★★Mariella's POV★★



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As his words left his mouth, I glared daggers at him. He gave a smug nod to his idiot brother before walking out of the room like he had better things to do, as if my existence wasn't worth more than the dirt under his shoes. I hated him. I wanted his life in my hands, his last breath stolen by my will. Why was he so cruel? So dismissive? He acted like I had ruined his grand plans, but newsflash: I didn't give two flying fucks. I had my own mission, one I'd complete even if it killed me.

"Get some rest?" His parting words echoed in my head, venom lacing every syllable. I clenched my teeth. If they knocked me out one more time, I swear, I'd find a way to make their lives a living hell.

My face couldn't take another hit—I wasn't their damn punching bag.

As soon as the door closed behind him, I yanked against the chains binding my wrists and ankles. I needed to get out. Now. Every muscle in my body strained, but the metal cuffs bit into my skin, unyielding. Then I heard them—the heavy, deliberate footsteps of the two goons approaching.

"Don't touch me!" I hissed, venom dripping from my words. Panic and fury surged through me in equal measure. The closer they got, the more I thrashed, my body pulling desperately against the restraints. "Take one more step, and I swear I'll gouge your eyeballs out and shove them down your throats."

They exchanged a look, smirking like I was some kind of joke. Their deep chuckles were infuriating, like nails on a chalkboard.

"Get off of me!" I snarled, thrashing wildly as they grabbed me. My body fought against theirs with every ounce of strength I had, but the chains pinned me down, helpless.

The brown-haired one reached into his pocket, and my blood ran cold when he pulled out a syringe. The needle glinted under the dim light, the liquid inside swirling ominously. My heart thundered in my chest.

"Oh, fuck no," I spat, my voice raw and desperate.

The blond bastard grabbed my chin with a vice-like grip, forcing my head to the side. I fought his hold, but his hand tightened, choking me as he held me still.

"Don't you dare—"

The brown-haired one clamped a hand on top of my head, locking me in place. I writhed, teeth bared, but it was no use. The syringe cap popped off, the brown-haired man gripping it in his teeth before spitting it aside. The needle gleamed as he lined it up with my neck.

"Stay still, sweetheart," he sneered.

"Go to hell!" I screamed, but my voice cracked as he plunged the needle into my skin. I felt the cold liquid seep into my veins, an icy fire spreading through my body.

I gasped, my strength evaporating in an instant. My limbs went limp, sagging against the chains like dead weight. The brown-haired man withdrew the needle, smirking as he pocketed it.

"Damn, she's a feisty one," he said, his tone laced with amusement.

My vision blurred, black spots creeping in at the edges. The blond one started untying me, my body too weak to fight back. My head lolled forward, my breaths shallow.

"Get... off..." I croaked, my voice barely a whisper.

The blond guy moved in front of me, grabbing my arm and slinging me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing. I dangled helplessly, my mind screaming to fight, to move, but my body refused to listen.

As we left the room, I forced my eyes open one last time, desperate for any chance to escape. I caught a glimpse of the brown-haired one standing in the doorway, his smirk seared into my fading consciousness.

Then, everything went dark.

Well, shit.

****

I groaned, shifting slightly. The feeling beneath me was so soft, almost impossibly so, like I was lying on a cloud. It didn't feel real—more like some dream or maybe... heaven. My body stirred slowly, my mind clawing its way back to consciousness. My breathing was shallow as I tried to steady myself, each breath filling my lungs like it was the first in ages.

My eyes fluttered open, but the light was blinding, forcing them shut again. Damn it. Was I dead? Had I really died? It felt too peaceful to be anything else. After a moment, I squinted and blinked, my vision adjusting to the brightness. The blurry outline of a white silk pillow came into view.

As I blinked again, things became clearer—a fluffy, luxurious blanket draped over me. My fingers brushed over the fabric, and it felt like the kind of material reserved for royalty.

What the actual fuck?

Summoning what strength I had, I tried to rise, my muscles trembling under the effort. But as soon as I lifted my head, it dropped back onto the pillow with a soft thump. My lips pressed into a thin line, frustration bubbling up inside me.

"Okay, Mariella, stop being a little bitch. Get up," I muttered to myself, voice hoarse.

