Page 24 of Captive Vows
Alone and bewildered from the experience of speaking with the Boss, I fisted my hands and growled out the scream that was trapped in my chest. Iwas trapped. I was well and truly fucked, captured and stuck here where no one would save me.
My dad gave me to this Mafia boss.
All this anger at him would never fade. But it was the hopelessness of being confined and kept from my dreams that threatened to break me more.
9
LUKA
If she hadn’t struck out and broken that guard’s nose, I probably would’ve let her stew and stay in that room for another week. Just to break her in. To wait out her initial reluctance to realize she was no longer free.
I wasn’t afraid of her hitting any more of my men. After Simon’s nose was reset, I bet none of them would take her for granted again. And yes, he had deserved her wrath. He didn’t need to be so cocky toward her, so smug. He’d poked the beast and gotten what he deserved.
Instead of being livid that she’d wounded one of my men, I had to admit I was impressed.
She wasn’t acting. She wasn’t putting on a show or pretending to be tough. Like a caged animal, she was reacting under that survivalist instinct. After so long of the same old, of the typical captives crying and begging like pathetic defeatists, Gabriella intrigued me.
She wasn’t going to stop fighting this new reality she had to adjust to.
She wouldn’t quit.
That bold determinationwasadmirable. However, watching her from afar was wearing on me. Every time I settled in to view the footage from her room, I struggled against the itch to experience being in her presence again. To feel the burn of her scathing scowls and stares. To let her dole out her anger and wrath, waiting for her to push her luck.
I wasn’t a glutton for punishment, but?—
Fuck.
I huffed a single laugh.
Ivan was right.
Gabriellawaspulling me out of that shitty depressive streak.
I sat back on the executive office chair that the men had brought to my home office. The security team had rigged it so I could view the direct feed to Gabriella’s room. Nightly—hell, even daily—I watched her in captivity.
She hadn’t cowered. She still glared at the men who brought her food and water, then the clothing too. She’d changed out of the loungewear but didn’t peruse the variety of the garments brought to her.
But she didn’t bottle up her anger and frustration. No. She let it out. She vented in the form of dancing.
And that was the obsession I couldn’t shake.
Watching her like a stalker, I glued my gaze to the screen of my computers and witnessed her grace. Her athleticism. Her natural beauty as she moved to music in her head.
Every night, beginning in the late afternoon or evening after her dinner was delivered, she’d dance. Too soon, I felt cheated to be reduced to only this indirect view of her, but I wasn’t ready to face her again.
I didn’t know how to play this game with her. I wasn’t sure how I wanted to handle this.
In the meantime, I could enjoy all I wanted.
Emil entered the office and strode up to me. Hands in his pockets, brows raised with curiosity, he smirked. “Again?”
I shrugged, looking back at the ballerina I’d captured.
“You’re watching her again.” He leaned his hip against my desk. It should’ve been a question but he’d said it like a statement.
I couldn’t help but want to watch her.
“What, you want a private dance?” he teased.
