The Mafia Don's Captive

3 - I Have Questions

Titania

I squint in the room's dimness, still seeing nothing at all. The dangerous stranger's hand hovers mere centimeters away from my temple which is torn slightly open and bleeding, thanks to his con assistant. It takes seconds for my eyes to focus, but it seems like hours. My heart pounds at his words. His subtle threat in them.

I move my hands over the broad, black expanse in front of me. It's solid and well-built like a brick wall; the chest of a strong man. His abs are carved to perfection behind the dark suit jacket and the rest of his body is ripped down. I don't dare look up to see his shimmering blue eyes watching me intently. I've never been this close up with a man I don't know — not even the uncomfortable male customers at the café got this far into my personal space. The thought of that terrifies me. He's a stiff wall of muscle and he exudes raw unfiltered power.

Instinctively, I inhale, curious to know what he smells like. The smell of his aftershave is pleasant and intoxicating, causing me to hold the sides of my head as a slight dizziness rock my brain. His hands slid cautiously around my waist, holding me firmly in place. I swallow, still not looking up, feeling vulnerable and bare. I wrap my fingers around me to steady myself but his hands still don't move away. I feel trapped, like a cornered animal, praying not to get hurt.

When I eventually look up and take in his chiseled jaw — one that could cut through steel — I suck in a deep breath and admit that I'm screwed. I have a thing for men with chiseled jaws. They turn me on. Neat, trimmed stubble is splattered generously over the sharp line of his jaw, and above his upper lip he had shaved off his mustache completely but the dark shadow was still there. His hair was a stunning blond — almost fiery golden. I take my time before meeting his eyes because I'm aware of the instant spell they'll have on my entire being. His face is smooth, spotless like a baby's, except for a little scar in the form of a thick black hole on his left temple. An obvious imperfection that made all other perfection even more perfect, if that makes sense.

At last, our eyes lock, and I blink in disbelief at how surreal they look. Deeper than the deep blue sea, more beautiful than the skies on a sunny day, his eyes have me transfixed, hot, and bothered. There's no doubt that there's an unmistakable edge in them — a sinister sharpness that only draws me further in than keeps me away. I've always been attracted to brooding men with an intimidating aura and he fit into all those boxes without a hitch.

“I'm still waiting for a response, Titania,” he tilts his head to the side, his eyes dropping to my breasts. I shudder when his tongue swipes out to wet his bottom lip unconsciously. Painful imaginations of what my life would look like after the thirty days are up flash through my mind. Standing by and letting him put a bullet through my uncle's skull wasn't even an alternative to be considered. I'll prefer that he rather shoot me first than harm Uncle Patrick.

“I don't have anything else to say as I've accepted your propositions.”

He nods slowly, dragging his eyes from my bosom to my face. I avert my gaze, unable to look at him any further. My cheeks are burning under his heated stare. Goodness knows I'll probably be limping around by day thirty.

Then it hit me. I've sold my soul to him. I've already said yes to a man I barely even know.

My eyes shift back to Uncle Patrick who's watching with a scarred expression as though he wants to vomit. “Can you let him go, now?”

He huffs and makes a circular motion I don't recognize with his hand. The dark-haired goon who'd knocked me out hauls Uncle Patrick up from his seat and pushes him forward, causing him to stumble and fall face flat on the wooden floor. I turn sharply to the man. “You said you won't hurt him,” I say in a cracked voice.

He only makes a scoffing sound as the goon pulls my uncle up and hoists him out the door, his equally hung companion following closely.

“What are you doing? You said you'd let him go!” I howl.

“And I will, princess,” his jaw ticks. “Just as soon as the thirty days are up, you can have your sweet uncle all to yourself. Until then, he's under my supervision.”

I wipe away my tears. That makes perfect sense. He's afraid that if he lets Uncle Patrick go, he might involve the police and have them come after him. Smart man.

“It's Christian, isn't it?” I say in a voice barely audible enough for him to hear it. However, since his eyes are forever trained on my face, he catches the words from my lips.

“Kristoff.”

Oh my. One thing is for sure, he's nothing like the Kristoff I know in Frozen.

