The Deep End

Chapter 7

His gaze comes back to mine, his hand cupping my face so gently I have to fight the urge to close my eyes and lean into it. "You're smart not to trust so easily, topolina. You shouldn't trust me because I only have ill intentions, especially when it comes to you and when you fight it only makes it harder to resist them. I don't mind it, as long as it's me you're fighting." His fingers snake into my hair and his grip on the strands prickles across my scalp. "But when it's Luca you're putting your hands on well—" He lets out a dry laugh. "—let's just say that's a quick way to piss me off." Something sharp drags across my neck and my entire body tenses up. His face hardens but his eyes ignite as they drop to my neck. "Not enough to kill you, just enough to give in to the urge to hurt you."

A gasp falls from my lips as he adds pressure to the tip of the blade and a trail of fire blazes across my neck. My heart races in my chest, my body frozen as I feel a drop of blood trickle down my chest. He lightens the pressure and drags the blade up my chin and over my lips, his eyes following it the entire time. It's cool against my heated skin and sends goosebumps across my flesh.

"Should I continue or are you going to be good?" He questions.

"I'm sorry, I'll be good." I whisper, my chest aching with emotion.

He gives me a malicious grin. "Brava ragazza." His eyes dropped to my neck for a second. "Reds your color, topolina."

(Brava ragazza: good girl)

He releases his hold on me and rises to his full height, wiping the blade of his knife off on his suit jacket before closing it and slipping it back in his pocket. He grips Luca by the shoulder, giving it a squeeze as he speaks to him in Italian. Luca replies and Riot leaves the basement. Luca approaches me and I feel guilty for fighting him that first day, which is absolutely insane but I do. Even after that he's still been gentle with me, he's tried his best to get me to eat. He doesn't seem to play games like Riot or if he does he hides it extremely well.

"If I make you lunch will you eat it?" He asks me.

"Yes." I whisper.

He grabs the shackle above the mattress and extends it from the wall, his touch gentle as he grabs my arm. His eyes go to the mark on my wrist just as Riots had and his jaw clenches. He drops my arm and grabs my foot, attaching the shackle to my ankle instead. I breathe a sigh of relief. Having that thing back around my tender wrist wasn't something I had been looking forward to.

"I'll be right back." He mutters and leaves the room.

I grab the notepad and paper from the floor, my messy scrawl filling the first two pages. It's the only thing I've done while being locked in the weird headspace I've been in. I have nothing but time to think. It's hard constantly being stuck inside your head with the thoughts that run through mine. One part of me revels in knowing the Bratva is slowly being dismantled, piece by piece, but the part cowers at the thought of the destruction going on outside these walls. Children losing their fathers, mothers losing their sons. An absolute slaughter of all the people I know. It's enough guilt to drown in.

My eyes scan the page, reading through everything I've written down so far as I try my best to think about anything I've missed. I've obviously missed something because as far as I know they haven't found my father yet. I bring the pen to the paper and write down a few more things I remember, each pen mark carving itself in my brain for eternity. If I ever make it out of here my back will be covered in ink from all the lives lost in this battle.