Taken by the mafia boss

Chapter 4

This chapter is dedicated to Vivian Oruah Robert for being the first to comment.

Samantha

My pounding head throbbed relentlessly, as if a thousand drums were beating in unison. Rebecca's disregard for my impending hangover was evident as she blasted the music, causing my temples to throb even more intensely. With a groan escaping my lips, I questioned why she would subject me to such auditory torture.

Gingerly massaging my aching temples, I willed myself to open my heavy eyelids, yearning to catch a glimpse of my trusty alarm clock. However, to my dismay, it was nowhere to be found. Confusion flooded my groggy mind as I blinked away the remnants of sleep. Something was amiss. I squinted and surveyed my surroundings, only to realize with a jolt that I was not in my own familiar sanctuary.

As the fog of sleep lifted, I realized that the intrusive noise I had mistaken for Rebecca's music was, in fact, the grating sound of a nearby lawn mower, diligently tending to the overgrown grass. My eyes darted towards the glass door that led to the terrace, and in an instant, I sprang into action. Desperation welled up within me, fueled by an urgent need to escape the cacophony that threatened to rupture my eardrums.

As I strained my aching mind to recall the events of the previous night, a wave of dread washed over me. He had committed murder. The very same person Rebecca had repeatedly warned me to stay away from had taken someone's life. In my stubbornness, I had ignored her cautionary words, dismissing them as baseless concerns. Now, the weight of my own foolishness crashed down upon me.

I remembered following him, my intention to ask him out for dinner the next day. However, as I stumbled upon him in the company of other men, their hands clutching guns tightly, panic surged within me. Instinctively, I turned to flee, only to find his father approaching, blocking my escape route. In a desperate bid to evade detection, I sought refuge behind a stack of crates. It was a decision I would forever regret.

How could he? How could he commit such a heinous act without an ounce of remorse? The image of his gun, gleaming ominously in the darkness, haunted my thoughts. I shuddered at the close call I had experienced. From now on, I resolved to heed Rebecca's words of caution, realizing the gravity of my mistake in disregarding them so carelessly.

Stepping out onto the terrace, I basked in the warm embrace of the sun, its gentle rays caressing my skin. I glanced at the distance between myself and the ground below, realizing that jumping would be a disastrous idea. After all, I was standing at the same height as a towering tree, its branches stretching towards the heavens.

"You're going to c***k your skull if you jump," a husky voice broke through the tranquility, sending an electric shiver down my spine. Only he possessed the uncanny ability to provoke such a reaction in me. Startled, I flinched at his sudden presence, my body responding with raised goosebumps. Swallowing hard, I instinctively hunched my shoulders and turned to face him, my hands discreetly clasped behind my back to conceal their trembling.

"I wasn't planning on jumping," I replied, my voice betraying a hint of nervousness. Or at least, I had certainly changed my mind about it after coming face to face with the towering giant of a tree.

A deep chuckle rumbled from deep within his chest, resonating in the air between us. "Are you sure about that? Your body language tells a different story," he remarked, his voice laced with amusement.

Despite my eagerness to escape, I had no intention of resorting to a dramatic leap into the abyss. “it appears you still have much to learn about deciphering human body language," I quipped, meeting his gaze.

With an air of nonchalance, he shifted his crossed arms and casually slipped them into his slacks pocket. "Perhaps if you cease concealing those trembling hands of yours behind your back, I might be able to interpret your intentions more accurately," he retorted, his voice laced with a hint of smugness.

While he had successfully called me out on that particular facade, I couldn't fathom why our conversation was unfolding with such an unusual level of composure. "Are you going to continue pretending that I'm not your captive?" I questioned, a tinge of disbelief creeping into my voice.

His head tilted arrogantly to one side, and a sly smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Are you?" he responded, his tone dripping with insinuation. I couldn't help but roll my eyes in response, which only seemed to amuse him further. "Please, do correct me if I'm mistaken, Samantha. Last time I checked, prisoners were bound by chains and confined to squalid quarters. I see neither of those conditions here."

"So, are you implying that I'm not your prisoner?" I challenged him, raising an eyebrow in a mix of curiosity and defiance. He blinked twice. "In that case, may I request to be allowed to return home? I'm quite certain that Sharon and Rebecca have been frantically trying to reach me," I added, a glimmer of hope shining through my words. Suddenly, the thought of retrieving my phone and reconnecting with the outside world became paramount in my mind. "Speaking of which, could I also have my phone back, please?"

