27. Alexia
27
Alexia
M y eyelids flutter open, and the dim light cuts through the haze in my mind, harsh and uninviting. I’m lying on a stiff bed in a windowless room, the air heavy with the damp chill of concrete. The walls are raw stone, cold and unyielding, like a prison carved from the earth itself. Shadows cast by a single overhead bulb dance over the craggy walls, reminding me of the darkness surrounding me here. Igor’s stronghold—a place that reeks of control, oppression, and the suffocating chill of his presence.
As I push myself upright, the first sting of awareness strikes my wrists. The steel cuffs bite into my skin, chaining me to the thick concrete column by the bed. My arms ache, muscles stiff from who knows how many hours of confinement, and I fight the urge to let despair creep in. Panic prickles at the edges of my mind, but I shove it back, swallowing it down, refusing to let it grow.
This is what Igor wants. He wants me broken, helpless. The way I was years ago, back when I thought surrendering to him was the only way to protect my family. Back when I was naive enough to believe he’d keep his word.
But things are different now. I’m different. I’m not the woman I was when I left Dave. And I’m not the woman who once obeyed Igor out of fear. Now, I know what he is. I know what he’s capable of—and what he intends to do with my daughter if I don’t fight.
The memory of Dave’s face flickers in my mind, the way he looked at me when he saw the scars Igor left behind, a mixture of fury and heartbreak etched into his eyes. He’d tried to mask it, but I saw through him, felt his protectiveness like a warm blanket wrapping around me on a chilly night. He’s out there, probably tearing the world apart to find me, but I can’t wait for him. I won’t be a victim anymore.
I clench my fingers into fists, nails digging into my palms, the sharp bite of pain snapping me into focus. I scan the room, cataloging the details, every possible advantage I can seize. The bed is bolted to the floor—a prison tactic, no doubt. The door is heavy steel, likely locked from the outside, and I can hear faint murmurs beyond it. Igor’s guards. Loyal, brutish, and just as cruel as he is.
There’s a nightstand to my right with a small, dim lamp on it. Beside it, a half-full glass of water. My throat aches with thirst, but I ignore it out of fear that Igor’s added some drug to it. That’s a common MO for him. So I shift my focus back to the immediate task: survival. Escape. I’m mentally listing everything I know about Igor’s habits, his men, the weaknesses I’ve observed in his fortress over the years. He never realized I was watching, that I was waiting for an opportunity, for any chink in the armor of his precious empire. He has always seen me as weak because I’m a woman. That’s his first mistake.
The heavy metal door groans open, and my body stiffens instinctively. I know who it is before I even look. There’s a chill that spreads through the room, like a gust of icy wind snaking its way through the cracks in my resolve. Igor steps in, his silhouette casting a long shadow that seems to swallow everything in its path. He stands there, backlit, his eyes two pits of darkness set deep into his weathered face. The scar running down his cheek always gives me the creeps. His lips curl in a way that makes my stomach twist.
“You’re finally up, dear wife.” His voice is a slow drawl that’s both mocking and venomous. He steps forward, and the dim light highlights the sharp planes of his face, his gaze drilling into me like he’s dissecting my very soul.
I force myself to hold his onyx-like eyes, to keep my expression blank, unyielding. Inside, I’m shaking. My heart hammers against my ribcage, but I’ll be damned if I show him even a flicker of the terror I’m feeling. I’m not afraid of myself, though. I’m terrified because I know what he’s planning to do to Pete and Rose.
“Enjoying your new digs?” he taunts, circling me slowly, his footsteps echoing in the silence. He chuckles, a cruel sound that scrapes like nails dragging across a chalkboard. “You know, you put yourself here,” he sneers, his voice coaxing. “Running to Dave like that. Did you really think he could protect you from me? Or protect your dear daughter?”
I clench my jaw, fighting the cold prickle of doubt he’s planted. But he sees the flicker of hesitation. He seizes it with a grin, stepping closer. “Think about it,” he whispers, his tone venomous. “Every time you defied me, every time you thought you were stronger than me, you left cracks wide open. You thought you were running away to safety, but look where it led you… right back to where you belong.”
“You think you’re powerful because you can trap people, Igor? Because you can intimidate them? That’s not strength. It’s coercion.”
He laughs, low and taunting. “Isn’t it, though? You’re here, chained, helpless—proof that every choice you made was a mistake.” His gaze drops, following the line of the chains at my wrists. “You couldn’t protect yourself. What makes you think you can protect others?” He gestures around the room. “In any case, look what I’ve had made just for you: your favorite room back home. I thought you’d appreciate the nostalgia.”
