𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 |𝟏𝟖+

03 || Riches To Rags

metro boomin - creepin'

The English text in italics means they're speaking in Arabic.

𝔚𝔚𝔚
Celina

If you told me I'd be spending my Friday night tied to a chair, topless, with the most attractive man I'd ever laid eyes on. I'd be disappointed to know that it was to prove my relation to my papá as twelve - now eleven - people watched.

But alas, here I was, humouring this man while inadvertently humiliating myself.

The man's fingers fly across his phone screen and I can't help the way my eyes linger on his hands as he sends out a text, the picture he'd just snapped of me no doubtedly the subject.

I debate on telling him that I'm the worst person to hang over the Italian mafia's head, especially when half of them didn't know I existed, and the other half, alienated me. But I bite my tongue, knowing that if I did so, my chances of getting out of here alive would be cut in half.

With that thought in mind, I dart my eyes to the door.

Five people stand in my direct line of escape, four men, one woman.

I could take out the men with ease, but the woman, she was slim and small, meaning what she lacked in build, she made up for in skill.

She'd be a challenge.

I'd need to take her out first-

"You try anything and I'll kill you myself." My captors smooth voice breaks me from my thoughts and I turn to look up at him, while his attention remains on his phone.

I spit the rag in my mouth at his feet, aiming for his shoe but it seems like his instincts are more attentive than a trained assassin's for he steps a quarter of an inch to the side, dodging the hit.

"I'd like to see you try." Despite the indifference oozing off him, my anger is clear as day in my response.

He slips the phone into his pocket and finally graces me with a glance, albeit it fleeting and filled with disinterest, "I wouldn't need to try." There's no smug note to his tone, it's as though he stating a fact.

I chuckle in disbelief, a sound that'd wound any man's ego. He doesn't take the bait.

He does however, step forward, the move causal yet his figure large enough to naturally intimidate.

Despite his tall height, he's anything but lanky. Broad shoulders, hands creeping with the type of prominent veins one gets from building up physical endurance, and a lean build I could recognise even beneath his crisp suit.

I didn't like the threat he imposes when he steps into my personal space and so, with a jerk of my knee, I aim for his groin. Before I can make contact, he uses his knee to swiftly nudge mine to the side and darts a hand out and around the base of my throat.

His palm is so large that his hand is almost able to span the entire circumference of my throat-albeit uncomfortably.

"I'd simply hold you like this." His stare is the equivalent to a man watching grass grow. Dull and tedious, while he uses the strength of his hand around my neck to drag me up to my feet so the tips of my toes skim the floor.

As my throat begins to close and my instincts kick in, I swing my foot forward, knocking my knee into his abdomen that seems to be made of steel because the action doesn't deter him.

All it does is cause his hand to tighten its grip and lift me higher until I'm nearly dangling in the air, completely at his mercy.

I gasp for a breath, he doesn't blink an eye.