Captivated by the deadly mafia boss

Lena

It’s dark outside. Inside too.

There’s a lamp on the side table beside the cot in this room I’m locked in, but I leave it off. I’ve seen enough of the white painted walls and cold cement flooring during the daytime. My headache is gone, as well as the nausea, leaving plenty of room for the breath-stealing fear to grow.

Whatever drug they laced my latte with has worked out of my system. Other than a dry mouth and hunger rumbling my stomach, I’m the picture of perfect health. There’s a glass of water perched on the side table, next to the lamp, but I won’t take the chance. Waking up in here was horrific enough the first time. If they drug me again, who knows where I’ll wake up.

I clench my teeth together and wrap my arms around myself. The light sweater I was wearing over the thin cotton sundress when they took me does nothing to ward off the chill in this room.

Where am I?

I take another calm breath. Most of my energy is wasted on keeping calm. No one has spoken to me since I’ve been awake. Other than a small, frail woman rushing in with the water and then running back out, I’ve seen no one.

But they see me.

My attention focuses on the camera fixed to the ceiling in the corner of the room. The red light blinks at me, taunting me. Anyone could have taken me. My father isn’t exactly well loved. A man with his power has enemies. It’s how we ended up hiding out in Poland. Someone tried to have him arrested, put away for years if not the rest of his life. Now that they failed, they’ve taken me.

Crying from the other side of the door snags my attention and I rush to it, pressing my ear to the wood paneling. It’s a thin door, one I could probably kick through. But it’s also bolted.

“No! No!” A woman’s plea scratches against me, sharp as glass. I yank on the handle again, cursing at the stupidity of it. I can’t help that girl any more than I can help myself.

A door slams. More crying. A broken sob fades as the cries soften. She’s been taken somewhere, but where?

The chill of the wood against my forehead as I press against it doesn’t do anything to cool my anger. Or my fear.

I flatten my hands against the door, and count to ten as I drag in a breath. My diaphragm extends. Hold for three seconds, release. Repeat. On my third round, the bolt jiggles from the other side of the door.

Jerking backward, I barely miss being hit by it when it swings open. I trip on my heel, but catch myself before I fall on my ass by grabbing onto the edge of the bed.

The man in the doorway says nothing as he steps inside and shuts the door. What little light pouring in with him is blocked out again. He steps into a beam of moonlight spilling into the room from the small window.

He’s well dressed in a suit. Leather shoes, firmly pressed black slacks. The white button-down shirt beneath his jacket has ivory buttons. He’s missing a tie, and the top two buttons are open.

“Why don’t you have the light on?” He breaks the suffocating silence.

I move around the bed, putting another foot between us. Somehow it matters, even though it doesn’t.

“I don’t need it.” I keep my voice even. If he’s the sort of monster that feeds off fear, he’ll have to get his meal elsewhere.

His steps are quiet along the floor as he moves to the side table. With a click, yellow light floods the room. I close my eyes and look away for a moment, slowly letting them adjust. It’s not bright, just new.

I blink my eyes open, bringing my attention into focus on him. My heart stops. Another second. It flutters to life again, dragging my lungs along with it.

I’ve seen this man before.

His dark hair is combed back, but not slick with gel as some of the other men I’ve seen him with. There’s a shadow of a beard on his jaw, but it’s the scar-jagged and long-that captures my gaze.

“Lena Staszek.” My stomach twists as he says my name. “Your brother and your father have been very, very bad.” He’s taunting me.

“My brother and father are going to kill you when they find out what you’ve done,” I threaten, and it’s true. I’m a possession-their possession and they won’t accept this insult.

He laughs. “Yes. I’m sure they’ll want to.” He scratches his jaw, along the scar. “Do you know where you are?” He levels his eyes on me. Danger. Every second his dark gaze focuses on me, my brain screams the word.

“You’re an Ivanov,” I accuse, not answering his question. I’ve seen the Ivanov family at parties, but I’ve never been so close.

Knowing who he is gives me insight to my location, but I’m not ready to admit it too loudly yet.

“Micah Ivanov.” He slips his hands into his pockets. “I’ll ask again, but this is the last time I’ll be generous enough to repeat my question, do you know where you are?”

