8. Alexis

8

Once Damian and the other man—Edo, I think—rush out of the room, Nat kicks the bed in anger and I shrink back, worried she will turn that fury on me.

"Fucking Damian!" she snaps. "He named me as his underboss but still treats me like a goddamn babysitter! I'm going to fucking kill him. If he tries to pull this shit again, I'm going to drown him."

Although I'm scared, curiosity is the dominating emotion. Nat is the first woman I've seen so far, and I want to know a little more about her. Maybe she would be able to help me? Something in me tells me I wouldn't get very far if I tried to escape again. Nat is all lean muscle with not an inch of fat on her.

"Who are you?" I finally ask, wincing as Nat whirls around to glare at me, her brown eyes narrowing. "Where am I? Why are you keeping me here?"

Maybe I'll get more answers out of her than Damian.

Nat cocks her head to the side, black hair spilling across her neck. "What's it to you?" she asks rudely.

I do my best to not apologize as I don't think Nat would appreciate that.

"I–I just want to know what's going on," I admit. "I know next to nothing other than Damian's name and that I'm at his house."

"Well, then one of your questions has already been answered," Nat snaps. She suddenly shivers as she stands by the open window, the rope ladder still hanging on the window sill. As she goes to shut the window, she pauses and fingers the rope. Spinning around, she scans the room, taking in the disheveled bed and open dresser drawers.

Nat snatches the rope ladder and closes the window before turning to me. She points to the rope. "Did you do this?"

I quickly nod, unable to speak. She intimidates me more than Damian does. There's something about the way she walks and speaks that exudes power and confidence.

Nat looks mildly impressed and she pulls on the rope. "Nice work. You did an excellent job with the weaver's knot, especially under pressure."

Is… is she complimenting me?

Nat studies me again, as if seeing me in a new light. I feel like her gaze pierces through my soul and that she can somehow read my mind.

"I'm Nat," she finally says. "It's short for Natalia, but no one calls me that unless they want to die a painful death."

I don't think that's a joke.

"Damian's already told you where you are, so I'm not going to repeat myself. And why are you here? Well, that's something you need to tell us."

"I don't know anything!" I burst out. "I've never heard of Invictus?—"

"Invicta," Nat cuts in.

"Or The Brotherhood! You guys keep accusing me of knowing things and not believing me when I say that I don't know!"

"Can you blame us?" Nat asks loudly, walking around me like a predator would its prey. "Two of the most powerful Mafia families are after you, and you somehow don't know who they are? That's very hard to believe."

My blood runs cold. "M–Mafia? I thought those ended with Al Capone."

Nat tips her head back and laughs loudly. "No."

Suddenly, some pieces fall into place. Damian in his suit. The guns. The fancy car. Nat calling herself the underboss. My stomach twists and my mouth dries. "You're part of the Mafia too, aren't you?"

"Very good, Alexis," Nat says, her eyes alight with cold amusement. "You've finally figured it out. A-plus work. Haven't you ever heard of The Godfather? We're kind of similar."

Horror bubbles up in me and my hands start to shake. "I–Is Damian going to kill me?"

Instead of assuring me that Damian would never, I'm horrified to see Nat shrug instead. "Depends."

"Depends on what?" I ask fearfully.

Nat smirks and folds her arms across her chest, clearly enjoying my discomfort. "Depends on whether you'll be an asset or a liability. You're worth quite a bit of money to The Brotherhood, and I imagine to Invicta, too. It would be very easy to turn you over to either organization and let them duel to the death for you."

"Have you killed anyone?" I don't know if I want an answer. Somehow, I think getting killed by Damian would be less painless than a death by Nat.

Her smile unnerves me. I'm going to throw up. My stomach heaves, and I press a hand to my mouth. A bead of sweat trickles down my back.

"But you've asked too many questions. Now, it's my turn." Nat perches on the bed, ignoring my distress. "You claim you know nothing about The Brotherhood, but can you think of any reason they want you so badly?"

"No," I answer honestly, my mouth tasting like pennies. "I don't know. I'm nobody."

Nat snorts and impatiently gestures to the rope ladder. "I highly doubt that based on your rope work. I also don't buy your ‘poor little old me' act. You're a wolf in sheep's clothing, Alexis. Fucking embrace it."

I don't know what to say to that. I want to tell her she's wrong, but I don't think she would appreciate it.

"Is your boyfriend trying to sell you?" Nat asks bluntly, gesturing to my bruised face. "The Brotherhood is known for their human trafficking proclivities."

She says this all so matter-of-factly, like she's discussing the weather instead of talking about organizations using human beings as chattel. I envy her—not for how she's discussing something as abhorrent as human trafficking—but for her confidence and self-assurance. It's a fire I wish burned within me, instead of feeling meek and timid.

"Well?" Nat asks, eyes searching mine. "Are you going to answer my question or not?"

Irritation courses through me. What is it with everyone fucking demanding answers from me? They don't deserve to know everything.

"Maybe if you shut up for five goddamn seconds, I'll feel obligated to answer one," I shoot back before I realize what I'm saying.

Silence envelopes the room as I snap my mouth shut, my heart beating a staccato in my chest. Fuck. Nat's going to kill me for that.

Nat's eyes widen at my outburst before a wide, unnerving smile breaks across her face. "Very good, Alexis," she purrs. "See? You are more than a wallflower."

I again don't know what to say. I'm relieved that Nat didn't take offense to my retort, but I'm also not sure whether she insulted me or complimented me.

"Based on that very defensive response," Nat continues, her smile similar to a Cheshire cat, "I'm going to say yes, your boyfriend was trying to sell you."