With a groan, I pushed myself up on my elbows, my entire body protesting the motion. Slowly but surely, I managed to sit on the edge of the bed, my feet dangling off the side.

I glanced around, taking in the room around me. It was massive, the kind of space you'd expect in a high-end luxury hotel or a billionaire's mansion. The walls were painted a soft, creamy beige, accented with intricate molding that lined the edges. To my left was a massive, ornate dresser with a gold-trimmed mirror above it. Across the room, a pair of floor-to-ceiling windows were covered with heavy, velvet curtains, their deep crimson color contrasting sharply with the room's neutral tones.

A crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, its delicate prisms catching the light and scattering it across the room in dazzling patterns. A sitting area occupied the corner to my right, complete with a plush loveseat, a glass coffee table, and a vase of fresh white roses.

And then, on the far side of the room, a door caught my eye. It was slightly ajar, revealing the gleaming white tiles of a bathroom inside.

"Where the hell am I?" I murmured, my voice breaking the eerie silence.

I rubbed my temples, trying to think, trying to remember. The last thing I could recall was the syringe—the cold bite of the needle piercing my neck. And then being dragged out of that damn room.

The memory sent a chill down my spine. Whoever put me here had plans for me, and I doubted they were anything good.

One thing repeated over and over in my mind: Escape.

My eyes darted around the room, searching for some sort of escape. That's when my gaze landed on the window. Well, that would have to do. I took a deep breath, preparing myself to move my still-weak body.

Steadying my hands on the bed, I swung my feet down to meet the warm floor. My legs trembled as I stood, but I forced myself upright, gripping the wall for support as I made my way to the window. Once there, I grabbed the handle and pulled, but it didn't budge. I tried again, harder this time. Still nothing.

"Ah, shit," I muttered under my breath, my eyes scanning the view outside. Acres of fields stretched out before me, dotted with workers toiling under the sun. A long driveway cut through the landscape, narrowing down toward imposing dark gates where guards were stationed, their presence sharp and vigilant. More guards patrolled the grounds, their movements purposeful and alert, a constant reminder of the control and power this place exuded.

I needed another way out.

Turning back to the room, I stumbled toward the door, every step slow and deliberate. My hand wrapped around the handle, and I tried to twist it.

Locked.

Of course it was locked.

"Fuck me," I hissed through gritted teeth, slamming my palm against the door in frustration.

I needed a weapon—anything to give me an edge if someone came through that door. Glancing down, I realized I was still in my black suit, but my boots were gone, leaving me barefoot. My long hair fell loose around my shoulders, messy and tangled.

Frantically, I patted myself down, hoping they might've missed something—a knife, a pin, anything. But there was nothing. Then my fingers shot to my chest. My necklace.

I froze for a second before my hand scrambled over my collarbone. It was gone.

They took it.

For a moment, panic bubbled up, but I swallowed it down. The necklace was gone, but that was fine. My father would know exactly who had taken me. It was only a matter of time before he came for me.

Still, I needed something to defend myself with. My eyes scanned the room again, lingering on the empty drawers of the dresser. Nothing. My gaze shifted to the bathroom.

That was my last hope.

I walked over, opened the door, and flipped on the light. The first thing I saw was my reflection in the mirror. My bare face stared back at me, pale and bruised. A dark mark bloomed along the side of my jaw where they'd knocked me out. My lips curled in disgust.

Shaking off the thought, I dropped to my knees and yanked open the drawers under the sink. Empty. All of them. My frustration hit its boiling point as I slammed one of the drawers shut and rose to my feet, leaning heavily against the sink.

That's when my eyes caught a glimpse of something in the corner.

A plunger.

For a moment, I just stared at it. Then, with a resigned sigh, I snatched it up.

"Well," I muttered, gripping it tightly, "if anyone gets near me, I'll shove this thing so far up their ass they'll taste rubber."

Weapon in hand, I stormed back to the door, rage simmering beneath the surface. I banged my fist against it once, then again, harder this time.

When no one answered, I started slamming my fist against the door repeatedly, the sound echoing through the room. My voice rose into a furious yell:

"You better open this door before I turn this plunger into a medieval torture device! Don't test me—I've got zero patience left, and this thing is going up someone's rectum if you don't let me out!"

