Indebted to the Mafia King

*Tatiana*

My eyes don't move as I watch my kidnapper's face contort in confusion at what I just said. It was a gamble, but it was my last shot since I came to terms with not being able to escape from this place unharmed-if not fucking dead as a doornail.

I doubted it would work at first, but I seem to have hit a sensitive topic when I offered to help him with information about Oleg. It's not like I have much on him anyway, since I was barely ever in the same room as him while I was his prisoner, but if it's Oleg that he's after, I'm more than happy to help him with his vendetta.

My determination seems to do its job because my kidnapper climbs off me and extends his hand to me. I hesitate, staring at his large hand while wondering what the hell might have made him change his mind.

Maybe he's playing games with me, pretending to believe me so he can tie me to that chair again.

"Come on, I won't tie you up again." Is he a fucking mindreader? His brows shoot up as he waits for me to grab his hand or do anything other than just stare at him, dumbfounded.

In reality, other than just being suspicious of his true motives, I'm more concerned about how disappointed I felt when he got off me and I could no longer feel the weight of his body on mine.

What the fuck is the matter with me? He kidnapped me! He's a dangerous man.noveldrama

I should be feeling relieved instead of wishing he'd kept me trapped between the floor and his rigid body.

Great. I'm a psychopath.

With one last hesitant look at his hand, I accept his offer and take it. He yanks me to my feet so that I'm standing in front of him. He takes a step back, putting on a small distance between us, but the tension surrounding us is palpitating. It's like an electric current that will ignite if either of us moves a muscle.

He seems somewhat uncomfortable with the situation as well, but it might just be my delusional brain playing tricks on me.

I pull my hand back from his, taking one step backward. We're an arm's length away from each other, so I could try to run again now that he has given me some space.

But for the first time since I got to New York, I don't feel like running or trying to escape. For the first time, I feel... safe.

That's fucking insane. I'm a prisoner in a basement with an unknown man. Nevertheless, the way his eyes have softened and his frightening posture has relaxed now makes me feel like I can trust him.

If we have the same goal to end Oleg-maybe we can become allies. It wouldn't be completely delusional.

"Am I wrong to assume you're offering to throw Oleg under the bus because you hate his guts too?" he asks me, his eyes narrowing into slits as he studies my reaction.

I take a deep breath, deciding that I need to be truthful with him if I want to survive. I don't doubt for a second that he'll kill me if I try to fool him again. Mafia members are not known for being merciful. I've heard a lot of stories through the years to know that's the case. And even though his very presence is confusing to me, I have to find a way to trust him.

"I fucking hate him." I have no trouble admitting that, clenching my teeth. As much as I try to push away all the bad memories I have of Oleg, and all the suffering he's caused me, so my emotions don't get the better of me, that's nearly impossible. That bastard took everything from me.

My parents, my adoptive family, the life I had back in Russia, and the life I could've had someday....

He left me with nothing, not even my dignity. I was given to his son like a dog who would become his breeder just because Oleg has this sickening obsession with creating a legacy. As if he's done anything to earn the empire he now claims.

I was too young to remember it, but Lev told me the whole story of what happened to my parents when I was old enough to understand. Oleg stole everything from my father. Otherwise, he'd have nothing other than his ambitions. He'd just be another capo, answering to my father's orders.

"Care if I ask you why?"

His deep voice brings me back to reality. I blink a few times, formulating a response. "I don't think I can trust you enough to tell you why yet. Let's just say I want him dead and buried so I don't have to look into the bastard's fucking eyes ever again for the rest of my life." My voice drips with ice.

His eyes widen almost imperceptibly at my words, but as usual, he's skilled at hiding his true emotions. I wonder what he's had to face in his life to become this cold and detached. "Fair enough. Well, if we're going to be partners, I think it's only fair that we at least know each other's names." The corner of his mouth turns up slightly into what I could almost describe as a smile.

God, he's insanely handsome.

He offers me his hand once more. "Angelo Messina." His raspy voice sends an electric bolt down my spine.

Fuck, woman! Get yourself together!

I nod sharply and grip his hand, ignoring the tingling sensation that shoots up my arm. "Tatiana Ivanov." It didn't even occur to me to lie to him; he could find out easily who Yakov was supposed to marry. Lev did a great job keeping me off the radar, but who knows what these guys can discover with their network?

His calloused hand contrasts deeply with my soft and smooth skin, and somehow I feel like a fraud. This is what the hand of a true fighter should feel like. The things he must have seen, faced, and done... I can't even begin to imagine. Despite Lev's best attempts to prepare me, practice is never the same as real life.

When our eyes meet, it's like everything I'm debating within myself vanishes from my brain, and I can only focus on the way I feel under his gaze. Not only does my body feel bare beneath his heavy gaze, so does my soul.

Get your shit together, woman!

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I've never felt like this before. Not that I've had a lot of chances to meet guys back in Russia under Lev's watchful eye, but I've... been around. I went to college. I've had a couple of boyfriends. I'm no fucking virgin

But no one has ever made me feel like this.

Angelo clears his throat, probably thinking there's something wrong with me, the way I'm staring at him. I yank my hand out of his grip. "Well, I...I bet you must be hungry and thirsty." He shoves his hands into his pockets.

I nod at him, feeling an enormous void where my stomach should be and realizing I'm actually starving.

