Francesca ✔︎

••021

My eyes start to flutter open. The area I was in is dark. The unforgiving darkness was cold and the smell was putrid. It's so dark that I can't see my own limbs.

I tug on the tight ties wrapped around my wrist. I kicked my feet back and forth trying to feel for a stable ground. I must be hanging by a rope tied to my wrists.

My mind revisits the first time I was held hostage. Vincenzo kidnapped me and knocked me out, and I woke up in a room to see his brother Lorenzo.

"Lorenzo." I whisper his name, sadly. I was hoping for a response. He got kicked out of a window, a few stories high. I imagine the impact was enough to kill or injure him drastically.

No answer was heard. The reality of my shitty situation was just setting in.

The Russian's attacked all because of me. My conflict with them caused this. It was my fault Gianni died. Gianni's death made them gain the attention of the Valentino crime family.

They sent me threatening letters that I kept hidden from Vincenzo.

I secretly went back to Ireland, digging up my old past. I attempted to piece together a puzzle with a missing piece, because I was trying to find out who the fuck the Red Sword was.

"This is all my fucking fault." My voice quivers as all I did dawns upon me. A tear slides its way down my cheek.

"Don't say that, solnishko."

I go rigid when I hear a gruff voice with a thick accent chuckle. Someone is in here with me.

The lights flicker on, causing me to wince as my eyes adjust. The room was still indeed cold, but the light made is easier to see.

"Bloody hell." I moan in pain as I try to crane my neck around to see. My side was hurting like a bitch.

"Don't move solnishko," I hear his taunting footsteps come closer, before he is in my line of sight. "You will rip out stitches the doctor just finished."

Stitches?

I look down to see my abdomen missing a shirt. I was in a sports bra and tight black athletic shorts.

A bandage was taped on my skin with a little blood stain bleeding through.

"What the hell do you want with me?" I growl at the smaller sized man. He had a brown short buzz cut with a scar running throw the side of his head, to his upper lip.

He was short in size but muscles peeked out through the tight brown shirt he had on.

"I am Dominick Kuznetsov." He flashes me a taunting smile, the side of his eyes wrinkle up revealing his older age. He had to at least be in his late fifties.

"The Red Sword." I mumble more to myself then to his statement. If he's the guy behind all the threats, why hadn't he killed me yet?

Heck, he even had a doctor stitch me up.

As if he could read my loud thoughts, he chuckles, "I have found value in you, solnishko."

"No." I cut him off. "No, the fuck you haven't."

He grimaces, his eyes raking me up and down. I obnoxiously gag in disgust when he touches my hip, his rough calloused thumb rubbing my bare skin.