3. A Choice Is All You Have.
A Choice Is All You Have.
Where was my hairpin? That was my first thought as the dizzy world came back into focus. It was my only weapon and held sentimental value for me. I tried to reach for my hair, but my hand didn’t cooperate.
It was dark. I was moving. Everything was moving.
My eyelashes fluttered shut again before I could make sense of it. Instead, I focused on the voices. Male voices. Not Italian. A laugh from someone behind me. Panic flickered in my chest, but I couldn’t hold on to it. All sensations and feelings felt as fleeting as the wind.
Drugged.
The thought arrived slowly, sinking deep into my consciousness. My throat tightened. I forced my eyes open again. Black leather. That was the smell. I was on a seat… maybe a car or a plane? I couldn’t tell.
A figure sat opposite me, his knees spread, one ringed hand resting on his thigh. His face warped and doubled. He leaned forward, and my eyes closed again, drawing me back into the abyss where it felt safer.
When I resurfaced, it was with a shiver that wracked my entire body. I was so cold that my teeth were chattering. There was fabric beneath me, something much softer than before. A mattress. I was on a bed.
No. No, no, no.
My body jerked weakly as I tried to peel my eyes open in the dim light.
It was a pathetic movement when all I wanted to do was leap to my feet and run.
But at least my body was moving. I tested my wrists.
Free. My ankles weren’t tied together either.
That should have been a relief, but it wasn’t.
Of course, it wasn’t. Because they could have done anything to me and I wouldn’t have been able to fight back.
Terror and panic flooded in, hotter this time, heating my veins.
I forced my head to turn and take in the bedroom.
A glass of water sat on the bedside table.
A wardrobe. A chest of drawers. Closed curtains with a stream of yellow light trickling in from beneath them.
An empty chair in the corner. I didn’t know where the fuck I was, but I knew I wasn’t home. It wasn’t Italy.
They wanted Arianna. Irish accents. They were McKenna’s men.
Cazzo.
My breathing turned ragged. I tried to sit up, but fell back onto the mattress. A door opened, and a tall, looming figure leaned against the frame. He stepped inside, and the world crashed once more.
When the drug had finally left my system, I lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as my mind and body finally reconnected.
My palms stung. My muscles ached. But I wasn’t injured. And… I hadn’t been raped. I was pretty certain of that. I was still wearing the maid’s uniform and the hoodie, but my shoes were gone.
The room was eerily quiet. No voices drifted through the walls. There was only a low, artificial hum that could have been a radiator or a lightbulb. I had no idea.
I tried to swallow past the stale, sour taste in my mouth and glanced at the glass of water. God, I wanted just a sip, but I didn’t dare. I doubted they’d drug me again or poison it, but I wasn’t willing to trust it.
After the longest time, I pushed myself into a sitting position, fighting the wave of dizziness and nausea that crashed over me. My stomach lurched violently, and I tipped sideways, squeezing my eyes shut until it passed.
Planting my bare feet on the wooden floorboards, I peered around the ordinary room again. It had everything you’d expect in a standard bedroom. It wasn’t a basement or a prison cell. It was pleasant, and that only made the hairs on my neck stand up even more.
When I tried to stand, my knees nearly buckled, and I had to grip the edge of the mattress to steady myself. I stood and caught sight of blood down the front of the once-white apron. That wasn’t my blood.
Nero.
My stomach twisted again, the onslaught of grief and guilt making my next few breaths loud and ragged. I had to find a way out of here.
I started walking in circles around the room, trying all the doors, which were locked, and pausing at the windows. They were fake. They were glass with a lighting design to replicate sunlight behind a very realistic photograph of a countryside landscape. Was I underground?
When I realised that was useless, I started searching for a weapon instead. Anything I could use to protect myself. But the room was basically bare, apart from a few pieces of furniture.
The door clicked, and I spun towards the same looming figure of an older man I’d seen in my hallucinations.
Only this time, I was alert enough to know he was real.
He was over six feet tall, a large man with a deep scar running from his left temple to the corner of his lip.
His blue eyes assessed me with icy detachment, telling me he’d never felt an ounce of love or warmth in his life.
“How you feelin’, Soraya?” he asked with false politeness as he stepped into the room. I instinctively stepped back three paces and bumped into the chest of drawers. He stopped and smiled.