"Okay, so let's go get you something to eat. Then, we can talk."

He walks toward the door, and I rush after him to keep up with his long strides. Angelo knocks on the door twice, and another man opens it. I ignore this new guy and follow Angelo closely, observing my surroundings as we climb a set of stairs and step into the bright hallway of what appears to be a mansion. Several men stand guard, all of them wearing suits similar to Angelo's, their expressions serious, but also confused, as they watch me walk freely with my hands untied.

Angelo doesn't bother explaining the situation to any of them, though. He heads toward the end of the hallway where I hope we'll find the kitchen. Now that he's mentioned it, I can't stop thinking about how hungry I am.

I'm momentarily lost in my surroundings as I observe the luxurious, spacious house. It's not as extravagant as Oleg's even though I hate to admit he has good taste, with his modern art pieces and paintings all over the place-but this mansion, in a way, is cozier and looks more like a home instead of a prison. Weirdly, I feel like I could get used to living in a place like this.

Soon enough, we get to the kitchen, which is empty except for the two of us. Angelo gestures at the stool by the counter, and I take a seat, watching as he opens the fridge and grabs a jug of orange juice. He pours me a glass, then proceeds to prepare a sandwich. I remain silent the entire time, watching the way his muscles strain against the fabric of his shirt as he moves. His brows are creased as he focuses on his task, but even something as simple as preparing a sandwich makes him look hotter and sexier than he should be allowed.

A couple of minutes later, he places the plate and juice glass in front of me, and it doesn't even cross my mind that he may have secretly poisoned my food; I'm so hungry right now that if I die eating a turkey and cheese sandwich, I'll die with a smile on my face.

He sits on a stool on the other side of the counter, watching my every move, not saying a word until I finish. I'm far from being satisfied, but this will do for now, I guess. I don't want to push his kindness too far.

"Do you think you're ready to tell me about Oleg now?" He crosses his arms, his eyes narrowed as he observes me from the other side of the counter.

I consider what to tell him. Of course, I can't give him all the information I have at once because this may be the only thing keeping me alive right now. Also, I'm not exactly sure what he wants me to tell him. It's not like I know Oleg's secret plans and schemes.

"I lost everything because of Oleg," I rush out. "Because of his fucking greed. I never wanted to be involved in any of this. I hate the type of life he is so fond of." Angelo nods silently, taking in my every word. "I can relate to that, in a way," he confesses, standing. "Listen, you must be exhausted. And I'm sure you're dying for a shower. You still have dry blood on your neck. Why don't you take a hot shower and get some rest? We can talk tomorrow. If you're going to cooperate with us, you have to be all in. I can't go back to my boss with empty promises. Being vague isn't going to help you. Just because we have a truce right now doesn't mean that things can't change in a heartbeat. Ponyatno?"

Yes, I understand what he's saying. I've already racked him and tried to run away-I could've been slaughtered for much less. He's been merciful to me, nice even. He must have a good heart, deep down, because any other mobster would've put a bullet in my head after all the trouble I've caused him.

"Okay, thank you," I murmur, genuinely grateful. I feel awful. Dirty. Stained. Luckily, I can't see the blood, but I can still smell it and feel it on my skin.

I follow Angelo to the second floor where he leads me into a big bedroom with a ginormous king-size bed and a large wardrobe in the corner. There's also a small table by the window and an armchair to enjoy the view, but it's the bathroom that takes my breath away. The floor and every surface is covered in white marble tiles. Everything is opulent-especially the huge jetted bathtub

"We keep clothes in a variety of size in the closet over there. I'm sure you can find something that fits," he offers, gesturing to a door on the far side of the bathroom. "I'll be back when you're done."

That should sound like a warning; instead, my filthy mind goes crazy with images of what he might do to me when I'm done.

I shake my head and watch him leave before walking to the closet. I find a T-shirt and sweatpants in women's sizes, although they are a bit large for me. Thankfully, I find a pair of new panties with the tags still on that will work. Looking around, I take a deep breath, realizing this is the first time I've been alone in ages.

Turning on the shower to heat up, I strip off the clothes that kind woman gave me and then step beneath the stream. The hot water against my skin is invigorating. I wash away all the dirt, blood, and sweat from my skin and hair, watching the water run pink then clear, but even so, I'm unable to completely relax.

How can I, when I'm still a fucking prisoner?

Granted, Angelo is already treating me better than Oleg did, but that doesn't change the fact that I don't have my freedom.

I finish my shower, dry off, and get dressed. When I return to the bedroom, Angelo is

there, comfortably seated in the armchair.

"You can take the bed," he tells me, that cocky smirk on his face.

"Are you going to stay there?" I ask, trying hard to hide my surprise.

He snickers like I've just asked him the stupidest question imaginable. "I'm not supposed to let you out of my sight. And until I have something useful for my boss, I don't think I can leave you alone. Especially in a bedroom with windows."

I roll my eyes at him, pulling the blankets back and lying on the bed, too exhausted to argue with him. If he wants to kill me in my sleep, so be it. If he wants to watch me while I sleep-possibly dreaming of him-that's his prerogative. I don't have the strength in me to be on alert right now. I just need to sleep.

And for some crazy, unexplainable reason, I know he won't do anything to harm me. That thought alone is enough to help me fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.