There’s a warning underlining his words. My chest tightens. There is nowhere for me to run. If this man wants to do horrible, terrible things to me, I’ll have nowhere to hide.

“I think so.” I step further back until I’m pressed against the wall. It’s not much, but at least it’s some protection.

“Tell me,” he insists, his chin raising a fraction. Is he daring me?

“This is where you hold the women you sell.” My voice cracks on the last word, but I quickly clear my throat to cover it up. I’ve been told horror stories of the Ivanov family. The holding cells, the auctions, the trading of flesh.

“Yes.” He pauses. “This is where my father holds the women he sells,” he clarifies. There’s a distinction he wants me to understand.

“I’m not one of those women,” I tell him. “I’m Lena Staszek. My father, Joseph Staszek, will not stand for this. You should release me now before there’s more trouble.” I point to the door only two feet away to my right. He didn’t lock it when he came in. I could throw it open and run-right into a guard.This content belongs to Nô/velDra/ma.Org .

“I know who you are.” He smiles, as though this entire conversation is a playful distraction to the rest of his day. “I also know why you’re here, but do you?”

“No.” I drop my hand back to my side, fisting it.

“You’re here because your family stole from mine.” He folds his arms over his chest. “You’re here as retribution for that theft. Though I’m not entirely sure we’ll recoup the loss on your sale alone.”

My sale.

My throat closes.

“You can’t,” I manage to say, pushing my chin higher. What my voice lacks in strength, I can make up in demeanor. My father always accused me of having a murderous glare when angered. I can only hope he wasn’t exaggerating.

“Oh, I assure you we can.”

“Whatever you think my father took from you, I promise you he didn’t. There’s a truce between our families. He wouldn’t break that.” I have no idea if I’m spewing lies or hope. Other than what I’ve overheard over the years, I know nothing of my father’s true business dealings. As the youngest-and a girl-my father and brothers sheltered me from their work.

“Your father didn’t, you’re right. But your brother, Dominik, did.” He glances at the cot. The sheets are wrinkled but otherwise undisturbed. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

“Let me call Dominik or my father. They’ll sort this out,” I offer.

His left eyebrow arches. “Do you really think that’s going to happen?”

My shoulders drop. Of course it won’t.

“They don’t know where I am.”

I had parked on a street with little pedestrian traffic. The odds that anyone saw what happened are slim. The odds that anyone would tell are even smaller. The Ivanovs aren’t known for their generosity.

“Not yet. The video is being sent to him now.” He points to the camera in the corner. “We’ll see what the next step after that is.”

“He won’t let you sell me,” I insist. He can’t. My father may be many things, but he would never let them do such a thing to me. Not for any reason.

“We’ll see.” Micah shrugs then moves toward me. Already pressed against the wall, I have no escape. He picks up a long lock of my hair and rubs it between his two fingers. “There may be other options.”

“There will be a war between our families. And my father will bring his allies to his aid,” I school him.

His lips twist up into a satanic grin. “How many Polaks do you think he can gather?”

My body stiffens at the insult.

“Enough to end your family,” I say, finding my strength again. I won’t allow this asshole to look down on my family, on my people.

“You think so? You think your father will go to war over one girl?”

“I am his daughter.” I lock gazes with him. He will not own me in this moment. I will not stand down to this Russian prick.

“True. But will the other families care once they find out the truce was broken by your brother and not my family?” He drops my hair and leans toward me. His warm breath rushes over my cheeks. “Do you think they’ll care about poor little Lena wasting away in the Ivanov stable?”

“Fuck you.” My insides rattle.

His eyes narrow, and he shakes his head. “We’ll have to work on your attitude before the auction.”

I clamp my mouth shut. Nothing I say will help my situation. He didn’t come down here to talk with me; he’s here to toy with me.

“I suggest you get some sleep, Lena. While you can.” He runs the back of his knuckles over my cheek. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

An icy tremor skates down my spine when he pulls back.

“I’ll have food sent.” He winks, then leaves me standing against the wall trembling.

Food? I won’t eat it. I won’t drink anything they send. And I won’t sleep to give them an opportunity to mess with me. I will remain vigilant and find a way out of this mess.

I am a Staszek, and we don’t give in to Russian scum.