Emilia ✔️ NOW PUBLISHED!

7

Aiden.

The golden pendulum light swings overhead as three men come inside my room, pointing guns at my face gesturing for me to stand. "I'm chained you stupid fucks!" I spit in English. Not knowing if they know I speak Italian, but not wanting to risk it in case they say something about why I'm here.

"Up." One says in a heavily accented english. I have to smile at the stupidity. I hold my restrained hands up and then gesture to my ankles that are locked inside of metal.

They all have wide eyes as they look between each other. One man pushes another until finally one arrives in front of me. I'm bloodied, tied, and murderous at the moment. I use all my strength to lurch forward, then I get hit with the butt of the pistol which knocks me out cold.

I wake in a small room, it feels like a coffin.

But I'm moving.

I slide my body against the ground, it's soft. The carpet of a trunk. I feel the itchy material against my back, why do I have no shirt on? I feel it against my legs as well. Why am I only in boxers?

We come to a stop and the trunk pops open. I'm met with the butt of a rifle again, knocked out cold.

The new room comes into view as my eyes drift back into focus. It's much brighter, and nicer. It looks as though I'm in a basement of some sorts not a warehouse. People are scurrying past the open door. Butlers and waitress flurry with bottles of wine, are they preparing for something?

I'm leaned against a stone wall, my ankles and wrist attached to heavy chains instead of shackles and chains. I can breathe a little more, my wrist are bloodied still. My bare back is cold from the stone wall, why did they take my fucking clothes?

A man comes into view, his greasy smile matching his greasy hair. "Aiden..." He says my name slowly, looking me up and down.

"Where are my clothes?" I ask, my voice saturated in anger.

He shrugs, carrying on his walk through the small room, he looks comfortable... arrogant.

"Why you so special?" He asks, his English a little off.

"I don't know. Tell me who fucking wants me, and I'll enlighten you." I spit.

"Feisty, even in chains."

"Take off the chains and we can see about that." I test him.

"Names Marco." He says with an arrogant tone.

I don't respond. Why should I give a fuck?

"You'll know soon enough who wants you."

I lean my head against the cool wall. My bare back pressed against it. My scars feel good against the cool hard stone.

"Why did they move me?" I ask in a uninterested tone.

"Those men... they were scared of you. Boss will coming in tomorrow for party. He will deal with you over weekend." He flicks his wrist non-chalantly.

"Pussies." I spit.

He leans down, coming eye level with me. "I have question." He smiles, his breath heavy. "Do you have girl back in America?" My heart sinks into my stomach.

"No." I answer in a bored tone.

"Oh come on, a striking young man like yourself. Successful, powerful from what I've heard. There's no girl back home?"

"Only ones I fuck." I lie. Trying to keep calm.

He shakes his finger in front of my face with a laugh. "Too bad, after you dead it would be a fucking treat to get me and my men to run a train on your young American girl next to your corpse."

An instinct reaction. My skull dives into his. He staggers back, his head hitting the hard stone floor. Blood begins to pool around him. Whoopsies.

A new man walks in, at the sight of the dead man bled out on the floor he runs his stubby ringed fingers over his face. Bald, short, sweaty.

I look at him with a bloody smile, feeling as maniacal as I'm sure I look.

He doesn't come eye level with me, smart. Instead, he screeches a metal chair across the stone flooring. "Giuseppe." He points to himself and nods, sitting down on the chair.

He holds up three fingers, "Three." He says, his tone posioness. "You've killed three of my men." His English is better but his accent is thick. Tonight is the most anyone has spoken to me since I was taken from the rooftop.

"I was chained every single time." I shrug, wincing from the pain of the open wounds on my body. "Maybe you need better men." I laugh.

"Two days." He brings a hand to his throat, a smile on his face. Then he slides the fake knife across his neck. "You be dead."

♠️