Letting out a heavy exhale, he seemed wearied by my persistent demands. "I don't have your phone, and quite frankly, I doubt you'll be needing it in any case," he replied dismissively, his words stoking the flames of my anger. Hadn't he just claimed that I wasn't his prisoner? The contradiction was infuriating.

"Join me for lunch, Samantha," he continued, his tone suggesting a blend of authority and concern. "I'm certain your body requires sustenance beyond mere fluids." A surge of frustration coursed through me as I longed to unleash a torrent of curses upon him. If only I had heeded Sharon's instructions, I wouldn't have found myself trapped in the company of this cold-blooded murderer.

I glared at his retreating figure, my contempt for him palpable in the air. It was difficult to determine whom I despised more—Liam for holding me against my will or my own body for harboring conflicting desires towards him.

An hour later, driven by a rebellious spirit, I reluctantly descended the stairs, intent on defying him. However, to my astonishment, I discovered him seated at the dining table, leisurely sipping his wine as if he were the epitome of patience personified. "Were you truly waiting for me?" I asked incredulously, my voice laced with a mixture of skepticism and surprise.

Finally tearing his gaze away from his phone, he acknowledged my presence with a cool indifference. "I finished my lunch a good ten minutes ago," he remarked, his tone hinting at a touch of annoyance. A woman in her late fifties, who seemed to serve as some sort of domestic help, dutifully served my meal. "Consider yourself fortunate that I hold a certain fondness for you, Samantha. I have little patience for being kept waiting."

Feigning a nonchalant expression, I replied, "I apologize for the delay, but truth be told, I don't have much of an appetite." His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, betraying a flicker of irritation. "May I please go home now?" I implored, my voice laced with a hint of desperation.

For a brief moment, he studied me in silence, his gaze penetrating deep into my soul. Then, with an air of calculated certainty, he responded, "Let us not deceive ourselves, Samantha. You know all too well that leaving is not an option." The weight of his words settled upon me like an iron shroud, extinguishing any flicker of hope that had dared to remain within me.

"But you said I'm not your prisoner," I protested, my voice tinged with a hint of petulance. Why did I sound like a sulking child, clinging to a flimsy glimmer of false hope?

"People don't typically protect their prisoners, Samantha," he retorted, his tone tinged with a mix of resignation and somber truth. Memories of witnessing his cold-blooded act, the life draining from his victim, flooded my mind. "You saw me take a life, and my own father was present as well. Do you honestly believe you would be allowed to roam freely?" His words struck with an unsettling finality, reminding me of the cruel reality of my predicament.

"I can't remember anything from that night," I blurted out, desperation lacing my words. "I swear, I won't say a word to the police. All I want is to return to my life. I promise I'll erase these last few hours from my memory... Please, just let me go."

A flicker of doubt crossed his face as he regarded me, his expression unconvinced. "I believe you," he finally uttered, and a surge of hope surged through my veins. But before my optimism could fully take hold, his next words struck me like a blow. "However, my father doesn't share that belief. If he catches sight of you, your life will be forfeit."

Dread settled in the pit of my stomach. "He doesn't have to," I insisted, my mind racing for a solution. I couldn't remain trapped here indefinitely. "I'll leave the country... I'll assume a new identity... I'll vanish from his reach forever."

His frown deepened, etching lines of concern and frustration across his face. "That may sound plausible," he replied with a heavy sigh, "but even then, he will find you. Besides, I can't simply abandon my business and accompany you on this perilous escape." Shock and confusion mingled within me, leaving me momentarily speechless.

"You're alive because I made a choice," he continued, his voice dropping to a low, serious tone. "A choice to defy my own father." Leaning forward, he rested his elbow on the table, his gaze locked onto mine. "Samantha, I wouldn't take such risks for just any random woman, and I believe you know that." His words hung in the air.

"I know nothing!" I snapped, my frustration bubbling over. "None of this was planned! My life was perfectly simple before you decided to intrude upon it!"

My outburst seemed to have little effect on him as he maintained his composure, unruffled by my anger. "I didn't intrude, Samantha," he calmly countered. "If anything, you stumbled into my path. You spilled wine on my shirt, ventured into clearly restricted areas." A haunting smile played upon his lips. "You find yourself in this situation because you have a talent for breaking rules."

