The Neighbourhood - Everybody's Watching Me
New York City
Three Months Ago
𝔚𝔚𝔚
Adrik
I hated what I read of American culture. I couldn't believe it was worse in person.
The people had too much free will. Too much time on their hands. And their president, couldn't think for himself without asking permission from his election donors.
I hadn't sought him out, nor did I have any intention to, yet like a mut to meat, he'd come crawling, bearing gifts he thought would please me, and in turn, my family's respect.
But my family had estates all over the world, this one he'd gifted in New York was amongst the least impressive.
The history was dull, the walls bleak while the only arguably decency came from the library. And even then my books couldn't have arrived sooner.
But I'd found comfort in the space, made peace with it being my new place of residence. Going so far as to decorate with my belongings.
A chess board. My oak desk. And a security system that rivaled the white house.
Sat at my desk, I stare at the text, where Dima alerts me that they've secured my leverage.
Ten minutes ago.
And not a door alarm has been triggered.
I wait the extra minute, out of habit, before studying the surveillance on my computer screen. I go to the ones at the gate only to find the first broken, the second as-well. While the third gives me a glimpse of a small figure, her middle finger all that flashes across the screen before she collapses to the ground.
Interesting, only in the way that makes me doubt myself for the briefest of moments.
I wonder if there's something different from last I saw her. But logic tells me I'm too critical. The last thing I did when engaging with women was pay attention to details.
The library doors creak as they open, and when I look up, I notice everything wrong with the two men standing before me.
One's got a black eye, the other a blooded arm where it's fluid drips onto the floor. Only before I can speak, Feo's clutching his bloodied arm and telling me he'll send the cleaners.
Dima on the other hand looks sour, "You said she'd be an easy capture."
I flicker my eyes between him and his brother, noting how said capture looked anything but easy. "She should have been."
Either they were incompetent or I'd miscalculated. The latter was impossible.
"She's unbearable and rude." He nurses his blackened eye with an air of disbelief. Dima was by far the strongest of my people, this must be eating him up inside. "Not at all like you described her."
A brief note of accusation sits in his tone, one that treads dangerously close to the type I wouldn't let go unpunished.
Feo saves him.
"What he means is-" stepping infront of his brother, he clears his throat and clutches his bloodied arm. "You said she'd agree to marry you. Why have us kidnap her and go through all this trouble?"
Trouble.
Sabrina Ademaro shouldn't have been trouble.
She was compliant and nothing but a pathetic romantic desperate for an escape of the life that'd been set for her.
The kidnapping was to lure Silvio to give me my sister. The marriage was to spite my mother.
She should have been easy.
Now, however it feels like a false assumption. A single miscalculation. Something so rare, I had to see it for myself.
The halls are cold, the basement a perfect place for my current hostage, to be wife. While my people crowd the room as though they'd need anything more than a single trained Russian to handle the docile Italian girl.
Only the moment my eyes coast across them all to where she sits, the notion of docile and Italian prove to be false, leaving nothing but a girl.
One with hair so black it sucks any shade of brown and skin so brown she looks nothing like an Italian. But it's her eyes, vibrant and green, with still so much fight in them that takes ahold of my curiosity.
So much so that I can't help but reach forward and jerk her face up to check. There's a sharpness to the dark hairs of her brows, a smudge of red to her lips.
A uniqueness so potent, she's can't be a miscalculation, not when she's not even in the proof.
Despite it, I speak to the people somewhere behind me. "This woman is not the one I want." It's a distracted murmur as I study her.
She's got the type of face I wouldn't forget. The type that's nothing like the Ademaro girl.
And when she speaks, I know that her annoyingly-apparent beauty is not the only contrasting thing to the hostage I was expecting.
"If you're gonna have the balls to kidnap me. The least you could do is speak to me directly. " She is in-fact rude, but more so brave.
People didn't speak to me, unless addressed directly. And when they did, I got nothing but respect, or fear.
She shows none. I don't give her what she demands and instead speak to those around me once again. "Who exactly is this woman?"
Someone alludes to her being Silvio's daughter. I don't care to look away from her and address them directly. "She's not." Her voice isn't the problem, it's what she uses the somewhat tolerable rasp of it to say. Too loud and arrogant to survive in my world. "Kill her."
I seem to underestimate her bravery.
When she breaks free of her ropes and grabs my gun. I take it back and shoot who'd been responsible for them in the first place.
When she tells me who she is, I gather proof with my own hands.
And when Silvio confirms the lies she tells, I realize that I hadn't seen this coming. I didn't know of her existence.
I knew everything.
So much so that I obsessed over it. Found comfort in all its details.