The footsteps echoed down the hall, slow and deliberate, growing louder with each step. My pulse quickened, but I forced my breathing to steady, backing up until my body was pressed against the wall beside the door. My knuckles tightened around the handle of the plunger—an admittedly ridiculous weapon, but in my hands, it would be deadly.

I shifted into an attack position, muscles tense and ready. My back flattened against the cool wall, the anticipation thrumming through my veins. Come to mama, I thought with a wicked grin, my lips curling into a smirk.

The metallic click of the lock turning sent a jolt through me. The door creaked open, inch by inch, and I waited. I held my breath as a figure stepped inside, their shadow stretching across the floor.

I stayed silent, unmoving, as they took another step into the room, their back to me. They closed the door with a soft click.

Big mistake.

With a burst of adrenaline, I lunged.

The plunger swung in an arc, aimed directly at his head. He turned at the last second, his eyes widening in surprise as I slammed the rubber cup into his face with a wet thwack.

"Surprise, asshole!" I hissed, following up with a kick to his stomach. He stumbled back, grunting, but recovered quickly, pulling a knife from his belt.

"What the hell," he growled, stepping forward.

I didn't give him a chance to use it. I ducked under his swing and slammed the wooden handle of the plunger into his gut, doubling him over. My body screamed in protest—my limbs weak and sluggish—but I ignored the pain, adrenaline driving me forward.

I swung again, this time at his wrist, and the knife clattered to the floor. I went for it, dropping low, but he was faster.

A rough hand grabbed my arm and yanked me back. I spun, twisting out of his grip, and jabbed the plunger into his throat. He coughed, staggering, but I was running out of steam. My vision blurred at the edges, and my breaths came in sharp, ragged gasps.

He must've noticed because his next move was quicker, more calculated. He feinted left, then surged forward, tackling me to the ground.

I hit the floor hard, the impact knocking the wind out of me. Before I could react, he was on top of me, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand. His other hand pressed the cold, unmistakable barrel of a gun to my temple.

"Enough," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

I froze, every muscle in my body going still. The cold metal of the gun was a stark reminder of how quickly this could end. My chest heaved as I stared up at him, my mind racing.

For a moment, the room was silent, save for the sound of our labored breathing.

"Well, shit," I muttered under my breath, my voice dripping with defiance despite my predicament.

The moment I recognized him, I groaned. Blondie from the torture room. Of course, it had to be him. As I lay sprawled on the floor, I scoffed and rolled my eyes like he was an inconvenience to my very existence. Still pinned down, I shifted my arms and clasped them behind my head as if I were lounging on a beach, soaking up the sun. Might as well look the part.

He narrowed his eyes and glancing down at the plunger lying on the ground beside me, the faint outline of its rubber cup still damp. His lips curled into a smirk, and he scoffed, shaking his head.

"A plunger? Really?" he drawled, his tone practically dripping with disdain.

I grinned, unapologetic. "Well, it did the job, didn't it?" I fired back mockingly.

His smirk faded, replaced by an annoyed glare as he adjusted his grip on the gun still pointed at me. "Did. Past tense, chienne (female dog)."

Oh, French insults? How original.

I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly got stuck in my skull. Pouting dramatically, I tilted my head. "Come on, I almost had you," I said, my voice dripping with faux innocence.

He huffed, clearly trying to maintain his composure. "Mariella, get up. Now." His voice was harsh, commanding, and he punctuated his words with a little jerk of the gun to emphasize he wasn't in the mood for games.

Groaning, I pushed myself up from the floor, the ache in my back making me wince. Once I was standing, I crossed my arms and leaned lazily against the wall, feigning boredom. "So, where's Thing 1?" I asked sarcastically, looking around like I might spot him.

Blondie frowned, confused. "Thing 1?"

I gave him a seriously? look. "You know, that smug, brown-haired bastard? The one who walks around like he's God's gift to the mafia?"

His lips twitched, and he let out a chuckle. "You mean Damien?"

