Chapter 4: Vincent's Obsession
Samantha's POV:
The scent of musty leather and bitter cologne filled the air, unbalancing my already shaky senses. The room was posh, the kind you'd expect in a mafia movie, all heavy velvet drapes and dark mahogany furniture. My heart thudded in my chest as I sat on the edge of a grand, four-poster bed, arms wrapped around my knees.
"Oh, Sammi..." Vincent's voice caressed the back of my neck like a lover's whisper, causing involuntary shivers to cascade down my spine.
I didn't dare turn around.
"W-What?," I ask him thinly, my voice betraying me with its audible tremble.
"Sam," he repeated, lacing his voice with mock obeisance, "my pretty little witness."
The bed shifted and I knew he was moving closer. His shadow loomed over me, stretching across the satin duvet like some dark omen. "You saw something very private," his tone was all at once gentle and menacing, "and for that, you're going to stay with me. Here... where I can keep you safe."
"Safe?" I scoffed, my bravado weak. "From who? From you?"
Vincent chuckled, the sound a deep rumble from his chest. "From the bad, bad world out there, doll. I'm your savior in this messed up storybook."
I bit my lower lip, stifling a retort. His scent grew stronger as he leaned in, and his breath was hot against my ear. "Let's get one thing straight, Vincent Russo," I gasped out. "I'm nobody's 'doll'. And if you think keeping me-"
My voice hitched as I felt his lips graze the tender skin of my neck. His warmth enveloped me; unwanted, terrifying, suffocating warmth.
"Ahh, this scent," Vincent hummed, nuzzling against my neck. "It's fear... and something sweet. Unique."
I tensed, holding back a scream. His hands were gentle as they brushed my hair from my shoulder, but they might as well have been iron manacles. To him, I was just a ragdoll; a new plaything. His touch was the spider's caress upon the fly.
"Why are you doing this?" I choked, trying to sink away from him, to shrink into nothingness. "Why me?"
"Because you're mine now," Vincent's voice dropped to a possessive growl, vibrating against my skin. "And once i see something that i like" He growls again
"Its mine"
I had to get away. I needed a plan, even as his forwardness stole the oxygen from the room and twisted my insides into knots. "I-I can't be yours... you're crazy!"
His laughter rolled out, as rich and dark as aged brandy. "Crazy? Ahh, perhaps. Crazy about my little mouse trapped in my house. It's an interesting game, isn't it?"
"I'm not playing any games," I managed to whimper, my will crumbling beneath his overbearing presence.
He leaned back, and now I could feel his unsettling gaze on me. "You might not be playing yet," he purred, "but you will. And I'll be waiting, sweetling. I'll be waiting for you to give in, to realize that I'm the villain in your tale."
His fingers slid down my arm, a fire awakening at each point of contact. "I'll look after you, cherish you. Isn't that what you want, Sam? To be..." His tone dipped even lower, whispering a promise of demented devotion, "...loved?"
"No," I replied sharply, the word more a plea than a refusal. "That's not love. That's obsession."
"All the same in my world," Vincent shrugged nonchalantly, standing to his full, towering height which dwarfed my small form. "Either way, I always get what I want."
The room's air was stifling, every drawn breath laced with the tang of menace. The Mafia boss before me was unhinged, an apex predator who relished in towering over his chosen prey. And I was ensnared, the lamb marked for the slaughter.
Vincent stood, and with a predatory grace, he crossed the room to admire his collection of fearsome knives and guns, gleaming under the dim light. "I'll confess, my collection has been missing one... crucial piece," his voice was laden with double entendre as his fingertips danced over aged metal and polished wood. "And now, I believe I've found it."
I swallowed hard, my options running through my head as scarce and fleeting as whispers in the wind. Escape was essential, but it would take cunning, strength, and a hell of a lot of luck. Vincent might be obsessed, but I was not going to give in to the terror he presented as affection.
I mustered as much composure as I could, tilting my head high with defiance, though my body quaked. "Collections are for objects, Vincent," I stated firmly. "And I. Am. Not. An. Object."
He turned, the slight twist of his lips a harbinger of a dark amusement. "You're everything, Sam." His eyes were like chips of obsidian - cold and sharp. "And you're going to learn that lesson whether you like it or not."
The boldness of my gaze faltered under his scrutiny, my pulse racing with fear... and something else. A steely resolve. I wouldn't let him break me. I'd find a way.
"Time to accept it, my little captive," Vincent said, his voice was velvet laced with iron. "Your world, as you know it, has just been upturned, and you belong to the shadows now. You belong to me."
Tears run down my face as i'm forced to cry into Vincent's suit And right then, in the horrifying shroud of my new reality, I knew my showdown with darkness had only just begun..
