Page 13 of The Mafia's Captive

“Are you going to imprison me here?”

He says nothing and closes the door. I hear the key turn and a moment later his footsteps recede. I rush to the door and sure enough, it’s locked. It won’t open. What’s he going to do next, I wonder? Kill me? Maybe I should have shot when I had the chance, but I’ve never used that gun. It was something I had for security. An intimidation tool. I’m not even sure if the gun works at all. But he knows guns. He’s probably used them thousands of times. And he probably knows what to do with disposing of a dead body as well. The thought sends a chill down my spine. It’s the state I’m in for the next few hours.

This time, being alone with my thoughts is more terrifying than last night. By the time it becomes dark, I'm ready to claw at the walls as the fear creeps in. I want to get out. Not just out of this room, but out of my head, where several scenarios play. Dante chopping me up to pieces alive and then killing me. Killing me and then chopping me up to pieces. Personally, I prefer the second option.

I hear footsteps outside from time to time. And each time the sound gets louder and closer, my heart thumps so loud I can’t hear my thoughts, only for the sound to carry on down the hall. When it’s fully night time outside, I hear two sets of footsteps along the hall. One louder than the other. When they stop at the door, I stand up from the bed and wait expectantly facing the door. Is this how I’m going to be led to my death? The door opens and filling the frame is Dante, still looking as pissed as before, and slightly hidden by him, Vera, who’s holding a covered silver tray. She brushes past him and walks over to the small table in the room.

“Supper,” he grumbles. “If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be having anything at all.”

Vera opens the tray and on it is a delicious-looking plate of fettuccine alfredo, another with a lamb chop and a glass of red wine. I haven’t eaten since morning and the thought of food never crossed my mind until now and my stomach rumbles as hunger makes its call. Is this my last meal? I stare back at him. Is he trying to poison me? To make the death easier? Vera smiles at me and I mutter a thank you as she leaves. Dante is still at the door, his arms crossed.

“Eat.”

“Why? Is it poisoned?”

He closes the door and stalks towards me. “One: If I wanted to kill you, poison would not be my choice of weapon. It wouldn’t be satisfying. I would rather watch you bleed.” His words terrify me, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing the impact they have on me. I steel myself and raise my chin. “Two,” he continues, stalking further until there’s little space between us, “That’s an insult to Vera whose concern you don’t deserve. If it weren’t for her, you wouldn’t be eating tonight. Or the next few days.”

Something tells me he isn’t lying. Maybe it’s the look of offense he has for me suggesting he would poison me. Begrudgingly, I take a seat and draw the tray towards me. Dante also plants himself into the other chair. “What are you doing?”

“Watching you eat.”

“Whatever for? Can’t I do that in privacy? I’m sure you have better things to do, like running a casino or a gang or whatever.”

He glares at me for a moment. I might have pushed a few buttons there at the gang reference. He seems to let it go and his gaze moves down to the steak knife on the tray. “After what you’ve pulled this morning, I don’t trust you with that.”

Damn. He’s right. The thought never crossed my mind. I’m too hungry to think, but now that he’s suggested it, I would totally steal the knife.

“Now eat.” He sits back and pulls out his phone and starts scrolling. As if this is the normal thing in the world right now. I try to ignore his imposing presence and take a bite of the lamb chop. Holy shit, it is fucking amazing. It’s so succulent and juicy I take another piece. I combine the third piece with the pasta and the wine. The combination is like fireworks in my mouth. The food is so delicious and in no time I’m done eating. Both plates are empty and so is the wine glass. He notices this and soon as I put the last drop of wine down my throat, he gets up.

“What are you going to do to me?” I say, “You didn’t kill me before and you don’t want to kill me now, according to you.”

“Who says I won’t do it, eventually?”

“I’d rather you get it over with. The suspense is killing me.”

“So you admit your crimes?”

“No. Because I have none.”

“You will admit it, eventually. I’m a patient man.”

“Is that why you’re keeping me alive? To see if I break?”

He looks up to the ceiling as if thinking, then he turns his gaze down to me. “I like toys. And I enjoy playing with you. So, I enjoy having you around.” Until you bore me. That last part left unsaid didn’t need to be uttered.

“Did you have other toys before?” I glance around. “Is that what this room is for? Your toy room.”

He smiles for the first time today, but he says nothing. Instead, he collects my empty tray and leaves.

His toy. Fuck me until he was bored with me. Is that what he meant when he said he wanted me to be his toy? Judging by my conduct this morning, I wouldn’t say no. His kisses were good. His lips were surprisingly soft, and I wanted him to kiss me again and again. Pull me towards the bed and have his way with me. If I wasn’t so confused by that out of the box kiss, it might have happened. For a moment, he fogged my brain until I realized where I was and who he was. I should never forget that.

♠

For the second night in a row, I do not sleep. My dreams are mixed with waking up in a bed of tangled silky black sheets and waking up in a grave. By the time morning comes, I’m glad to have an excuse to get out of bed and shower. As soon as I’m done putting on my clothes, the door opens. It’s him again. He looks like a dark angel in a charcoal suit and red tie. Dark rings mar his piercing black eyes. He’s not sleeping either. Unlike me, I’m sure his reasons for not sleeping are of a more debauched nature. He was probably up all night having sex with an escort or playing poker with his friends. Or both.

“Let’s go.”

My pulse picks up. “Where?”

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