This woman is not the one I want, only that changes when I begin to see her for what she is.
An opportunity.
A rude, unlikeable, unbearable opportunity.
I leave her there to fend for herself, and walk back through the dark, cold halls of the basement with Feo in tow.
I'd keep her, hold her existence over Silvio's head until he was nothing but my puppet. I wouldn't make her my wife, though.
It'd never work.
No one, especially not my mother would believed that I'd ever fall for a woman like her. She was everything I despised in a person.
But I'd have fun stripping her tough exterior. I'd enjoy watching her crumble.
And when I was done with her, I'd marvel in her extinction.
The heat of Feo's stare warms my cheeks and I glance to him at my right. "What."
He looks from my face down to my hands. "You... you weren't wearing your gloves."
I follow his gaze down to my hands, my previous thoughts disappear while the sight of my hands, bare and gloveless plague my mind.
No barrier. No instinctive thought to rid the remnants from my hands. But worst of all, it lingers in the form of the feel of her skin against mine.
I fist my hands and turn to find the nearest bathroom.
Disgusting.
I'd touched her.
I despise her already.
Present Day
Celina
Disoriented, nauseous, and confused, I wake up alone.
The bed beneath me is too large to be mine, the room too clean to belong to me, while the space is far too grand for my liking.
The pounding in my head doesn't stop, and in a groggy haze, I reach for the water and pills left on the nightstand, only realizing I hadn't been the one to put them there too late.
My shirt hangs over one of my shoulders, half off and in a rush of alarm, with no recollection of the events that'd landed me here, I panic.
I find a lone chair. It looks like an antique, expensive and old. With a single kick, it breaks, and I grab ahold of its leg before wandering into what appears to be a house.
I don't find any sign of life, the furniture remains untouched, the floors still. That is until I wander down yet another hallway and catch the first sign.
It smells of meat and spice, and takes me to a kitchen where I find its source. Standing, breathing and far bigger than life itself.
Pure shock sends the wooden bar in my hand to the ground, while its clank doesn't seem to startle him, or grab his attention.
It tells me he'd already sensed my presence but hadn't made any sign to let it deter him. Not as he stands above a stove, with his back to me.
Dark hair. Crisp suit.
A slight note of tension creeps into his broad shoulders at the sound of my voice. "Where the hell am I?"
A pan sizzles, and when he turns around to drop its contents onto a plate, I'm forced to face the sight of him. "We have an estate here in London."
Shaved face. Clean shirt. Everything from the emerald face of his watch to the matching shade of his tie are meticulously perfect.
So put together, it makes me feel like shit.
It worsens when his eyes come my way. "I'm surprised my mother didn't tell you about it now that you two are so close." When his gaze naturally lowers to take me in for what I am- a complete mess, I feel so indecent in comparison. So imperfect to his perfect.
I ignore his remark and in a daze of annoyance, move to the sink, where I splash water onto my face and search through the cabinets until I make a makeshift mouthwash from water and baking soda.
Adrik watches me from across the island. He remains silent, observant. I hate how I suddenly begin to feel embarrassed.
Reaching for a paper towel, I find my voice, sending it to him over my shoulder. "Why is my shirt half off?" Accusation sits in my tone while his gaze touches my bare shoulder, before I fix my shirt and bring the towel to my face and wipe it clean.
Remnants of makeup fill parts of white cloth while blood wets what the water doesn't. When I reach up to touch my forehead, the bandaid I'd slapped on the wound is gone and I internally groan as it begins to throb.
When I turn, the pain is lost in the height of his proximity. He's close enough for his arm to brush my mine when he reaches past me for another paper towel and close enough to lift the cloth to my forehead, where he's much gentler than I am against the cut there.
"You tried flashing me in trade for a bottle of whiskey." His voice is a distracted murmur, while warmth touches his words and concern warms his eyes.
Last I remember, I'd arrived in London and sought escape in whatever could take me as far from reality as possible. He wasn't apart of that plan nor would I ever make that mistake again. "I was obviously wasted beyond my better judgement."
And possibly high. I don't remember.
The throb in my forehead dulls, only to amplify when I pull away from him, and when he stops me by taking ahold of my wrist, I don't tell him it hurts. I do flinch. And almost as fast as it came, he pulls away, dropping his gaze down to my wrist.
They're bruised, sore and nothing but a reminder of where I'd been the past few days.
Where I don't want to go back to.
Adrik looks like he's going to say something, I turn to leave before he can.
I'm fine. I don't need his concern and I certainly don't need his care.
He rounds the island and steps in-front of me. "You need stitches." His voice is low while his eyes drop from my forehead to my eyes. "Let me fix it."
