Bright light glares down at me. My tongue is heavy in my mouth and my head weighs more than usual as my neck struggles to hold it up.

I try to move but fail.

Alarmed, I jolt awake. Attempts at moving my hands are useless. They're tied behind me—with duct tape, maybe? The edges cut into the soft skin of my wrists. My ankles are tied to the legs of the chair.

If this is a bloody nightmare, it's freakishly feeling real. I can't possibly be kidnapped, right?

My heart pounds in my chest, a head-splitting ache tears through my brain. Hyperventilating, I frantically look around. It's a dark room. The only source of illumination is the white light bulb hanging over my head. My body trembles uncontrollably as I hold back a cry.

Memories from my childhood flash before my eyes in rapid bursts of color, heightening the terror in me.

The numerous times Mom hid me in the wardrobe, the door slightly ajar, letting a sliver of light snake inside the clustered wooden box come to the front of my mind. I struggle harder against the restraints. Squeezing my eyes shut, I force the images out of my head, refusing to allow what haunted my nightmares for decades to return.

I won't be that weak, helpless kid again.

I will not.

Please, I can't go back into that black hole.

At last, after an eternity, a door opens, snapping me out of my breakdown. Men file into the area. I can't make out their faces, they all stick to the shadows. The sound of a chair hitting the stone floor echoes and the door slams shut.

I fist my hands, even though the duct tape makes it ridiculously hard. I clench my jaw and try to straighten up. Whoever has kidnapped me won't see me break down. Never.

"You are stupid little girl... did your papa never teach you to not mess vhith us?" A woman with a heavy Russian accent speaks. My heart jumps to my throat.

Fuck I'm screwed. They're going to kill me. Shit shit shit.

I hold my head up and look in the direction of the voice. I grind my teeth to stop myself from saying something along the lines of, 'my dad also taught me cowards stay in the shadows'. But right now, I'm the one who's stuck in a chair and they are the ones holding the guns. It's not the best time to pick a fight.

She clicks her tongue and begins speaking Russian. I can't tell if the language itself seems like a stream of rapid weird sounding words or if this woman is talking quickly.

The pit of my stomach clenches. My sixth sense is hollering I'm in deep shit. But I hold my head up, and mask my fear and anxiety, even though from the inside I'm trembling.

The woman pauses, and silence grips the place. The only sound is the heavy breathing of the men circling around the room.

Again, the woman starts talking in Russian, and I don't need to know the language to tell, she sounds exasperated.

Clearly, she's not the boss. That's a good thing; she didn't sound like she particularly liked me. Maybe she's convincing the boss to kill me.

As my mind spins with speculations, the terror's icy claws loosen from my brain. My professional, strong-headed side, slowly inches out of the far back corner of my head where she's taken refuge.

The Russian falls silent.

"Da," a man's deep voice answers, and even though I don't know much Russian, I know that means yes. God knows what he's agreeing to, but it can't be shooting me right now, because no movements are made around me. His tone carries a hint of dismissiveness.

The woman huffs loudly and my theory is confirmed.

On my left, a soft shuffling sound grabs my attention. Another man with a gruff voice hesitantly speaks.

I fail to hide my surprise. I'm no expert in languages but the way he's voicing the words, sure as hell doesn't sound Russian.

My brows furrow with confusion. What the hell?

I listen closer and my breath hitches in my throat. The last word he utters drops the pebble of realization into the pond of my muddled thoughts. "Pensaci, capo."

Capo is the Italian word for boss.

Fuck fuck fuck. They are Italians.

I stop breathing as the other realization hits me like a fucking train.

The only Italian mafia that has a Russian member, Slava, is no other than the Mariano crime family.

Looks like they weren't using a fake name... or a nickname for misdirection, I realize acridly.

Murmurs erupt around me.

The same man, with a deep voice, barks, "Silenzio."

Everyone shuts up. Yup, he's the boss.

Another shuffling sound follows, coming from right across me. The hind legs of the chair squeak against the stone floor as someone drags it. I wince. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The person drops the chair in front of me.

My gaze follows his tattooed hand, taking note of his long, toned legs clad in black trousers as his hand trails the backrest while he rounds the chair and stands in front of me.

I crane my neck and narrow my eyes to make out his face. A beat later, he fluidly sits down, putting his legs wide apart as he leans back, his body relaxed but confident.

I meet his deep chestnut eyes under the harsh white light. If the situation wasn't so dire, I'd dare say he's one of the most handsome men I've ever seen. His olive skin has a golden undertone. The color of his eyes, hair, eyebrows, and even ridiculously long eyelashes are the same chestnut color. Full lips, prominent jaw, and high cheekbones. The guy's features literally tick off all the factors that make someone attractive. 

He holds my gaze. I push my shoulders back in a vain attempt to appear more imposing, and entirely unaffected by the fact he's in casual formal attire. A black button-up shirt hugs his form, the first two buttons undone, a dark leathered belt, even his shoes are black, and I'm still in the pajamas I wore to bed.

I note the edges of a few tattoos on his chest. The back of his both hands are covered in ink. Though I don't have time to study them.

"Cerise Campbell, is that correct?" he asks in the same deep voice, oozing confidence, Italian lilt coloring his words. Odd. He sounds like someone who has spent a long span of his life in the States.

Regardless, I nod, keeping my mouth clamped shut.

His face is a mask of blankness. "I'm Emiliano Mariano."

My eyes widen. The initials I always wondered about their meanings on the signed papers I found while searching for clues and cracks of the Fenice mafia make sense. 'EMLAMAO', the first three initials stand for his first name. Damn.

