The Don's Desire

CHAPTER ONE

MIA

I swing my hips to the left, making eye contact with him, but he looks away quickly.

“Sexy Mami!” Some drunk fool hollers from the small crowd watching us.

I tear my eyes away from my target and look at him with a wide smile that I’ve had enough time to practice.

“Hi Papi.” I push myself forward until I’m sitting at the edge of the stage with my legs swinging just above his laps.

The man who has blonde hair and a body that has obviously never seen the four walls of a gym before grins.

“What’s the name?” he asks.

“Tina,” I replied.

I don’t hear the next thing he says, because I spot Nikolai moving towards the other side of the room.

“I’ll be back Papi, just give me a minute to get a drink from the bar,” I excused myself and jumped down to the ground.

My black hair is held up in a ponytail, I feel the blade in my tights as I look around for him. Nikolai Petrov, the billionaire mogul with blood on his hands — blood of children too. I barely know him but with everything I was told he’s done, I can’t help but hate his guts. I use my eyes to search the crowd of people. My breath steadies as I lay eyes on him. He’s not as terribly looking as I’d like him to be, but that doesn’t matter, he’s still going to die tonight.

I watch as he laughs and runs his hand through his thick black hair, his body looks professionally sculpted through his suit, and the gold necklaces that line his neck highlights his tattoos. He’s a bit too cheerful for someone who’s stolen billions and infected thousands of children with cancer, but I guess they never really look like their crimes, do they?

I start walking towards him, angling my blade and watching out for the perfect time. He looks invested in his conversation and none of his guards are in sight, just like I was told. So, I proceed, keeping an eye on him for any change in body language.

The music is loud, sweaty bodies are rubbing against each other in reckless abandon, and I’m so close, as soon as I get within reach, I place my hand on my knife, take it out, and hold it firmly. Just as I’m about to strike, he turns around swiftly as if sensing danger, his hands catch my wrist just before the blade comes in contact with his body, his eyes lock on mine. I draw in a sharp breath of surprise, but my brain works fast. I drop the knife to distract him and raise my leg swiftly, but he’s fast to move away, letting me go. The small crowd of people around move away, trying to avoid getting involved.

I steady myself and get my stance right, he’s surrounded now by people I assume are his bodyguards. Of course, a dirty asshole like him would surround himself with minions that can clean up his messes. He takes a gun from one of his men and my breath catches in my throat. He was supposed to only have two guards here, and I was supposed to do a quick in and out, but, of course, life is always throwing curveballs at me. There’s a gun in my hostler, but I would be making a huge mistake by moving right now.

Before I can think of my next move, I’m hit over the head with something I can only assume is a gun and plunged into darkness.

Fuck!

_

I open my eyes slowly, expecting the headache that follows, but not the environment I wake up in. My hands are hanging above my head in chains, the room is dimly lit, there are stone walls and a cold damp floor that I can feel with just my toes. Pain resounds from my head and torso, I look down and discover that I’m naked — completely bare. The black wig I had used to cover my white hair is now gone, and my hair is plastered onto my sweaty skin.

What the actual f**k did he do to me?

I look around, the air is thick with the scent of mold and decay. Various torture tools are lined up throughout the room, including iron maidens, racks, and thumbscrews. The chains that are holding my hands up run down from the ceiling, and there’s a large wooden cross standing at the other end of the room. I barely have enough time to regain full composure before the metal door that I hadn’t previously registered comes swinging open, and I want to cover my body, but I quite literally can’t, so I just stay still and wait for him to come in.

A woman comes in first, straight brown hair with nice tanned skin. She’s dressed in a blank jumpsuit that clings to her every curve and a bulletproof vest. He comes in behind her, wearing a white shirt that’s folded up to his elbows and black pants. His hair is annoyingly perfect, and he has a cigarette placed between his lips.

“You’re up early,” he says with a smirk, and I look away, feeling exposed — but it’s not the first time a man has stared at my naked body, so I guess I’ll live. His Russian accent is strong but not like some of the natives I’ve encountered.

He pulls out a chair and sits, eyeing me with a darkness in his eyes that doesn’t strike me as anger at all.

He clears his throat before speaking again.

“Why?” he asks simply before he chuckles and taps his index finger on the side of his head.

“You see, I don’t think you even know that. I have never seen your face before, and I’m not one to forget a face — ever. I’ve got my men looking into you, and you don’t match with anyone who would be dumb enough to come at me. So, my gut tells me that you’re an assassin. Now I think the better question would be, who sent you?”

I scoff, angling my head so I can stare him straight in his eyes. They’re grey and cold, but mesmerizing in some twisted way,

“Just get on with whatever you’re going to do for me, I really don’t care,” I reply weakly, but I mean every word.

“A loyalist. I respect that.”

He gets to his feet and sighs, pushing the chair back and gives me one last look before walking towards the door.

“Where are you going?” I ask, a bit confused.

“Oh darling, I don’t hit women,” he smirks before disappearing through the metal door.

The girl from earlier walks over to the door and bolts it. As she approaches me, she slowly starts to tie her hair in a bun.

“Hi,” she starts. “My name is Delilah.” She has an accent too, but hers is much thicker.

She calmly grabs a blade from the table and turns to me with a smile.

I suck in a deep breath and grit my teeth, preparing myself for whatever she has in mind. She doesn’t seem to be in a hurry, she’s calm, patient, studying the blade like an artist does a pencil right before they start to draw.

I’ve met people like her, they bask in the pain of their victims. To her, these knives are her pencils and my body is her canvas.

“What are you going to do to me?” I ask.

She doesn’t respond, so I try again. If I can get her to engage, then maybe I can talk my way out, though I highly doubt it, I need to try.

“Delilah, right? You don’t want to hurt me,” I say in panic as she brings the blade closer to my torso.

She scoffs, “Girl, I am glad you believe that.”

The pain goes straight to my brain and I can’t help but let out a loud scream as I feel the cold steel go into my skin.

__

I don’t know how much I took before I passed out, but when I wake up, I’m still strapped, but to an iron chair this time – still naked.

My wrist trembles against my chains, and the tightness had cut off sensation long ago. My eyes keep opening and closing, flickering like a dying star.

I can’t see her, but I can see her shadow dancing across the walls. I can taste the metal — my own blood, it clings to the side of my cheek as well, from when her knuckles had split my skin. My lip feels swollen, but my resolve isn’t weakened. I just have to hold on until Dante finds me. There might have been some misinformation but I’m sure he’s looking for me right now. It’s only a matter of time.

She steps back into my line of vision and kneels beside me, her voice soft, “This isn’t punishment sweetheart, it’s persuasion. Tell me what I need to know, and we will let you be on your way.

My eyes remain defiant and I don’t reply.

She shrugs and gets to her feet, my eyes follow her and I can see a tray with a new set of instruments, nothing grotesque, but in the wrong hands, even ice can burn.

She presses a strip of cloth soaked in water to my temple. Gentle. Almost tender. Then she moves behind me.

The sound comes first. Slow. Grinding hum. Electric. Low voltage — but enough to make my nerves light up like stars.

I don’t scream when the current hits me. Not at first. My jaw clenches, my fingers claw at nothing. It feels like pain laced with fire is being shot through my bones.

The tears come uninvited, tracing the grime on my cheeks.

She turns it off, and I breathe, my throat feels dry and my body is so close to giving up.

“You’re strong,” she says, sounding almost admiring. “But pain is a flame, it burns out eventually.”

I coughed and spit blood at her shoes, “Then watch me burn.”