Rooted From Betrayal

Chapter 1: His name

It's been two days since my friends sold me like I was an object. It's been two days since I found out my best friend wants my fiance for herself. And it's been two days since I—possibly—killed someone.

I woke up two days ago tangled in white sheets stained in blood. A few pats around my body had revealed none of it to be mine. An hour in front of the mirror hadn't done anything for my memory so I had gone into the shower; clothes and all.

It's been two days since I last saw a person, let alone speak to one. And it's been two days since I last put something in my mouth that wasn't water.

The room was locked, and the hotel phone was disconnected.

Screaming and banging on the walls hadn't helped me in any way; trying to smash the window glass had only resulted in my foot aching after the chair had fallen on it, and dishing out empty threats and begging had only succeeded in throwing me into a fit of rage.

So now I sat on the floor curled in on myself, with nothing to do but let fear and exhaustion eat away at my sanity. I haven't slept properly for two days now; what little sleep I had gotten had come in forms of short naps that couldn't amount to anything above four hours.

The soft click of the door being unlocked had me springing to my feet and distancing myself from my possible assailant. The woman from the club—Rosy—walked into the room carrying a brown paper bag and fresh clothes.

"Eat, then clean yourself up." She said curtly, before exiting the room.

It took half an hour to convince myself to do as I'd been told. It wouldn't benefit me to starve, and the phantom smell of blood clinging to me was making me nauseous.

I took a shower before eating, knowing I'd throw up if I did any different.

It took some time to convince myself to wear the black mid thigh tube dress, though. Realizing that it was chosen specifically to degrade me wasn't hard.

Stomaching the creamy lasagna took effort, but I managed.

The door was locked, so all I could do was wait for my captors to come back.

The lasagna must have been drugged somehow because not long after eating I was struggling to keep my eyes open. Even though I knew it was useless, I forced myself to regurgitate in the toilet.

Terrified by what might be done to me, I tore a small piece of paper towel and put it to the side of my underwear. I needed a way to tell if something had been done to me when I woke up.

If I woke up.

~£~

I woke up feeling like death.

The beginning of a migraine pulsed somewhere all over my head, which spun and made me nauseous. I forced open heavy eyelids and immediately regretted it. Harsh light stabbed my retinas and worsened the throbbing in my head.

Grounding myself was a slow and tiring process; I was used to being drunk stupid but this was different. This was worse.

Dim lighting illuminated white seats, something loud hummed somewhere both far off and close by, and the gentle pressure of a seat belt on my chest secured me to my seat.

I was on a plane.

I jerked up right and sharp pains assaulted my neck and head. The involuntary hiss that escaped me turned into a series of painful coughs that had my eyes watering.

"Would you like some water?"

I blinked a few times and shook my head a little to clear my vision. I sat strapped to a white leather seat next to a window; a table of polished wood separated my seat and the one next to me from two other seats across them, and a long couch spanned the opposite wall.

I wasn't on a plane, I was in a private jet.

On the two seats across me sat Rosy's brothers. I tried to swallow and ended up coughing instead. Both brothers watched me—their expressions were like their features, similar but not quite the same.

They both had thick hair and defined facial features. The older brother's hair was a lustrous black while the younger brother's was a dark brown, almost black but not quite; they were both taller than me—even while seated—but the older brother was slightly shorter, and the older brother had light brown eyes to his younger brother's hazel eyes.

Both brothers waited patiently for me to find my bearings, the older one clearly waiting for my answer and the other one...

Under his gaze, I suddenly wanted a hole I could hide in.

Trying to speak felt like swallowing a mouthful of sand which only led to more painful coughs. The pain was too much; it was definitely outside the scope of normal side effects of drugging.

"Water?" The older brother asked again patiently.

I nodded wondering why he was still asking since I clearly needed some. He called out in a different language and a moment later, a stewardess brought me some water.

It was bottled.

The younger brother opened the bottle and handed it to me.

"Drink." He ordered with a heavily accented voice.

Doing as told wasn't a matter of opinion or choice; my throat hurt to much to think about how much that order resembled one a dog owner might give to their dog.

The water was cool and soothing as it went down my throat. After a few sips I realized just how patched I actually was. I only gulped a few mouthfuls before I was ordered to stop.

I took two more sips before I did as told. I set the bottle on the table and shifter in my seat.

No one said anything for so long my heart started jogging and my hands started to shake.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked softly, breaking the silence.

The younger brother glanced at his watch briefly before nodding to himself. The older one smiled as though to comfort me; I wasn't comforted.

"Italy. Your new home." He stated, and I broke a little when he said it.

"I have a home." I said quietly.

"You did." The younger brother said, and I knew that discussion was closed.

I did. Past tense.

"How much?" I forced myself to ask, even as my throat tightened.

They didn't expect me to ask; I hadn't thought I'd be able to.

The older brother's gaze softened and I knew, I knew no matter how 'expensive' I had been, it would never be enough. He offered me a gentle smile and tears welled up in my eyes.

The younger brother was amused.

"Fifty thousand Euros." He answered with a smile of his own. His wasn't soft and gentle like his older brother's, it was sharp and cruel.

A single tear escaped my eye and snaked its way to my chin.

"I was willing to give more but your friends didn't think you were worth much." He said, twisting the invisible knife in my heart.

The tears flowed.

It was a long time before anyone said anything.

The pilot broke the silence telling us to put our seatbelts on.

"Look." The younger brother instructed gesturing at the window.

It was as much a suggestion as it was an order. Part of me wondered what he'd do if I refused, most of me never wanted to know.

The city below was breathtaking.

"Napule, commonly known to the world as Naples. The Valastro family's empire, our city." I heard him say, and not for the first time, I wondered just who were these people.

The question must have been blatantly splattered on my face because the younger brother answered.

"Antonio Cristiano Valastro."

"What?" I asked, because I had nothing else to say.

"That is my name." He said. "Learn it well, because it'll be yours soon."

His tone had part of me wishing the jet crashed.