"You can't fix this." I supply, my voice hard.
I didn't need him fixing it.
Yet despite my obvious desire to push him away, his response remains unrelentingly firm. "I can and will." And when he nods to plate set atop the island, I follow his gaze to the stool there, "Sit down and eat your food."
He doesn't ask, he demands. It's all the more annoying. But only because I'm starving do I listen. Only I don't comply without a fight. "Fuck you."
He ignores my remark, as though my rude behaviour does nothing to deter him. And a moment later he's standing at my side with a small medical kit, slipping on latex gloves on.
He lets me eat, only gripping my chin to hold me in place when he brings the needle to my skin and begins the first stitch. "Hold still."
It's an odd pairing, a heavy tranquility, filled with our breaths, and my utensils. But it threatens an instability I know will only ruin me. His hands are steady, his attention intoxicating, as he holds me so delicately, I stop feeling so worthless.
And perhaps that's why I let him stand there and stitch me together, thread by thread, because despite how pathetic it sounds, it feels nice being cared for.
"How bad is the pain?" He says it like my pain matters enough to upset him. Little does he know I don't feel it under his attention.
My plate empties, so do my thoughts as I suddenly shove it away. Falling victim to the way he makes me feel was what got me into this mess.
I don't need him.
"I'm fine." I don't look at him, until his voice demands my attention.
It's soft, while the depth of his gaze stills me to my spot. "You're not." He cuts the thread, and ties it off, disposing of the needle. When he touches me again, his bare fingers tilt my chin up to his face. "I'm going to kill her for what she put you through."
He's so sincere in his promise, as though for my sake he'll make it happen.
No.
"What she put me through was nothing I couldn't handle." I push away from him and decide I need to leave. I begin to look for my phone. "How'd you find me?"
He eyes me carefully, while a storm brews in his gaze. "I went back to get you out."
A humorless laugh spills from my lips as the softness from before slips completely from my mind. "I don't need you saving me."
The relaxed muscle in his jaw tightens. "What if I wanted to?"
"Why?" I stop and turn to face him, dark humor tilting my head to the side. "So you can turn around and change your mind when I piss you off?"
Blue eyes narrow, before he steps closer, the conversation shifts to the time before I'd been taken. A time we'd fought. "Considering you put my life at risk, my reaction was justified, don't you think?"
I eliminate the distance between us. Suddenly so angry with myself, with him, and with every fucking thing in this world for putting me here with him. "What I think is that you made a mistake coming after me."
He seems amused with my remark. "I don't think I did."
Fuck his self assured tone.
"Leave." I bite out.
"Make me." He rebukes.
I make no move to do such a thing, nor does he do as I say.
We stand face to face in a silence of angry breaths and heaving chests. Until Adrik's eyes drop to my lips while he wets his. "I don't want to fight with you." He lowers his voice to murmur and hovers his lips above mine. "But I will if it's the only way you'll talk to me."
He's not desperate in his plea, but he is in his confession.
His mother's parting words flash into my mind.
"My son feels for you. He'll get desperate. Use it."
The thought escapes as fast as it comes, and I turn away from him, only to stop at the sound of a ringing phone. I register it to be the one given to me. Only it blares from Adrik's pocket.
He drags his eyes from me, lifts the phone out of his pocket and his demeanor changes when he catches sight of the screen.
It tells me who's calling and in a rush, I snatch my phone from his hold.
He lets me. "My mother's called you three times within the past hour." A note of betrayal sits in his tone, while suspicion narrows his gaze. "What'd she promise you, and for what?"
Real power. Influence. Everything I ever wanted all in exchange for his life.
I look to the ground, and side step him. "Nothing. I'm leaving."
If he suspects I'm lying he doesn't say anything. He simply watches me closely, "Back to America so soon?"
"I came here to get as far away from you as possible." That's a lie. She'd sent me here, I'd listened and was now realising what she wanted. I stop and throw him a look over my shoulder. "You've managed to drive me out of the country."
He ignores my dig, while his tongue pokes his cheek, and he eyes me in skeptic thought. "We'll take my jet, then." When he brushes past me, there's no room for argument."I'll bring the car around."
Angry, peeved and so fucking fed up, I watch after him, wanting nothing more than to watch his overconfidence die. Only, before I can act on my impulses, my phone rings, she calls for the fourth time.
Annoyance laces my tone when I pick it up. "What is it now?"
I've begun to understand where Adrik's compulsive personality comes from. His mother is not only a control freak, but an obsessive one.