Jesus! What on earth have I gotten myself into? The gravity of my predicament weighed heavily upon me, leaving me feeling both trapped and bewildered.

"Eat your food before it grows cold," he commanded in a frigid tone.

I pushed the plate away, unable to fathom how he could even suggest that I had an appetite amidst the chaos he had thrust upon me. "I'm not hungry," I retorted, a mixture of disbelief and resentment lacing my words. "And it's utterly insane that you expect me to indulge in a meal as if everything is normal, considering the predicament you've thrown me into."

Exhausted by my stubbornness, he let out a weary sigh. "Samantha, you're going to be here for a considerable amount of time, and it's pointless to resist something you won't be able to avoid indefinitely," he stated, a tinge of cynicism creeping into his smile. "Why prolong the inevitable? Eventually, you'll have to eat."

His eyes lazily traveled over my body, an unwelcome gesture that sent shivers down my spine. "Besides, I have a preference for women with a bit of thickness," he added, his words dripping with an unsettling sense of possessiveness.

"You like your women what?!" I exclaimed, my jaw dropping in disbelief. I glared at him, my anger flaring. "f**k you!"

"Don't speak to me like that!" he snapped, his frustration palpable. I bit my lip, restraining myself from unleashing another wave of harsh words. Scratching his stubbled chin, he reached out for my hand, but I instinctively drew back, rejecting any semblance of affection.

"I'm not your enemy, Samantha," he declared, his voice tinged with exasperation. "We wouldn't be in this mess if only you had listened to Sharon's instructions."

I refused to accept blame for the dire circumstances I found myself in. Rising abruptly from my seat, I forcefully pushed the chair away. "All I wanted was to ask you out for dinner! I never asked for any of this! I never asked for you to shoot a man!" Why was I even engaging in conversation with this deranged individual? Unable to bear the sight of his face any longer, I stormed out of the dining room and retreated to my confined cell-like room.

For the remainder of the day, I lay on my bed, my tears flowing freely. It was a bitter mixture of amusement and insult that my room lacked a lock, yet this despicable man decided to play the role of a gentleman by knocking on the door and refraining from entering when I ignored him.

*************

Determination runs deep within my veins, fueling my stubborn nature, and I've always taken pleasure in showcasing it. However, there are some circumstances where even my strong-willed spirit falters, like my persistently grumbling stomach.

I went to bed hungry last night, but woke up very early with a grumbling stomach and ever since my eyes snapped open, I've been sitting on my ass, wondering how to approach that monster in human form.

Running my hand through my unruly tangle of hair, I made a resolute decision to end this self-imposed hunger strike. I cared little for his opinions or remarks; after all, they wouldn't be etched across my forehead for all to see. With newfound determination, I dashed into the bathroom, eager to rid myself of any remnants of sleep and prepare for the battle ahead.

I indulged in the luxurious shower gel he had thoughtfully provided, allowing the warm water to cleanse both my body and my mind. Not stopping there, I opened the cabinet and discovered a brand-new toothbrush waiting for me. With swift strokes, I cleansed my teeth, ensuring I presented myself as best I could.

Transforming myself into a more presentable version of the disheveled creature I had been moments ago, I descended the stairs with purpose. Unfamiliar faces dotted the landscape, as if they had materialized out of thin air overnight, feigning ignorance to the fact that I had strolled past them mere moments before. Ignoring their bewildered gazes, my senses guided me towards the tantalizing aroma that permeated the air, pulling me inexorably toward the heart of the house—the kitchen.

I don't know who I was expecting to see, but definitely not a sexy stranger with tattoos cooking. For a moment I wondered what Liam will look like beneath those white shirts. My core tightened just at the thought of it. f**k! I'm a psychopath who is clearly attracted to her abductor.

"Has anyone ever told you that it's rude to stare?" he turned around and I recognized the face immediately. I remember seeing him that night. "I find it sexy when pretty women stare though."

I rolled my eyes at him. It seems arrogant smugness runs deep amongst them. Pulling out one of the stools complimenting the island, I sat on it. "Where is Liam?"

He passed me a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs. "Comfortable with the boss, aren't we?" He slammed a cartoon of milk on the table beside me. "First name basis with your abductor. What a smart move."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his remark. "I'm supposed to eat a meal prepared by someone I know absolutely nothing about? That doesn't exactly sound like the smartest move, does it?" With a fake smile plastered on my face, I added, "But then again, what do I know, right?"