I fist my hands tighter to hold back a gasp as my heart races. I'm sitting in front of the most powerful mafia leader in the world. The man who every other mob boss takes orders from. The boss of bosses. Holy shit.

That explains why he dared to show his face... this man doesn't fear the law. Shit! He'll kill me in a heartbeat.

"I wish we didn't have to meet under these circumstances," he adds.

If I wasn't stuck in the middle of a group of outlaws, I would have rolled my eyes. The audacity! He's the one who probably ordered it and now he sits here in front of me bullshitting me. Good Lord, give me patience.

I blankly stare at him, although my steady gaze doesn't seem to have much effect on him.

"There were some errors made that needed to be corrected. If you cooperate with us, we can wrap up this complication in less than twenty-four hours with no harm done. I will also personally guarantee a safe return to your home."

I hold back a scoff. His guarantee is not worth piss. Yet I say nothing, persistingly scrutinizing him.

"Very well, looks like you're approaching us the same way you handle a courtroom." A small smirk lifts the corner of his full lips.

I hide my surprise. How the hell does this guy know how I handle my cases?

"You have an item of ours... we'd like it back." He straightens himself, the smirk vanishing.

At last, I dare to speak, hoping my voice doesn't come out raspy and stupid. "I don't know what you're talking about." Even to my own ears, it's a little rough, but not too bad.

He inhales deeply, I can't tell if he's angry, annoyed, or intrigued. "You do, Ms. Campbell. You picked up a flash drive one of my men left behind."

That asshole Aaron was one of his men! I thought they no longer have any direct associates situated out of Italy.

"Oh," I feign surprise. "You mean the flash drive your man dropped while we were on a date? I was intending to return it on our second date. Really, you didn't need to go to this extent, kidnapping me! Do you know how many years of prison I can cut for you, Mr. Mariano? Was it really worth it?" I arch an eyebrow.

His features harden, as he purses his lips. "Let me run our code of conduct for you real fast. We never, under any circumstances, harm or kill innocent or unarmed women and children who do not pose threats to us." He leans forward, locking his dark eyes with mine, pointing at me with his index finger. "You, Ms. Campbell, are by no means innocent, the only reason you're alive right now is that you're unarmed and cannot threaten us. So, were you threatening me?" he raises his eyebrows, his wide eyes never leaving my face.

I laugh. "I understand you're Italian... but since you're quite fluent in English, I assume you know the meanings of the words you're using." I shake my head with incredulity. "I'm not innocent?" I scoff. "You're the one who has kidnapped me, bound me against my will, have taken part in all sorts of criminal activities a person can possibly think of, and I'm the one who's not innocent?"

He clenches his jaw so hard a muscle flickers on his cheek. Hatred blazes in his eyes. No one has ever looked at me with this intensity of loathing, it renders me speechless.

"Were you threatening me?" he asks through gritted teeth.

"I was merely stating facts... no one ever said speaking the things you're capable of is considered threatening."

"Where is the flash drive?"

I shrug, or as much as I can with my hands taped behind me.

He fists his hand, his knuckles turn white before he stretches his fingers and the anger disappears from his features. "Ms. Campbell, I understand we're on two opposing teams... sworn enemies of a sort, but I need you to understand, the data that flash drive contains is not something to be messed with."

Psychology says the longer you stare at someone while they're talking, the more they'll be prompted to keep on talking. I've used this method more than I can count during all the interrogations I've handled personally. Hence, I keep on gazing at him and he returns it with a glacial stare.

"If that flash drive falls into the wrong hands, you cannot imagine the damage it'll cost," he grudgingly adds.

Oh. So he thinks I haven't seen the content. Interesting. "Like what? Throw you and your mafia in prison. The damage part is quite debatable."

He squints at me, lips pressing into a slash of white.

A sudden movement snaps my focus away from our staring contest. A bulky man nears me with long strides, pulling out a gun, and clicking off the safety pin. He holds it at an angle that the bullet will definitely cut clean into the middle of my skull.

But that's not what has me gaping. This face, beady eyes, long nose, skin on the darker side of the scale, and onyx hair, are all too familiar.

In a sudden burst of realization, his face pops up in my head, wearing orange head to toe, handcuffed, and standing in a long line of street gangs I had brought to the court.

The five-year imprisonment verdict the judge wanted to proceed with that I enhanced to a lifelong sentence echoes in my head.

The glare he shot me that day. The promise he made, 'I will bring hell down on you. Even your fucking father won't be able to recognize your dead body. I'm not a man if I don't kill you.'

Looks like he wasn't a part of the street gang. Somehow, I didn't figure that out. Also somehow, this stupid mob has managed to set his case on trial with a different judge and prosecutor, setting him loose.

Sourly, I recall Tim's words. 'Just don't get yourself killed, okay? It's too early for you to die.'

Looks like my time has come sooner than expected.

Oh shit.

❈ ☯︎ ❈

Well well well, we have our male lead introduced =) I hope the first impression didn't suck. lol. Comment your first impressions, I wanna hear it =D

Also, I kinda want to show the accents in the dialogues, I really don't intend to offend anyone, I just want anyone reading this book, feel the differences. And also it's pretty cool. Personally, for me, reading Hagrid's dialogues in the HP series was really fun, so I thought why not do it with my own story :) [I hope you don't hate it :") ]

Don't forget to vote if you enjoyed the chapter.

Stay safe, lots of love, happy reading <3