I froze for a split second, filing that name away in the mental Rolodex of people I planned to kill. My lips twisted into a slow, approving smile. "So, Damien, huh? Thanks for that." I tilted my head, my smile turning sharp. "I'll be sure to add him to my death list."

Blondie raised an eyebrow at me, his smirk widening. "And mine?" he teased, clearly enjoying this way too much.

"Oh, don't worry," I said with mock sweetness, tapping my chin like I was deep in thought. "Yours depends."

"On what?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

"On whether or not you tell me your boss's name," I replied, grinning.

At that, he burst out laughing, lowering his gun and holding his stomach. I blinked, confused, unsure what was so funny.

"My boss?" he said between chuckles, finally managing to compose himself. "Leon's not my boss. I've known that asshole since we were kids."

Leon.

My mind latched onto the name. Leon. A strong, striking name. Too bad it was destined to be engraved on a tombstone.

"Leon?" I repeated, testing the name out loud. My tone was casual, but my brain was already plotting.

Blondie's gaze sharpened, and he studied me with a sly smile. "You like him," he said suddenly, his voice full of amusement.

I almost choked on my own spit. "What? No!" I yelled, my voice a little too loud. "I'd rather..." I searched my brain for something to diffuse the situation. "...lick a cactus and then bathe in lemon juice."

He laughed harder, his shoulders shaking. "Are you telling me that or yourself?" he asked, his grin maddeningly smug.

I glared at him, trying to come up with a response that wouldn't dig me into a deeper hole. Failing that, I turned away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. "I'm not entertaining this stupid conversation."

"I didn't bring it up," he pointed out, his grin only growing. "You did."

Rolling my eyes, I walked over to the bed and sat down, my movements deliberate and dramatic. I leaned back, crossing my arms and refusing to look at him. If Blondie thought he could rattle me, he was sorely mistaken.

At least, that's what I told myself.

I noticed Blondie staring at me, his piercing blue eyes practically dissecting me. For a split second, I hated to admit it—he wasn't bad to look at. He had that rugged charm, sharp jawline, and that lazy smirk that seemed permanently etched on his face. Not that I'd ever admit it out loud.

Blondes aren't really my type.

It'd take a whole bottle of tequila—maybe two—before I'd even consider kissing one.

Tilting my head to the side, I smirked at him, breaking the silence. "And what do people call you these days, Blondie?" I asked, my tone laced with amusement.

He scoffed, shaking his head as he crossed his arms. "Antonio. But Blondie works just fine," he replied with a smirk of his own.

"Antonio..." I repeated, rolling the name around in my mouth as if I were tasting it. His gaze didn't falter as I said his name, and for a second, I wondered if I'd struck a nerve. Then, with my most innocent expression, I pouted my lips and said, "Would you help a girl out and fetch me some clothes? Pretty please?"

His eyes flicked down to my black suit, the one I'd been wearing for what felt like days now. I saw his gaze linger for just a moment too long, and I raised an eyebrow.

"Do you want me to twirl for you so you can get a better view?" I asked sarcastically, annoyed by his blatant ogling.

To my surprise, Antonio smirked wider, stepping a little closer. "You know, I wouldn't mind," he said, his voice smooth and teasing.

I rolled my eyes so hard I was sure they'd pop out of my skull. "Perv," I muttered under my breath, narrowing my eyes at him.

He chuckled, clearly enjoying my irritation. Then his phone buzzed. Glancing at the screen, his expression shifted to something more serious. "Damien," he greeted, his tone curt. A brief exchange followed before he hung up and turned to me.

He straightened, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "I've got something to take care of," he said, his tone sharp, final. He shoved the phone into his pocket, the gesture deliberate. Before I could respond, his eyes locked onto mine, cold and unwavering. "And just so you know," he continued, his voice low, "your father's coming to get you later today." The words hung in the air, heavy with menace.

I froze, the relief washing over me like a tidal wave. Finally, I'd get to go home. For a second, I almost smiled.

Almost.

Antonio, oblivious to my thoughts, headed for the door. "Don't get too comfortable," he tossed over his shoulder before disappearing into the hallway, leaving me alone once again.

I blinked, staring at the door.

Where the hell did he just go?

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Oop.

Their interaction was cute.

*Favorite animal?*

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