He let out an exasperated sigh and carelessly dropped his plate of sizzling bacon and scrambled eggs onto the table. Taking a seat across from me on a nearby stool, he leaned in slightly. "I'm still trying to figure out what the boss sees in you," he muttered under his breath.

Fed up with his hostility, I hissed back at him, "Stop being such an ass and just answer the question." It was becoming increasingly clear that if anyone had a reason to be hostile, it was me. "Where is Liam?"

He ran a hand through his unruly hair, frustration evident on his face. "Off doing other important things that don't involve babysitting," he snapped, his tone dripping with annoyance. Despite his crankiness, there was an undeniable handsomeness to him that was hard to ignore.

A realization dawned on me as I observed his irritable demeanor. "I think I understand now," I said, lifting an eyebrow. "I get why you're so cranky." A chuckle escaped his lips as he returned his attention to his food. "You're angry because Liam assigned the babysitting duties to you," I concluded, my assumption confirmed by the way his fingers clenched tightly around his fork.

"Well, you thought right," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"Don't worry, you can tell him that I don't need your company." I pointed my fork in the direction of a guy standing in the hallway, emphasizing my words. "I already have enough company as it is, and your ugly face isn't needed."

A mischievous smile formed on his lips, the corner lifting in amusement. "You know, I've been called a lot of things, but never an ugly face," he retorted, leaning forward slightly. "Ladies practically worship the ground I walk on for this face." I couldn't help but snort at his audacious claim, which earned a hearty laugh from him. "Well, I guess being stuck with you won't be a completely boring experience."

Sighing inwardly, I resigned myself to the fact that I was now essentially someone's captive. I could only hope that one day he would release me from this peculiar arrangement. Trying to redirect the conversation back to the matter at hand, I pressed on, "Seriously though, where is Liam?"

A mocking tone laced his words as he responded, "What, already missing him, are you?" His taunting demeanor only fueled my frustration towards him. "He's out there, taking care of the things he's supposed to be taking care of." There was a flicker of conflicting thoughts in his eyes as he studied me intently. "By the way, what were you doing behind those crates that night?"

With a hint of embarrassment, I muttered, "I was foolishly trying to ask a man out for dinner." The more I replayed the events in my mind, the more I regretted my impulsive actions.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, as if trying to process my admission. "Let me get this straight," he began, a tinge of condescension in his voice, "you left your duties to ask Mr. Gates out for dinner?" The way he emphasized "Mr. Gates" only made me feel even more foolish than I already did. My silence seemed to amuse him greatly. "Well, that has got to be the most ludicrous thing I've heard in a long time. You abandoned your responsibilities just to ask a man out?"

"Why do you hate me?!" I snapped at him, frustration and hurt welling up inside me. I despised the way he made me feel in that moment, as if I were somehow to blame for everything. "I haven't done anything wrong! I'm the one being held against my will, so why exactly do you hate me?!"

His response came with an unexpected calmness, though his clenched fist betrayed a hint of tension. "I do not hate you, Samantha," he said, his voice measured. "To hate you, I would have to feel something towards you, and I don't. I hate the situation you've brought upon us."

"What the hell does that even mean?" I gritted my teeth, struggling to comprehend his cryptic words.

"It means you'll be his downfall," he replied, his gaze unwavering. "He's already veering off course, and I fear that the more time he spends with you, the more likely he is to engage in reckless actions that will only bring him closer to his grave."

A glimmer of realization sparked within me. Wait! He doesn't want me here either? Perhaps this could be an opportunity. "So, if you don't want me here, and I definitely don't want to be here, then help me escape," I pleaded, my voice filled with desperation.

He slowly rose to his feet, anger blazing in his narrowed eyes. "You honestly think I would betray him like that?" I shrugged, knowing it was a long shot. But I had to try. "There are other ways to deal with you, to get rid of you, without allowing you to leave this place."

Goosebumps prickled across my skin, a chill running down my spine. "What the hell does that mean?" I asked, fear seeping into my voice.

A sinister twist formed on his lips as he delivered his ominous response. "Count your teeth with your tongue," he sneered, before turning and striding out of the kitchen, leaving me feeling more terrified than I had been twenty-four hours ago.