My throat makes a weird noise that's between a laugh and someone choking.
"No," I shake my head at him in disbelief. "Nope. No. No, no, no, no, no."
"You can deny it all you want but it won't change anything," he states taking a bite of the food.
I get off the chair, and reach the window. My hands touch the cold glass, making a little fog near my hand before it disappears.
My gaze falls to the left hand on the mirror and the black ring.
We hadn't been allowed to come to New York, the Irish Mafia but of course I didn't know at that time because I've been to New York... once. And that's when I got this ring, that's when I met him and that's when I've started to search for him but never found him.
That had happened when I was eighteen. Five years ago. We had just met once, I don't know why I tried to search for him. That seems like a stalker move but I didn't care.
Maybe I'll see him again now that I'm in New York. But that's nearly impossible. Mostly because of the fucker that has kidnapped and little because of how he could be anywhere else in the world right now.
I close my eyes and press my forehead to the cold glass before turning around and going over to my seat.
Matteo eyes me cautiously. "What?" I ask enable to stop myself but he doesn't reply and only shakes his head. His eyes are still on me and it makes me feel self conscious.
Suddenly I feel uncomfortable in my own skin, the clothes clinging to my skin, making me want to rip them apart.
Matteo stands up startling me. "Follow me," he commands leaving no room for questioning or arguing.
He walks fast, where I with my feet, walk on my heels. He looks back at me to see that I haven't even crossed one-fourth of how much he had.
Coming back towards me, he lifts me in his arms again for the third time today, making me squeak.
"You need to stop carrying me in your arms." I say, my skin fully aware of where his arms are touching me. The heat coming from his body is weirdly comforting. Gosh, why does he have to be like this? Why do I have to feel like this?!
"We'll see about that," He says, his tone indicating that he would not even consider what I'm saying.
I keep looking up at him as he carries me. His jaw is so sharp, I have a sudden urge to bite it softly. I have the same urge for his Adam's apple. Out of every feature, everything, it's his eyes which stands out to me. They're brown, almost everyone have brown eyes but there is something about his that's so addicting.
It's like I've seen them before. But I just cannot pinpoint where and it's bothering me so much. The more I stare at them the more I realise that they are actually a bit amber. I may be wrong though.
But what I could not be wrong about--hell what no one could ever be wrong about was how beautifully handsome and breathtaking Matteo Bianchi is.
I won't deny to the fact that My captor does look good, I'm not one to not appreciate beauty. But that doesn't mean I have to like the person the beauty belongs to.
He looks down at me and smirks slightly, probably hearing the thoughts I'm having right now. My cheeks heat slightly and I look away.
After walking up the stairs, he enters the first room there and settles me on the bed. I let out a silent gasp when I look at the room.
Right in front of the bed are large windows. Hell the whole wall is actually a window with soft looking grey curtains. A small sofa where the front of the bed ends. One very comfortable looking chair, with a small round table and a big lamp that stands in front of the window.
There's a soft carpet under the bed and a painting hanging above the bed. There are two doors on the wall that's on the right side of the bed. I'm guessing one leading to the bathroom and the other to a closet.
Matteo walks into one of the door which I assume is the closest considering he came out a minute later with some clothes.
He puts his hand out with the clothes in, expecting me to pick them up but I stare at them like they'll bite me and then I look back up at Matteo.
"Why?" I ask. I'm not exactly sure what I'm asking. I myself am confused. Why did you get clothes for me to change into? Why did you bring me into your room? Why did you kidnap me if this was how you were going to treat me? Why—
"You looked very uncomfortable downstairs and started tugging at your clothes." He shrugs as if it's no big deal for my captor to lend me his clothes. "Take the clothes and change into them," he puts them on my lap.
I look at him, unable to move my eyes away. He looks back at me, keeping the eye contact. Here we go again with the eye contest. He's the first one to look away though.
"Do you want me to leave the room or are you okay with going into the bathroom?" He asks.
I don't answer. I keep looking at him.
He slightly raises his eyebrow at me, telling me that he's waiting for my answer.
I let out a deep breathe. "I'll go into the bathroom." I answer finally. He nods as I get up and make my way to the door of the bathroom.
And let me tell you, this man has gotten some insane organising skills because holy hell. The bathroom is so organised. Walking inside a little, there is a sink on the right on grey marble top and besides it is another grey marble top but shorter in height.
A huge ass tub in the middle of the bathroom, and a W.C at the other end of the bathroom. There's a shower on the others side and a shelf filled with skincare, bathing products and literally everything else that's essential.
I put the clothes on the countertop and look at myself in front of the mirror. My hair all messed up, a little bruise on my neck.
Signing, I open my clothes, slightly wet a towel to rub it over my arms and wash my wash. I apply some of the over expensive lotion on the shelf, not caring if it might get me in trouble. Though it shouldn't really get me trouble but this guy might get riled up over small things.
Lifting the clothes, I realise they are sweats and a soft brown cotton t-shirt. I almost laugh at how over-sized they are for me. After wearing them I notice how the feel of these sweats are so good. They're so comfortable but they're a little too oversized for me and the t-shirt comes mid thighs for me.
A laugh threatens to spill from my lips at how I look right now. Ridiculous. I look ridiculous. A bitter laugh leaves my lips before i can help it. Then I'm crying. I'm fucking breaking down in my Captor's bathroom.
It makes me cry and laugh at the same time. I sound like a psycho right now. But do I care?
In one day, I'm been fucking kidnapped, I've seen three people get killed, shot someone in their arm and almost got myself killed.
A sob spills out of me and I put a hand over my mouth to muffle any other that might come.
The tears keep coming out and I'm not sure why. Why am I even crying? I try to stop, I try to take a deep breathe but instead more tears come.
My knees feel weak and I fall down on the floor, brining my knees closer and wrapping my arms around it.
Suddenly there's a loud bang on the door.
"Ella! Open the door!" Matteo yells. He's angry. Fuck. I don't want him to see me crying, I don't want him to see me weak or vulnerable.
"What?" I yell back but my voice breaks and I hate that.
"Open the door or I'm fucking break it!" He warns, his fist pounding on the door.
"Fuck off, I'm changing," I lie.
The banging stops for a while. Maybe he bought the lie and went away. Just maybe.
Then a scream comes out of me as a fist comes through the wooden door and unlocks the door before opening it.
Quickly I stand up and wipe my face with the first thing I find. It's my blouse. I look into the mirror and curse. My whole face is red, wet and hot tears threatening to fall again. Fuck what on earth is going on with me? Why am I being like this?
Matteo opens the door and looks at me with a weird expression on his face. He doesn't look angry. He doesn't look mad.
A tear falls out of my eye and he takes in a sharp breath before stalking towards me and taking me into his arms. I don't hug him back. My hands are still on my side.
His one hand lands on the back of my neck, keeping my head stuck to his chest, making me hear his heartbeat. It's fast, unusually fast. Why, I wonder?
The other arm is on my lower back, his palm softly gripping my waist.
"I'm sorry." He apologises.
"Then let me go," I plead, my voice breaking. I hate this.
"Can't," he whispers softly.
I tilt my head up, looking at him. Here comes the feeling again. The feeling that I've met him before, that I know him.
And right now I don't know what compels me to say the next thing I do.
"Have we met before?" I blurt, immediately regretting it. His eyes snap to mine so fast that it's unbelievable. And that is enough to tell me that we know each other. But from where?
As if he can read my thoughts, he lifts my left hand, his thumb faintly rubbing it. My eyes widen and an involuntary gasp comes out.
"You... you're-"
"Yes." He confirms.