“Do you think he's worth it?” the devil whispers, bringing his fingers up to brush over my lips, over the edges, dragging them down to my chin. “He might be your uncle. But that doesn't change the fact that he's a pussy.”

“He's family. He means a lot to me.”

“Family pushes us to do a lot of things we aren't sure of. Family can be selfish sometimes. I don't still think you know what you've just gotten yourself into,” he licks his lips once more, slowly this time. “I'm not a gentleman in bed. My hunger for you is ravenous.”

Suppressing the disgusting urge to crush my lips against his, I look away and murmur bravely. “I can take whatever s**t you bring onto the table. As long as my uncle is safe, I'll do anything.”

“Even trade your own life?” he raises a brow, awe-struck.

I nod. “Yes. He gave his life to save mine, many years ago. I won't stop loving him no matter what offenses he commits. That's the true definition of family.”

The goons enter now, without Uncle Patrick. “All clear, Sir. We've taken him in.”

“Perfect,” Kristoff whirls away from me. “Take her to the mansion and put her in a bedroom, with Ally as her supervisor. Tell Ally to treat her head and bath her.”

“Can I bring some of my clothes along?” I ask, even though I know I won't be needing them. I might as well dress in only white lace panties for the entire thirty days, what difference does it make?

Kristoff shakes his head. “There won't be any use for your rags,” he snaps his fingers. “Take her away.”

“But...”

I'm astonished at how quickly everything seems to be happening. Taking a step forward, the first goon pulls my arms and locks my wrists in a death grip behind me. I feel his eyes burn holes in the back of my head as I try not to kick backward.

“Careful, Peter,” Kristoff warns.

The goon nods, bending to pick up my shirt from the floor. He lets go of my wrists and helps me put it on, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. Oh, how I wish to knock him out so badly. “There,” he says gruffly, his voice a tad bit more huskier than Kristoff's but not as strong.

“You can't even give me a day to process things before locking me up in your house?”

“I'm not taking any chances of you bailing out on our agreement.”

“But you have my uncle for God's sake!”

“And you might bring in the police, and even though I have a lot of connections in the task force, I can't risk the added scandal,” he urges me forward. “Now be a decent little girl and shut the f**k up. His face breaks into a sly smile, “you'll need the energy later while we study bedmatics.”

I scrunch my nose up in disgust, my insides churning at his words. Out in the hallway, I'm dumbfounded to see tall, huge men with shades lined up on both sides of the corridor, their stiff postures almost robotic. These are dangerous men, and Kristoff is even more dangerous and powerful than I initially thought. He's their leader, no doubt.

Oh my god. What in hell have I agreed to? What if Kristoff kills me after the agreed thirty days and hides my body? How can I trust his words that Uncle Patrick is safe?

At the top of the stairs, Peter stops and Kristoff steps forward with the wet blindfold, wanting to secure it over my eyes.

“Why?” I ask, touching the cloth and wishing to throw it on the floor. “Please let me at least see where you're taking me to.”

“You agreed to my terms, Titania,” he sighs, his tone annoyed. “Therefore I'm the one calling the shots. I'm not abducting you if you must know. And I don't care if you don't trust me.”

I open my mouth to argue, then close it. This is pointless. I don't want to make him upset.

“Attagirl,” he says when my hands fall back to my sides.

I roll my eyes and his smirk is the last thing I see before my vision is obstructed by a thick spool of black. With each step down the stairs, my heart pounds as though I'm being led to my execution and I grip the battered handrails for support. When I stumble against my foot, he whips out a hand to catch my arm and steadies me. I listen attentively but I don't hear a sound. The neighbors are supposed to be back home by now. Or did Kristoff scare them away? Did he kill them?

Fuck. So many questions.

I try not to break down in tears. I can't take Kristoff's words that Uncle Patrick is at fault to heart. I know my uncle. He wouldn't do this. He wouldn't steal.

But I had seen the passports in the wardrobe while arranging my stuff last night, so that means Kristoff isn't lying either. Does it mean I don't know my uncle at all?

Someone is playing shady games here, and I'm now the culprit. I need to find answers to my questions fast, and before the thirty days are up.