The butler bowed further, “Yes, sire. Understood. Please let me know if you or the miss need something.
A shuffle sounded behind us, and I looked over my shoulder to see two of Nicu’s men shove the driver into the back of the car and drive off. Well, that loose end was taken care of.
Looking up at the large, opulent mansion, a chill ran down my spine. My eyes found Kazia’s slumped form. I don't think any of us are going to leave this house the same.
21
KAZIA
This was not where I expected to be.
When I first woke up in a too-soft, extra plush bed, warning bells went off in my head. When did prisoners get such a nice place to stay? Running my fingers over the silky red sheets, fingering the ornate golden pillows, I thought someone must have put me in the wrong room. There was no way that I, the daughter of the woman their father had a grudge with, would be placed in a room like this.
This had to be Cezar’s or Ion's doing.
Careful of my shoulder, I sat up, scanned the room, and noticed the shape was more of a hexagon, with the bed on one side and four doors. Curiosity kicked in, and I slid off the bed and tiptoed my way over to the closest door to my left. Putting my ear up to the door, I didn't hear anything on the other side. Grasping the hard brass knob, turning it as slow as possible, I took a quick breath before opening it just a crack.
Seeing no one inside, I opened it further to reveal a bathroom, but it wasn't just a bathroom; it was something gaudy and overbearing. Walls lined with white marble, golden lines cracked through it like lightning. Each fixture was a bright, shiny gold that made my eyes hurt. In fact, this whole room gave me a headache.
Closing the door as quickly as I could, I moved to the next three doors, being just as careful as I was with the first, but this time, they were all locked. I was being held prisoner, again.
Slumping against the red silk chase at the end of the bed, the only positive thought I had was that I wasn't tied up to the bed this time.
Tears pricked at my eyes, my nails dug into the silky cushion, the pain in my shoulder anchoring me in this world.Why did this happen to me? Why did you leave me with all this uncertainty, Mom?
A sob caught like a lump in my throat, refusing to come out as a single tear carved its way down my cheek.I’m alone. An orphan. The only person who ever really loved me and could be there for me has left me.
Darkness whirled around me, crawling its way around my heart, threatening to take over and consume me. A single thought sliced through my pain: I was being punished for my mom's past. The tears dried up as I grabbed onto that thought.
This vicious viper of a man was going to imprison or hurt me, not because of anything I did, but because of my mom. Warmth flooded my chest as rage raced through my veins. The unfairness, the injustice. Even if I was mad at my mom for putting me in this situation and not telling me about any of this, I couldn’t place all the blame on her. Plus, what good would that do? She was dead; it wasn't like I could yell at her for it.
No, the only person I could place this burning wrath on was the man who demanded I come across the country to be a prisoner in his home. The man who was the leader of the Armenian mafia.
Even if he was the one with all the power, the one who could order my death as easily as speaking it into existence, I refused to make it easy for him. I would find a way to make him pay as I went down, too.
Jumping to my feet, I searched the room, looking for anything I could use as a weapon. It didn't even need to kill him. If I could just take out an eye or give him a big old scar, something that said Kazia Lee was here and didn’t go down without a fight, I would be happy.
Starting with the drawers, I wrestled open every single one, and I found nothing. An annoying dull pain worked its way through my shoulder, reminding me that while the outside was sewn up, the muscles that laid beneath was still working on healing, but I wouldn't let that stop me. Looking through the room, in the closet, and under the bed, I still found nothing. Not a coat hanger, not a pencil, not anything sharp or useful.
Staring at myself in the mirror, I took a few ragged breaths to calm down, to keep myself from going to one of those locked doors and banging them with all my might, demanding someone to open the door. Then it hit me. The mirror. If I couldn't find something sharp, I couldmakesomething sharp.
Stomping over to the nightstand, I ripped the lamp out of its socket. Pain sliced down from my shoulder, but I clenched my teeth and pushed through it. Carving out my path for destruction, I made my way over to the mirror, shielding myself as I raised the bottom of the lamp up and arched it downward.
“What the fuck do you think you're doing?!” The lamp was ripped from my grip, my hand burning from the extraction, and I whirled around to face a furious Ion. “You could hurt yourself!”
“Or I could hurt you.” It slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it, and a piece of me regretted the words. The rage ball inside of me thought it wasn't enough.
His voice went low, his eyes looking straight into mine, not hurt or laughing at me, like I expected, but more like he was intrigued. Throwing the lamp onto the bed, he stalked up to me, face to face, before he grabbed the hand of my good arm and placed a gun in it. Curling both hands around my one, he lifted the gun up to his chin. “If you want to hurt me, at least do it right.”
Glaring up at him, I wondered if he thought I wouldn't do it. Even with my hands shaking, I kept the barrel steady. My rage still simmered right underneath my skin, waiting to take out some vengeance. Wanting to show them that their little prisoner had some fight left in her, but my damn heart thumped beneath my chest as it threw itself against my ribs.
Flashes of him on top of me, restraining me, had me tightening my hand on the gun. The next moment, I pictured him holding me as we both fell asleep drunk and emotionally exhausted. My arm trembled. A ghost of heat tingled along my lips, reminding me of our kiss before the shoot out, then of him in the plane begging me with his eyes to be controlled. I felt my resolve begin to break.
“Oh, are we playing Shoot the Second Husband?” Cezar appeared behind Ion, who stiffened at his arrival. “I wanna play,” he cocked his gun and pointed it at Ion from behind.
Ion stiffened, raising his hands as he talked to his brother, his eyes still fixed on me. “You’re going to shoot your own brother?”
Cezar stepped up behind him, and a crazed kind of pain took over as whispering in his ear. “You forget, dear brother, I’ve already killed my own family before.” Ion’s eyes widened, real fear seeping its way in. “If it’s what my wife wants, then this is what she gets.”
