the side and placing the plate back in the center of the table.
“I swear, Kazia, sometimes I wish I had girls. They seem to be a little on the smarter side, if you know what I mean.” Leering at his sons as he said it, all of them kept quiet, not saying a word as they picked up dishes and passed them around. Taking their lead, I kept quiet, too, only nodding since he seemed to be talking to me.
“I shouldn’t say that; you never know what the future might hold, am I right?” He smiled widely, and it reminded me of a jackal, cruel and deceitful, something much worse laid beneath that smile.
“Which reminds me, I'm so sorry to hear about your mother. It was very… disappointing for me to hear.”
Since I just took a bite of the dumpling, I covered my mouth with a napkin and mumbled out, “Thank you,” which he seemed fine with.
Placing both elbows on the table, he asked me, “So… did she ever talk about her life here in her home country?”
It seemed like a trick question, so my eyes naturally flicked to the guys before answering in a low tone. “No, sir.”
His jaw clenched, but his smile stayed in place. “Nothing. She said nothing about how she lived as a child or what she did when she was your age?”
Shaking my head, I responded carefully. “No, sir. She never mentioned anything outside of being born here.”
Watching his hands fist above the table, grow whiter by the second, he asked through his teeth, still trying to keep that fake smile going. “And she never mentioned me? Arek? Maybe she called me Rek?”
Everyone at the table grew still, all of us knowing that something was coming, but we just didn't know what. So I answered the best I could, “N-no, sir. She seemed to always be sad whenever I tried to dig, so I left it alone.”
He shot up out of his seat, walking around the room with his hands behind his back. He nodded as if he had to walk off all this extra energy. “I see. I see.”
That was all he said until he got behind me and grabbed the back of my chair. “She never said anything about love or who your father is?”
“N-n-no-,”
“Liar!” His fingers dug into my scalp, ripping my hair at the roots as he threw me out of my chair. Pain ricocheted up and down my arm where my shoulder wound was, and I cried out. “You bitch! You fucking worthless cunt! Don't you dare fucking lie to me with that whore mouth of yours?”
Pain bloomed from the side of my face as he backhanded me. My vision went blurry for a second, and I pushed myself backward, scrambling to get away from this man.
“Father-,” Ion called out.
Arek turned around, red-faced, with eyes bulging as he pointed a finger at him. “You keep your mouth fucking shut before I rip out your tongue and make you a one-trick pony.”
Ion’s eyes flicked to Nicu before his head went down, looked at the table. His jaw clenched and I could tell he hated how his father just talked to him. Hell, I even hated it too. Only I got to talk to Ion like that.
Arek turned back towards me, his arm snapping out, and clutched my throat in a vice grip. Something loud banged behind him, but I couldn't see as he held me up in the air, my feet kicking out as my breath escaped me.
“I was being so nice to you, treating you better than the little bitch you are, but if you're just going to be a filthy liar,” his tone went down a few octaves, “then I'm going to treat you like the disgusting cunt that you are.”
A chair screeched; a set of strong, sure footsteps sounded like they were coming my way but I couldn’t be sure when my head was getting dizzy. “Father,” Nicu sounded right next to him, whispering to him in a hushed tone. “Don't you think you shouldn’t act like this in front of your men?” He paused, looking back at the men behind them, turning back to face his father. “They could interpret this as you being weak and getting worked up by just a small little woman?”
Arek opened his hand, and I fell to the floor. The pain didn't register as I was preoccupied with gulping down as much air as my lungs needed. I didn't feel the two sets of rushed arms picking me up, but I did hear Arek's voice.
“How dare you interrupt me? You think that I look weak over something like that?” Arek growled out, “I guess I need to show them how strong I really am.” A quick set of thuds echoed over and over again, and I lifted my hazy gaze to see Nicu form on the floor in front of his father, clutching his stomach.
“I'm going to show you and my men just how strong I am, boy.” He picked up a plate and smacked it across his face. “You think you're stronger than me, huh?” This time, he picked up the chair, and I reached out, trying to stop it even though my voice didn't work.
I didn’t mean for this to happen. I could’ve lied but I wanted to see Arek upset, to see him not get what he wanted, but not at this cost. Not with the blood of his own son.
“Don't worry, he can handle this,” Ion whispered in my ear, his hands gripping me tighter as he turned the corner. Flinching when I heard the chair coming down on Nicu, his grunts of pain playing over and over in my head. This was my fault.
“Do you feel that boy?! Maybe you need a new lesson in manners?!” Over and over, the sound of the thuds got softer the further away we got, but the guilt weighed me down. Each thud an additional stone's weight on my back the farther we got. I knew Nicu stepped in because his father was hurting me. He saved me… by sacrificing himself.
A tear slipped from my eye, and Cezar wiped it away, licking it before he brushed his hand over my hair. “Don’t worry, my Roma, he’s tougher than he looks. Also,” his lips tipped up, “I think we’ll finally be able to sever that rotten string now.”
Ion whispered against my hair in response to Cezar, “He was never going to respect us anyway. I don't know why we always kept trying.”
Because he trained you to crave, to need his approval and his love since it was so hard to get. It's easier to control you that way. I wanted to tell them that, to have them understand, but my whole body and soul hurt.
“I have a special ointment that will heal those bruises right up; then we’re going to bed,” Ion promised, and I sank further into his arms, so glad that I didn't have to sleep alone tonight because I was sure to have nightmares.