Chapter 5
AJLA
Have you ever watched one of those movies where people had sprawling mansions in the middle of nowhere, with massive driveaways, a mix of Victorian and Gothic architecture, and their own butler? I had. And I always wondered what kind of a job someone had to afford something like that.
Now I knew—they were probably part of the mafia.
The man who’d sat on my left during the car ride, whose name I’d learned was Gio, pretty much dragged me through the house, up the stairs, and toward what was no doubt my prison.
Nicolas was nowhere to be found after we got out of the car, but that didn't stop me from yelling as they dragged me inside or trying to fight them.
It was futile, I knew, but I had to try.
I still had no idea what they wanted with me or why I was even here, and Nicolas's reassurances that they weren't going to kill me weren't enough to stop me from looking for an escape.
Tonight, I wished I had enrolled in the special forces when my mom suggested it instead of going to the College for Business and Economics.
But there was no time to wallow in self-pity and what-ifs. Not right now.
My eyes scanned every surface of the house, or the castle, which felt more accurate, trying to figure out the path to the front door, especially since they hadn't blindfolded me.
Then again, they probably didn't bother because they knew I had nowhere to run.
The moment we'd exited the car, I’d noticed the massive illuminated gates with guards stationed at the entrance.
Even if I managed to escape this hellhole, there was no way I'd be able to climb those fences. And even if I did… where would I go?
There was nothing for miles around.
I understood why. If I were involved in some shady shit, I wouldn't want eyes on me either. I wondered if Nicolas's boss was somewhere close by. Maybe he was more reasonable than the fucker who’d taken me.
Gio led me to the last door on the second floor, at the very end of the hallway, his mammoth sized hand wrapped around my upper arm.
But there was no pressure this time. When they’d stopped me from leaving the restaurant, when they’d lifted me off the ground, I thought I was done for.
Gio didn't exactly look like a teddy bear, especially with his size and shaved, tattooed head, but he also didn’t strike me as cruel for the sake of it.
"Am I going to die here, Gio?" I asked as we came to a stop in front of the door.
He took a deep breath, opened it, and led me inside without a word.
I tried to squash the disappointment in my chest. If I was a prisoner here, it would’ve been nice to have someone to just talk to. Someone who didn't want me dead.
Gio flipped on the lights, revealing the bedroom that was almost bigger than my entire apartment.
A king-sized bed sat in the middle with a beige headboard and gray sheets, but it was the small nook right by the windows that caught my attention.
If this were a different situation and if I hadn't been brought here against my will, I would've said that the little nook looked like a perfect place to just sit and enjoy a good book.
I didn't miss the fact that the room was barely decorated, or that there weren't any belongings lying around.
The exhaustion I hadn't known I carried in my bones dragged me toward the bed. When I sat down, I finally looked up at Gio. "Could I get some water?" God, I just hoped they weren't planning on starving me. "Please?"
"Of course." He stepped closer. "And ma'am—"
"Ajla."
A small smile played on his lips. "Ajla, you're not going to die. My boss might be many things, but he isn't the monster people make him out to be." Easy for him to say. "I'll bring you water. And a change of clothes."
I looked down, only then realizing I was still in my little black dress and heels that weren't made to be worn this long. I would’ve killed for a shower, but as I looked toward the open bathroom door, I couldn't bring myself to get up.
I just wanted to disappear for a while. Close my eyes and pretend this was all a nightmare.
"Thank you, Gio. And… sorry for the scratches," I said, looking at the bright red marks on his neck. I knew I needed a manicure, but I hadn't realized I was capable of leaving such marks. "Heat of the moment and all."
"Don't worry," the giant laughed. "I've had worse."
I'm sure he did, but I still felt bad.
I hated violence at my core, and I tried to avoid people who reveled in it.
I’d grown up around traces of violence so vicious that even to this day my stomach still churn thinking about the innocent people who’d died so others could grow richer.
Being in this situation definitely didn't sit right with me.
Not just because I was kidnapped, but because I couldn't help but think about the people that got injured in that restaurant.
I also couldn't stop thinking about Nicolas's boss and if he had something to do with this kidnapping.
No neI worked with or even crossed paths with like the mafia type, but life had taught me that those you least expected to be fuckers always ended up being the worst.
