*Rewrites in Progress*
"Do not test me on my birthday, Jacob," I said, keeping my eyebrow raised as if to dare him to continue. He huffed, muttering something about birthday's being a curse, and I leant down to help the other guy up, finally catchin...
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Anastasia's POV
It was dark at first.
Hell it was always dark in this godforsaken place. I was pretty sure it was day twenty, but I was beginning to forget the little things. I had far more important matters to occupy my mind with.
I sat up, my bones sticking out through my skin like a sore thumb. My hair was matted, some of it in clumps on the cement floor. I knew I was an ugly sight, some of Vince's men could not even look at me without gagging, and though it was entirely fucked up, it humoured me.
They were nothing like the stone-cold men my father hired to watch over his prisoners.
At least today was food day.
They fed me every five days, only a small meal of stale bread and water. They changed the guards every time, coming at different times of the day so that I couldn't escape.
Smart asses.
My clothes were starting to wear, and I was grateful that I had worn warm clothes before I had left. The room I was in had a singular mouldy window, no light, and no heating. A toilet and basin were on one side, a rotting mattress that I sat on now on the other.
A key jangled in the lock of my cell door and I scooted back on the mattress. The guards were getting tougher by the day, and my beatings were getting worse.
I was lucky to be alive.
"Alright princess, rise and shine, the Boss wants you!" the man yelled, and he grabbed me by my elbow roughly. I bit my lip so that my whimpers didn't escape, and he dragged me out of the cell.
The light of the corridor hit my eyes and I closed them quickly, as my head started to spin. The man dragged me up three sets of stairs, taking me to a ballroom with a man facing the large window inside.
"Thank you Pietro, your help was much appreciated," the stranger said, and Pietro dropped me to the marbled floor, leaving and closing the grand doors. All of their accents in this place varied - Pietro was most definitely Russian, and the stranger before me was English.
The stranger turned around and my blood went cold.
His black hair had greys threaded through it, and his eyes were a cold black. His pale skin seemed as if he hadn't left this place for years. His suit was crisp and clean, the colour of his eyes. He smirked and took a step towards me, resulting in me scooting back.
"So the once feisty and beloved Anastasia Rosa Cuore, now a frightened little lamb?" he cackled. I tried to stand but my legs gave out. I glared at him.
"Tell me Miss Cuore, how is it that after twenty days of the worst torture my men can give out, that you utter not a single word on the secrets of your father's mafia?" he asked, stepping closer and closer to my shaking body.
