To Ruin a Don

Kidnapped

_Aria’s POV_

My eyes opened slowly, the distant sound of dripping water and faint footsteps filling my ears.

I let out a low groan, moving my head as I tried to rub off the ache in my neck.

My head throbbed, my limbs felt heavy and stiff and my entire body ached badly.

It felt like someone had thrown me against a wall.

Over and over.

I tried to move them—

But something stopped me from doing so.

My eyes snapped wider than they were previously and I finally took in my environment.

I had no f*****g idea where I was, and I saw the culprit for my immobility.

Chains. Some bastard had f*****g chained me to a chair.

My legs were strapped to the legs of the chair I was on, my hands bound behind me.

My heart dropped in panic.

Where the hell was I?

I tried to remember. Figure out where I was. What had I done last? Did I piss off anyone at the party? Did I get into a fight?

What did I do to be put in this position?

But all I got were hazy, broken pieces of my memories. I tried to take steady steps from where I remembered.

I had snuck out last night. I went to that party with Rio and Sabrina. Then what's next? What f*****g happened next?

I couldn’t remember, no matter how hard I tried.

“Good morning sunshine.”

The voice broke into my thoughts.

It was smooth, male. And it was the last thing I heard before I blacked out last night.

Someone had said something in a foreign language with a bag over my head. And that was when it all came back.

This motherfucker had kidnapped me.

The party. The dangerous-looking man I had walked up to. Rio and Sabrina are going to check on my car with me…

Rio and Sabrina.

I gasped loudly. Where were they?

My eyes went to the person standing in front of me, who had a dramatic smirk on his face.

“So you are finally awake then?” he asked with hands folded right in front of him, and that pissed me off,

“Where are my friends, you son of a bitch.” I cursed, thrashing around in the chair.

I don’t see them anywhere around me, and it was obvious I had been kidnapped.

Did they get kidnapped too? I hoped they had escaped.

If they did they would be able to get my father to save me.

“If anything happens to them, I swear I would…” I started to threaten but his voice cut me short.

“Your friends weren’t taken.”

I stopped my thrashing. That means they were safe.

That made me feel better than I did a second ago.

Then it clicked, they were after me.

Only me.

I started thrashing around once again. The chair scraped loudly against the floor, metal chains clinking with every jerk of my limbs.

“Son of a b***h!” I screamed, voice hoarse and furious. “Let me go! You picked the wrong girl, asshole!”

I cursed. Loud. Violent. Filthy.

Exactly how my father had taught me to if I ever got kidnapped.

In English. In Italian. In a voice laced with pure, undiluted rage.

“Ti taglierò la gola, bastardo! Quando mio padre lo scoprirà, ti farà a pezzi!”

“I’ll slit your throat, bastard! When my father finds out, he’ll tear you to pieces.”

And I was serious.

It felt good—cathartic—even if I was completely, utterly helpless. Even if my wrists were raw. Even if I was trembling.

I was scared, but I couldn't show that.

My eyes glared hard at him, nose flaring as anger burned through me.

But all there was, was silence.

He only stared at me like I was some undignified being.

Then a second voice entered the room, this one deeper, colder. And sounded like pure sin.

The type that would talk an orgasm out of you. Make your thighs clench as you imagine if he could truly do what he says he can.

“Threatening my men wouldn’t do you good, пташка.” The foreign language rolled off his tongue, sending chills down my spine, but not from fear.

Because of the way he had said it.

I lifted my gaze slowly. First his shoes—black leather, polished to a mirror shine.

Then tailored pants, long legs, a stride too confident to be kind. A shirt—black, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Veins carved down his forearms with some very obvious tattoos twisting around them.

How would it look to have those wrapped around my neck?

The thought came to my mind before I could stop it.

And then my breath caught when I saw his face.

Him.

The man from the party.

He was even more dangerous up close.

Chiseled cheekbones. A scar at the corner of his mouth that made him look like he was always holding back a smirk. Pale eyes that looked like they’d watched empires burn and didn’t flinch.

He was the kind of man who didn’t speak unless he meant it. And when he did—people listened. Or died.

“You,” I spat out, eyes filled with rage.