One that thinks she can order me around like a trained puppet. This time is no different. I let her think I'll do what she wants. "I see you've made it to our home in the city. Is it done?"
"No." No signs of life aside from mine stand in the kitchen, yet I still lower my voice to a whisper. "He's coming back to New York."
Sick. I feel sick, like I'm not only a traitor, but the worst kind. The kind that Adrik will soon realise is unforgivable.
"Go with him." She takes my words for what they are, an excuse and doesn't seem to like it. "Do it on the plane. Or better yet, bring him here so I can watch."
"I can't." My throat feels thick, but I swallow down what makes it hard. "I have nothing."
Perhaps I'm simply trying to stall. To delay the inevitable. But my excuses don't do what they should for she persists. "There's a corner drawer on the island, open it and there you'll find what you'll need."
Purely curious, not contemplative, I navigate to the drawer in question, pull it open and find nothing but a gun, a knife and a pair of handcuffs.
Three things, two weapons, one trap.
I slip the latter two into my pockets and leave the other one before taking off in search for Adrik.
I wouldn't reduce myself to doing what she wanted.
But I couldn't pass up the opportunity.
. . .
Ignoring Adrik Kozlov seems to be an impossible task.
Not only is he persistent and unrelenting in his attempts, but he's annoying.
Despite being the only two people, aside from the pilot on the plane, he takes the seat in front of me. When we take off, he doesn't look away from me.
I get so fed up, I snap. "What?"
"Nothing." He leans back in his chair and gives a shrug. "Can I not admire my wife?"
Long limbs and defined muscles, he barely fits comfortably in his chair. "Not when I'm not your wife." I snap, arms crossed as I stare straight ahead at him.
He doesn't say anything in return. As though my statement has gone in one ear and out the other.
My foot taps impatiently, I glance down at the time on my phone and realise we're barely an hour into this eight hour flight.
Minutes pass before I speak again, and I only do so to fill the awkward silence. "You never told me you were royalty."
His response is immediate and relaxed. "You never asked."
"You never told me anything." My voice isn't so demanding anymore. It's more curious. "That's probably why we'll never work."
That seems to gather his attention and somber him until he's leaning forward. "Ask me anything right now and I'll tell you everything."
My attention moves to the clouds beyond the window. "It's too late for that."
"Is it?" Hands glide across my stomach and before I realise he's undoing my seatbelt, he's already hooked his hands behind my thighs and dragged me forward. "Because there isn't a thing I wouldn't do to prove it."
Knees brush, hands wander. With a single jerk, Adrik pulls me into his lap, and whispers against my lips. "Tell me and I'll do it."
I fist the lapels of his blazer to push him off, or perhaps it's for support, I don't know. All I know is I can't move. I will myself to stay strong. "When I get off this plane, I want you to leave me alone."
It's nothing but a soft nudge of his nose against mine that ruins my train of though. And when he speaks with so much raw emotion, I can't help but listen. "You want control, you have it." I shouldn't be listening to him, but I desperately do anyways. "You want my thoughts, you already corrupt them."
He hovers his mouth over mine, "You want any piece of me, it's yours." When his hand slides higher, it buries into my scalp and tightens until he's gripping my hair so firmly, it heightens his point. "But the one thing I won't do is leave you alone because I can't."
I stare at his lips. Try to ignore the temptation. "Why not?"
He laughs, no humor sits behind the low hum. But it does shake me to my core. "Because yesterday, there was a brief moment in time where I actually thought-" when he pulls away and shakes his head, as though it's physically painful for him to finish his sentence, I feel his despair, his desperation. "I thought you died."
Rough and hoarse, he fists my hair and brings my face to his, pressing his lips to my cheek before moving them to my ear. Soft and chaste, I sit in his arms, tense while I soak up his kisses and words. "And I was fucking terrified because the thought of you gone turned everything else I thought I cared for to shit."
I pull away, yet my hands remain on his chest. "Don't lie to me."
He rests his forehead against mine, "I wish I was."
Like a catalyst, that does it.
Slowly, hesitantly, I bring my lips to his. They brush over each other, faint and hesitant, before he wastes no time in capturing my lips between his.
He kisses me deeply. Like he needs it.
Like it's all he's been thinking about, like it's all he wants.
And with a sigh, almost in defeat, I try not to need it too, but eventually accept defeat and kiss him back. It's a sensation I'm lost in, addicted to for the time being. His lips are soft, the memories they bring, the emotions they illicit so special I can't help but drag my hands across his chest, before pushing his blazer over his shoulders.
When his chair gets in the way, he pulls away and throws off his blazer himself, moving right back to grab my face and bring it back to his.