My shoulders slump, and it suddenly feels like the weight of the world is pressing on me. The full understanding of what Mark and the Carters tried to do finally hits me, and I burst into tears. I feel so small, so insignificant, and I suddenly miss my mother more than anything. What I wouldn't do to be wrapped in her arms and her telling me everything was going to be okay.

I feel a presence standing next to me and a hand rests on my shoulder. Nat gazes at me with compassion. Suddenly embarrassed, I swipe away the tears at my display of emotion. What must Nat think of me…

I don't know why I suddenly want Nat's approval. Maybe it's because Nat is poised and confident, everything I aspire to be, or because Nat has an aura of authority that came not just from her position as the underboss, but from an inner strength and self-assurance.

"It wasn't just your boyfriend, was it?" Nat asks gently.

I don't know how she's so damn perceptive, but I nod, sniffling. "My foster parents, too," I admit, my voice quaking.

Nat's fingers tighten on my shoulder before she retracts them, balling her hand into a fist. "Your parents tried to sell you along with your boyfriend?" she asks, horrified.

"Foster parents," I correct her. "But yes."

Nat gapes at me, her cool fa?ade breaking. Her face suddenly clouds over with anger, her eyes narrowing into slits. I take an instinctive step back as Nat looks terrifying.

"Would you like them to be taken care of?" Nat asks casually, staring at her nails with measured indifference.

Taken care of—oh.

I shake my head wildly, ignoring the throbbing from doing so. "No! No. Please don't hurt them. I can't have that on my conscience."

"On your conscience?" Nat splutters. "Alexis, they tried to sell you as a sex slave! Why are you still loyal to them?"

I don't expect Nat to understand my situation, and frankly, I don't find it to be any of her business. But maybe if I tell her why I feel this way, maybe she'll stop asking me so many damn questions.

"I've been in foster care since I was six," I say, feeling as though I'm stripping myself raw in front of Nat. I don't like to talk about my past. "I was in a pretty terrible situation. My previous foster family abused me, and I ran away. After a few days on the streets, I was nearly kidnapped. Just before I was shoved into the car, my current foster father rescued me. I've been at their home ever since. They protected me when no one else would."

"They're bad people, Alexis!" Nat points out, and I can't help but laugh.

"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?" I ask, watching as Nat's face screws up in annoyance that I called her out on her hypocrisy. "I mean, you're in the Mafia. I don't think that gives you some moral high ground."

Nat scowls. "I may be a lot of things and have done some unspeakable acts, but I've never tried to sell my loved ones to sexual slavery. There's a line, Alexis."

I shrug, finding her reasoning to be pretty flimsy. "I owe them my life. You don't have to understand why, but you need to accept it. No one is to hurt them."

An alarm suddenly blares, its wailing tone high-pitched. The hair on the back of my neck stands up as I jump, looking around. Nat's face pales.

"What's going on?" I ask fearfully, but Nat's already scrambling for the door and wrenching it open. She disappears down the hall, leaving the door ajar. I hear men shouting and see a gaggle of men rush past my door.

Whatever's going on isn't good. But this might be the distraction I need to get out of here.

Poking my head out the door, I see the hallway is empty. This is my chance.

I rush down the hall and come to a staircase that leads to a front door. My heart leaps into my throat. Freedom.

I nearly throw myself down the stairs, my feet making quick work as the door gets closer and closer. I reach out to grab the door handle, almost tasting the night air, but someone grabs me from around my middle and hoists me backward.

No! Not again! I flail in my captor's arms, trying to sink my elbow or knee into something soft, but all I meet is hard flesh. "Let me go!" I shriek.

"You aren't leaving until Damian says so," a deep voice rumbles into my ear as I'm carried back upstairs. Tears prick my eyes as I see my freedom slipping away with each step back toward my prison.

I was so close. So close.

My captor deposits me outside a bedroom and opens the door, keeping a tight hand around my wrist to prevent me from escaping again. He pushes me in and shuts the door behind him.

The bedroom I'm in is incredibly spacious, with vaulted ceilings and large windows that let in plenty of natural light during the day. However, the room has a distinct lived-in feel, with clothes and magazines strewn about haphazardly.

Framed photos of classic sports cars, like the Ford GT40, Lamborghini Countach, and Ferrari Testarossa adorn the walls. Along one wall is a massive wooden dresser, its top covered in diecast model cars. The open closet door reveals a tumbled mess of clothes, shoes, and car detailing supplies.

A plush dog bed sits in another corner, surrounded by an assortment of well chewed toys. But my attention is fixated on the king-sized bed in the center of the room, where Damian lies on rumpled red sheets, his chest wrapped in white gauze and bandages. A small dachshund is curled in the crook of his arm. The dog perks up when my captor and I enter the room, a warning growl coming out of its tiny body.

Nat is sitting on a chair beside Damian's bedside and scowls at the dog, her face pale. "Quiet, Biscotti," she orders.

Although the situation looks serious and I should be frightened, I fight a smile when I hear the dog's name. Maybe I've seen too many Mob movies, but I would have expected a Mafia Don to have a pit bull or a German Shepherd, not a lap dog named after a cookie.

"You doing okay, Damian?" my captor asks, concern etched on his face. It's the same man who argued with Damian and Nat about what to do with me.

Damian waves an irritable hand, but I can see how pale his face is and the bags under his eyes. "I'm fine," he says. "Just a flesh wound. I don't even know why I'm lying in bed."

"Because you were shot in the shoulder twice," Nat snaps, her voice trembling.

"I was grazed by the bullets," Damian corrects her. "Fucking Invicta idiots don't even know how to shoot. How embarrassing. If I were Shields, I would get rid of them."

Damian's dark eyes finally slide onto me, and a wry smirk spreads across his face as he lazily pets his dog. My heart hammers at his smoldering gaze.

"Did you really think you could escape me, Alexis?"