I grit my teeth, biting back the urge to spit in his face. “I’m not the same woman I was when you first chained me, Igor. You broke me there, but I won’t back down here.”
He stops, tilting his head, amusement glinting in his cold eyes. “Is that so? Because from where I’m standing, you look just as useless as ever.” His gaze drops to the chains binding my wrists, a cruel smile tugging at his mouth. “And just as helpless.”
I inhale slowly, willing myself to remain calm. “You must be desperate if you had to resort to this,” I murmur, meeting his gaze with steel in my own. “Kidnapping me, threatening a child. Are you that threatened by Dave? After all, he’s a better man than you in so many ways.”
The strike of the back of his hand comes as no surprise. In fact, I welcome the sting of the blow. It means I’ve struck a nerve, and the knowledge gives me a surge of satisfaction. Igor hates to be seen as weak, hates any implication that his power might be slipping. But I know better now. I’ve seen his cracks, his flaws, the depths of his depravity.
“You’ll learn to respect me, you slut,” he says, his voice a low growl as he leans closer, so close that I can smell the faint whiff of cologne and something darker, more sinister. “If it’s the last thing you do.”
I raise my chin defiantly. “Respect is earned, not taken by force.”
The second slap comes fast, a brutal crack across my other cheek that leaves my skin burning, my vision swimming. Pain flares, white-hot and blinding, but I grit my teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s hurt me.
He brings his face to inches of mine, and I can see every detail—the scar bisecting his cheek, the crow’s feet around his eyes, and the hardness in his gaze that hints at years of cruelty. “I’ll break you,” he whispers, his voice dripping with malice. “Just like I did before.”
I smirk, despite the pain throbbing in my cheek. “You’re right, I did break before. But now, I’m sharper. Stronger.” I lean forward, letting my voice drop to a low hiss. “You’re the one who should be afraid.”
For a heartbeat, his eyes flicker with something—maybe a hint of uncertainty or a flash of anger. Then it’s gone, replaced by his usual mask of cold detachment. He straightens, smoothing his pristine charcoal jacket, and steps back, his expression harder than stone.
“We’ll see about that,” he states in an icy tone. He turns on his heel, striding toward the door with an air of command that sharpens his every step. “Enjoy your solitude. It won’t last long.”
As the door slams shut, locking me in darkness once more, I let out a slow, shuddering breath. My cheeks burn, but it’s nothing compared to the fire igniting inside me. I’ve been broken before. I’ve been a prisoner, a pawn in his sick game. But not anymore. Now, I’m playing for something bigger—something worth every ounce of strength I have left.
I close my eyes, picturing Rose’s face, her bright green eyes so much like Dave’s, her innocent smile, her laughter. She’s waiting for me. And I’ll be damned if I let this monster take anything more from us.
I press my back against the concrete column, feeling the cold bite into my skin, grounding me. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot. Igor may think he has the upper hand, but he’s forgotten one thing.
I know his weaknesses. And I’m done being afraid.
I lie on the thin, scratchy blanket, my cheek pressed against the cold fabric, barely daring to breathe. Every inch of my body is tense, alert, straining to catch every whisper from the men huddled by the far wall. I pretend to be asleep, my eyes half-shut beneath lowered lashes, keeping my breathing slow and steady. The chains clink softly with my every inhale, a grim reminder of my situation—of the helplessness they think I’m wallowing in.
Igor’s men stand just a few feet away, their low voices carrying over the silence of the room. They don’t even glance my way, assuming I’m exhausted, too broken to be a threat. The arrogance—the absolute stupidity—of these men is almost laughable. They have no idea that every word they speak is fuel to my growing fire. I shift slightly, turning my head to the side to catch their voices better without making it obvious that I’m listening.
One of the men, a bulky brute with a scar bisecting his eyebrow, mutters something about “the big event.” His voice is a grating rasp, a sound I recognize—Boris, one of Igor’s favorite enforcers. I file that away, imprinting his voice and words in my mind, like marking a map. Every detail counts. Every word they spill is a breadcrumb leading me closer to understanding just how deep this horror goes.
“Dracul wants everything ready by tomorrow,” Boris says, his voice low but urgent. “Igor’s not happy with the security setup, says we need more men at the dock.”
Dracul. The name sounds foreign yet somehow chilling, almost as if it carries a shadow all its own. I keep my breathing steady, focusing on the sound of their voices, willing my heartbeat to slow. Whoever this Dracul character is, he’s not a mere criminal. There’s almost a mix of reverence and caution in the tone these enforcers use to talk about him. He’s definitely darker, someone who operates in the shadows even Igor’s twisted reach doesn’t fully grasp.