I'm moments from indulging in his lips again, but am stopped when something falls into my lap. Adrik seems to ignore it, I reach for it.
Holding the leather in my hand, when he tries to kiss me again, I pull away to study his lap. Only I don't need to study anything for the moment my eyes catch onto the familiar brown, I go completely still.
It's different than the journal I have, but at the same time, it's so similar it's clear they're meant to go together. And as if that's not enough, I recognise my grandfathers name written across it in an all too nostalgic Arabic script.
"Why do you have this?" The paper fits perfectly into my palm, and when I open the booklet, familiar writing lines the pages.
I read through it, barely registering what it's saying but when the reality of it hits me, everything changes.
My stomach drops, my heart sinks. Regret blossoms.
How could I be so stupid?
With shaking hands I pull away from Adrik while his palm at my hip, keeps me in his lap. "Did you..." betrayal begins to blur my vision red. "Did you have these all along?" And suddenly the vision of him in my apartment clears. He knew his way around so well it was as though he'd been there before.
Sensing a shift, his shoulders straighten and his words sharpen. "My mother gave it to me." Liar. My first instinct is to call him out, but he flickers his eyes between mine, while he tries to save himself. "She said you left it behind."
Unconvinced, I blink again and again, trying to make sense of it. Why would she want my grandfathers journals? Why would he?
It's confusing. It's maddening. It's betrayal.
"I don't even know what that is." Large hands frame my face and draw my gaze to his, "Trust me, baby."
Trust me.
Trust him.
Trust. Him.
How could I when he so clearly had it with him this entire time?
He'll get desperate. Use it.
His mother's words begin to form a temptation. While I simply stare between the words of my grandfather and Adrik's inquisitive gaze.
It's a brief moment of contemplation. A split second decision.
I dive back for his mouth. Finding his lips with mine, coaxing a distracted hum from his chest. While he welcomes me immediately.
I kiss him deeply, bite his lips hard, and when he groans, my hands abandon the book in my lap and instead reach to my back pocket.
A Single click. A quick shove.
I push his hands together, and bind the cuffs around his wrists the motion so fast it catches him completely off guard.
And only when he realises seconds later , it's too late. His hands are already bound together, he's already pulled away and looked down.
In a matter of seconds Adriks body tenses, and he pulls at the cuffs, before glancing to me and speaking through clenched teeth. "What are you doing?" Calm and attentive, the guarded look in his eyes tells me he knows exactly what I'm doing, but refuses to admit it.
Tension blankets what little space remains between us and my voice hardens as I stand and put some distance between us. "What I should have done a while ago."
He follow me up, his hands flexing while his wrists attempt to pull at his cuffs. When that doesn't work, he reaches forward, fists my shirt and drags me to him. "Be more specific."
What once was soft in his voice is now cold, emotionless and terrifying.
I briefly regret my actions, but am forced to stand by them. "Show you just how much I don't need you."
My answer makes him mad, so mad his steady breathing quickens and he raises his voice, "What if I need you?"
I flicker my eyes away from his, "Then I'd say you're a liar."
I fight his hold. Despite his hands bound together, he doesn't let me go. "You nearly got me killed and I hate myself for it."
He continues, frustration in his tone. "I can't think straight unless I know you're near me." With every word, I try to ignore it but he makes it nearly impossible when he grips my throat and holds me in place. "I can't focus unless I know you've eaten."
When he dips his head, his voice is filled with malice. "You're handing me over to my mother, and the only thing I care about is what she'll do to you when I'm dead."
He laughs and lets go of me, shoving me back. "I wish I was lying because you're driving me fucking crazy."
I have nothing to say to him as I straighten out and reach for my phone. "Celina." It's a warning call, "Whatever she's promised you, don't do it."
He didn't understand. He won't understand.
He was taken seriously. No one questioned him. He dripped authority for simply being.
Shame courses through my veins. "I have to." I rasp.
I dial her number and cast him one final glance as she picks up the phone, expectantly.
It pisses me off, I bite my tongue and speak. "You said you wanted to watch?"
Slowly, I watch the hard angles of Adrik's face slacken as realisation settles. The man, so powerful drops to a seat and looks at me like I'd just done something so damaging he would never recover.
I realise betrayal is the most heartbreaking sight on his face.
And it's all my doing.
𓆩❤︎𓆪
Was that suspenseful?
Do we hate Celina?
I can't wait for next chapter y'all don't even know what I have planned 😭
Also I do see you guys' comments about 2 weeks being far too much time, and I know it's worse with the ending of this chapter 😭 but I'm sorry it's the only schedule that works for me.
Anyways, hope u liked it❤️ ily