He looked expensive. Like a man who tried to hide his inhumanity beneath designer clothes and a well-groomed beard. He had a long silk handkerchief hanging from one of his pockets, and a huge gold ring on his little finger, set with a sapphire.
Sean McKenna. The Boss of Ireland’s largest and most deadly gang, and Arianna’s estranged uncle. The man my family had declared war on when my brother took Aria as his wife, unaware that she was related to him.
He walked over to a dress laid out on the chair, picked it up carefully, and placed it on the bed, letting his fingers run down its length.
“Do you like it? I thought it would suit you. You should dress to your station, Soraya. We both know you’re not a maid. Though I am intrigued by what you were doin’ meetin’ an Italian soldier in the dead of night, in disguise. Secret love affair?”
I stared at the floor, my throat tight and my anxiety preventing me from uttering a word, which was beyond frustrating because I had a lot to say to this man.
He chuckled at my silence. “So it’s true what they say. You don’t talk.” He stepped closer and grabbed my chin, forcing my gaze upwards until I met his. I glanced over his shoulder instead, avoiding his cold eyes.
“What a pretty thing you are. If that’s true, then it must all be true. The innocent, mute virgin princess. What a prize I’ve caught.”
He let go of me and held out his hand. “Where are my manners? I forgot to introduce myself. Sean McKenna. I believe you’re well acquainted with my niece.”
I swallowed hard as I hesitantly placed my hand in his, daydreaming of spitting in his face instead. But this was the only power I had in this situation. Let him underestimate me. Let him mistake my quietness for innocence and my softness for weakness.
Men like Sean McKenna only saw what they wanted to see: a girl who lowered her eyes, who choked on her words and kept out of people’s way, and thought she must be untouched by darkness. That I’d fear whatever they threw my way.
They’re wrong, of course. I’m the one they should fear because they’ll never see me coming.
“Rumour has it that your brother, Santino, has done the unthinkable,” he continued, stepping back from me and walking towards the door.
“He forced my niece, the only blood relative I have left, into a marriage with him.” He turned back to me, shaking his head.
“The disrespect. He didn’t ask for my permission for her hand.
Nor did your family enter into a marriage alliance with me.
Therefore… I can only assume they want war. ”
He sighed and leaned against the door frame, rotating his ring on his finger.
“But it doesn’t have to be that way, of course. All they need to do is hand Arianna over to me. Once they realise I have you… I think that choice might become a little easier to make.”
My heart thundered as I thought of the impossible position I’d just put my family in because of my stupidity.
I’d never been so pissed off with myself.
All for a bit of information about a man who ghosted me.
Of all the times in my life I could have done something that insane, I had to choose the one night the Irish were lurking outside.
Santino. This would kill him. He’d be torn between saving me from this evil man and keeping his wife safe. I couldn’t let that happen. My family would go to war without the Russians’ backing if they had to, and that would be catastrophic.
“Freshen up. I’ll wait outside.” He closed the door behind him, and I quickly dressed, showing him I could be obedient. Mafia men were all the same. They needed to feel like they held all the power.
Once I was wearing the white dress with a corset-style waist, I tried not to roll my eyes. It made me look like a bloody angel. I knocked gently on the door, and Sean opened it, smiling at my appearance.
“Beautiful,” he said, holding his elbow out to me. “Shall we?”
I rested my hand on his arm and let him lead me through what seemed to be an extremely modern, single-storey home.
I scanned every detail, noting that all the windows displayed fake images of serene landscapes illuminated by artificial light.
When we reached a living room with deep red curtains and expensive antique furniture, I was ushered towards a sofa.
“Can I offer you a drink and somethin’ to eat, Soraya?
The drugs dehydrated you, and you’ll need your energy,” he said in fluent Italian, and I nodded.
He gestured to the man standing by the door, who left.
“Surprised I can speak Italian? Or surprised I am so accommodatin’?
” He placed a notepad and a pen beside me.
“One-way conversations are never much fun.”
I lifted the notepad and pen onto my lap, but I didn’t write a thing.
“Now.” He clapped his hands together, twisting them as if he were rubbing clay between his fingers, and stared at me with excitement sparking in those cold eyes. “Let me introduce you to some important people.”