Another man, smaller, wiry with a rat-like twitchiness, laughs under his breath, a harsh sound that pricks my ears. “Igor’s always whining about security. Man’s paranoid.”
“Wouldn’t you be, Petrov?” Boris snaps back, sounding irritated. “If we get caught, this whole operation goes to hell. Dracul’s invested in this… personally. And you don’t cross a man like Dracul without deadly consequences.”
The words drop like boulders in my mind, each one causing a ripple of realization. This isn’t just about me or Rose. I’m ensnared in something far larger, a web stretching beyond Igor’s insatiable thirst for power. A network of men who consider people a commodity to be bought and sold. They think a life has value only if it gives them something in return. Igor isn’t just selling my daughter—he’s aligned himself with something far more sinister, a machine fueled by power, greed, and the suffering of countless innocents.
Boris lowers his voice, as if afraid the walls are listening in. “Dracul’s not just funding Igor. He’s supplying him with… new assets. Rumors are they share the same kind of preferences. And that their new sex toys, so to speak, are all part of the auction.”
Petrov whistles softly, definitely impressed by the news. “That kind of backing? No wonder Igor’s become so cocky—worse than ever. He thinks he’s untouchable with Dracul in his corner.”
They laugh, a smug and obnoxious sound that makes me fight a wave of nausea. Their amusement at this sick ring of depravity that they serve makes my skin crawl. I force my jaw to unclench, reminding myself that anger won’t help me now. Information is my weapon. Every word they’re spilling is ammunition, and I’m collecting it all, cataloging it in my mind to use it when I need it.
“Anyway,” Petrov sneers, full of mockery, “the dock’s gonna be swarming with big names. Not just the local players. Dracul’s bringing in some of his… associates. People with enough influence to make us all very, very rich.”
Boris grunts in agreement. “Just don’t get on his bad side. I heard what he did to the last guy who… tested the merchandise before Dracul got it.”
Petrov chuckles. “Oh, I heard. Took the man’s eyes out, first. Said they had seen what belonged to Dracul without permission. Then, he cut off the motherfucker’s dick, saying he had fucked Dracul’s possession.”
The men laugh again, and I feel bile rise in my throat. If Dracul is as twisted as Igor, if not worse, I know exactly the type of “possession” these two are discussing. Their next words make me doubt if they know, though.
When Boris speaks again, his voice comes directly from above me, which means he’s come to stand by the bed. He addresses Petrov, “That’s why I don’t mess with this one. I’d pay good money to come inside every tight hole in her body.” I freeze as the warmth from his fetid breath hits my nostrils. “I’ve jerked off to these images countless times over the years. But I’m not willing to die just yet.”
Petrov mutters, “That’s all well and good, but we should be checking the perimeter.”
Boris nods, stretching his arms in a careless motion. I force myself to keep breathing evenly, to keep my body relaxed, pliant, as if I’m nothing more than a sleeping captive who’s not going anywhere.
The door creaks as they step out, their voices fading into the hallway, the lock clicking into place. Silence envelops the room, thick and tense, but I don’t let myself linger in it. The second I’m sure they’re gone, I sit up, the blanket slipping from my shoulders.
On second thought, if Boris thinks Igor wants me, it means he has no idea what kind of sexual deviant his boss really is. It makes sense that enforcers like Boris and Petrov don’t have that information, though. If they knew it, they might question Igor’s leadership. God, finding out this secret is what put a target on my back. Growing up in my father’s criminal world, I learned that there are very few things Mafia men don’t tolerate. Igor’s sexual appetites being on top of that list.
I press my hands to my temples as my head begins to throb because of the wayward thoughts swirling inside. Dracul, the dock, the auction. All of this information is gold for Dave and his allies in the Syndicate. But time is running out.
The fact that Igor is connected to some very powerful people with similar sexual deviances as his only amplifies the stakes. This isn’t just about escaping from his clutches anymore. This is about taking down something far bigger, a beast that won’t stop until it consumes everything and everyone in its path. And if that is the case, Dave, his brothers, and the Syndicate could be at a disadvantage against this huge network, this multifaceted menace. I have to find a way to alert Dave about this. But how? Not only am I chained to this room, but I also don’t have my phone on me.
Suddenly, Rose’s face, with her bright, innocent smile, fills my vision.
I don’t care what it takes; I just have to get out of this hole and talk to Dave, or send him a message. I managed to escape once. I will find a way to do it again.
“Think, Alexia, think!” I breathe to the darkness, hoping against all odds that some higher power will hear my prayer.