More lines to tattoo onto his back. It’s a good thing they’re tiny, or he’d run out of space.
Hey, at least he didn’t kidnap another girl.
Lifting a hand, I brush my hair away from my face and shake my head.
This is insane. How can I care about my captor?
It’s probably Stockholm syndrome.
I sit down on the bed and rub Luna’s head, finding comfort in touching her.
I don’t know how I will survive like this for another thirty-three months. The clashing emotions are giving me whiplash.
Every time I start to forget who Viktor is, and my heart begins to open to him, something like this happens to remind me he’s the head of the bratva.
He restrained and forced me to watch my beloved uncle die in the most horrible way.
He threatened to rape me and strangled me.
He has no conscience.
But, he has also gone out of his way to make my captivity as pleasant as possible.
Jesus, Rosalie! Listen to yourself. ‘Captivity’ and ‘pleasant’ never go hand in hand.
There’s a knock at my door, and it opens before I can deny entry.
Viktor’s dressed in a clean shirt and sweatpants, which means he’ll be home for the rest of the day.
“Let’s have lunch,” he says.
No, he orders. He never asks.
“I’d rather starve,” I mutter, turning my attention to Luna, who’s already in dreamland.
“Or I could force feed you,” he threatens.
I let out a sigh and climb to my feet. “Or you could kill me.” Shooting him a glare, I push past him and walk down the hallway.
I sit down on a stool at the island and watch as Viktor grills chicken breasts that he uses to make sandwiches.
My gaze takes in every attractive inch of his body, his strong jaw, full lips, and dark eyes.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs.
“Just wondering how you can kill people so easily.”
He lets out a chuckle. “It’s the way of our life.”
“Not mine,” I mutter.
His eyes flick to me. “Yours as well, Little Rose. You were born into the Sicilian mafia.”
I shake my head. “I was never a part of that world.”
He narrows his gaze on me, and fear skitters down my spine. It doesn’t happen much anymore, but it’s jarring as hell when it does.
“What do you think your family did for a living?”