Kicking off my heels, I lay back on the bed, hoping Gio would be back soon with my water. Maybe I could close my eyes for a second. Just a minute until he comes back. I'd rest them a bit before figuring out what I should do.
Just for a second.
"Cazzo!"
I jumped up in the bed as the shout bounced off the walls, echoing around me while I tried to get my bearings.
Where the fuck...
Ah.
AAAAH.
"Stupid fucking shit," came from the direction of the bathroom, and as I looked around, I realized I was in near total darkness, a blanket thrown over me. Light poured through the open bathroom door, and I didn't need a PhD to figure out that the voice was coming from there.
There was some more cursing, grunting, before another shout came through.
"Okay," I muttered, throwing the blanket off of me and getting up from the bed. Whoever was in there was either getting tortured or they had a really bad case of diarrhea, and either way, I needed to sleep.
Was it stupid to get up and see what was going on? Most definitely. But this wasn't a horror movie, and I wasn’t expecting a boogeyman.
I'd already met him.
And he was way too hot to qualify.
Tiptoeing toward the door, I pushed it open only to be met by a scene that could fall both under the horror movie genre but also porn. Because right in front of the sink stood a shirtless man, a towel around his hips and blood all over the sink, dripping on the floor. And, yeah, the towel as well.
The towel that sat far too low on.
The towel that was probably too small for him.
The towel I had no idea how he’d managed to secure.
Tattoos covered his back, snaked down his arms, crept up his nec. When I looked up, I met his eyes through the mirror. Amused. Knowing.
"Take a good look, I don't mind."
I fucking gulped.
It wasn't fair that someone like him got to look this good. It wasn't fair that he was sculpted like a Greek God. How were the rest of us supposed to survive? And worse, his gaze dropped to me, slow and deliberate, heat blooming as it dragged over my body.
"W-What–-" I cleared my throat. "What are you doing here?"
"I live here."
I rolled my eyes. "No shit, Sherlock. I meant, what are you doing in this bathroom, and what are you–" I looked at his hand, only then realizing where all the blood was coming from. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"Well.” His eyebrow arched. “Seeing as someone stabbed me a couple of hours ago, I had to clean the wound and wrap it up. I might be the villain in your story, but even villains didn't want to die from infections."
Yeah, and I didn't want to die from a heart attack, but we couldn't always get what we wanted, could we now?
He looked down at his hand and then at the bottle sitting on top of the sink, and I didn't miss the resigned look on his face.
"You're making a mess," I huffed, getting closer to him and trying to ignore, well, all that.
I had to remember I wasn't here willingly, but I also hated seeing anyone struggle.
It was one of the few things Anna and I always disagreed on.
Even if people fucked me over, even if they tore my heart out, I couldn't stop myself from helping them.
I got better at it over the years, but pain wasn't something I wanted to look at if I could help it.
"You don't say."
Stopping next to him, I took his hand in mine, ignoring the satisfaction blooming in my chest at knowing I’d done this to him.
"You don't have to look so smug, you know?"
"Who?" I looked up at him, still holding his hand. "Me? I would never."
"Yeah, you would. And I'm not sure if I like it… or if I should be afraid of you."
My thumb pressed against his wound, earning a painful grunt.
"Whoops," I chuckled. "I missed the spot."
His dark eyes narrowed at me, but he stayed silent as I looked back at his hand.
He was younger than me.
He was a mobster, mafia, whatever the fuck they called it.
He kidnapped me.
But my vajayjay apparently missed the memo, because the moment I touched him it was open season for Nicolas Moretti.
"Well, the bad news is that you'll live."
His breath brushed my cheek. I hadn’t noticed him leaning in.
"Sorry to disappoint."
"Yeah, uh, right."
"What's the good news?"
"What?" I looked up, only for our noses to touch. His lips were right there, his breath caressing my lips, and for a second I forgot what happened just hours ago.
"I said." He wrapped a lock of my loose hair around the finger of his free hand. "What's the good news?"
"The, uh, yeah," I cleared my throat. "The good news is that I took several first-aid classes. I know how to clean and dress a wound."
"And you would do that for me, even though I kidnapped you?"