Indebted to the Mafia King

*Tatiana*

I spend most of my time in "my" room. Images of my parents bleeding out fill my mind, whether I'm awake or asleep. Even sitting by the window, staring out at the serene garden behind the mansion, I can't shake the overwhelming sadness and revulsion that fills my body with every shuddering breath I inhale.

No one comes into my room except for the maids-and that's a good thing. When I have to see Oleg again, it will be all I can do to keep from lunging at him and trying to take him out right now. I will kill him-but I can't be impulsive, or I'll spoil my chance. Something tells me he won't hesitate to kill me if he feels it's necessary, regardless of all of his plans for me.

No, I need to bide my time. Lie in wait. Strike when the timing is right.

When I'm not picturing my parents' pale bodies sitting in those chairs, I imagine what it will be like to kill him. That's the only time I allow myself a bit of happiness, a small smile, when I think about what it will be like to have his blood coating my hands.

A few days after my parents were murdered, there's a knock on my door. I'm summoned to come downstairs. I hesitate. I don't want to see Oleg or anyone-but I know I don't have a choice. Taking deep breaths, I make my way downstairs to the parlor. This is a different room than the one where my parents' were slaughtered. Still, I know that room is right down the hallway, which makes me uneasy.

I walk into the elaborately decorated room, shades of burgundy and forest green blending with dark woods and heavy furniture, to see a man a bit older than me standing next to Oleg. I know immediately who he is. He looks like a slightly younger version of his father. Yakov. The man I'm going to marry.

He's smiling at me in a way that makes me think he'd devour me if he could. His nose is too big. His hair, while styled, is coarse and already beginning to thin on top. What's most unsettling of all are his eyes.

They're the same icy orbs his father stares me down with.

I swallow hard and stop a few steps away from him. I don't want to touch him.

His eyes roam over my body, taking their time, lingering on all of the places I'd never want him to touch me. When he finally reaches my face, a ghastly smile crinkles his already-wrinkling face at the corners. "You've chosen well, Father," he murmurs.

arrow iny eyesnintrsn'is-annor'keepiny unscarice: 1 hendisentrenner canirutte-utloughruflar* this man will someday be my husband.

He takes a step toward me. I don't retreat, though it's all I can do to keep myself from doing so. "We will marry soon," he says, his Russian accent not nearly as thick as his father's but still there. "I'm looking forward to it, Tatiana."

Rather than responding to him, I turn to Oleg. "May I go back to my room, please?" It's difficult to get that last word out, but I have to behave myself, or else my parents- all four of them-will have died for nothing.

"What's the matter, milaya? Don't you want to spend some time getting to know your husband?" Oleg cackles, rocking back and forth from heel to toe.

Swallowing down bile, I say, "No, I think we will have time for that later." I return my gaze to Yakov and realize I've been able to surmise everything I could ever need to know in this one meeting.

He's repulsive-possessive and cruel.

He's also unintelligent. I can tell by the foolish smirk on his face. That's not something

I want in a husband, but in this situation, it will work in my favor.

"Go," Oleg says, still chuckling under his breath.

I don't hesitate to turn and march out of the room, but I haven't even reached the hallway when I hear Yakov say, "That's a fine piece of ass, Father. Thank you for acquiring her for me."

Oleg says, "You should have the best son. Just don't fuck it up."

Back in my room, I sink down into a chair and rack my brain for ways to escape. This place is heavily guarded. I have nothing-no money, no phone, not even a change of clothing that belongs to me. If I managed to get out the window from the second story and past the guards, then what? There's a fence around the property, and from what I can see out the window, we seem to be far from the city. Where would I go? What would I do? No, I have to bide my time. Even if I went to the Russian embassy, there's no guarantee I wouldn't run into one of Oleg's friends and end up right back here-or dead. If I am patient, the opportunity will present itself. One way or another.

Days turn into weeks, and now I've been here for nearly a month. Every day, I sit by the window, staring outside, watching the world go by, wondering when I will be faced with marrying Yakov. It's coming. I know it is. Oleg won't put this off for long. He's likely gathering all of his minions and the other syndicate leaders, trying to make this seem like some sort of royal affair instead of the shot-gun wedding it really is.

The longer I'm held captive, the more desperate I become. I need to find a way to get out of here. In order to do that, I need to know the mansion better. Where are the exits? I'm not locked in my room, so one day after lunch, I decide to explore the estate. No one is paying any attention to me anyway. They seem to think I've given up on any hope of getting out of here.

As I make my way down endless hallways, no one asks me what I'm doing. I keep an explanation at the tip of my tongue just in case someone questions me. I bump into a few guards when I get to the second floor. It's no surprise he has his men patrolling all over the place-inside and outside. Every step I take, eyes follow my every step. How the hell am I supposed to get out of this place?

Inhaling slowly, I remind myself of my purpose. Firstly, I must stay alive. I can't vindicate my parents if I'm dead. Secondly, I need to escape. I'll have to get away and then figure out the best way to take Oleg out for good.

I take a detour and head toward the kitchen. Lunch churns in my stomach, threatening to come back up. I need a glass of water to keep it down.

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Once I reach the kitchen, I hesitate before pushing through the door. I've never been here before. The maids said I should ask them if I need anything. I haven't made a single quest, but I know it's a means of making sure they know where I am at all times.

The room is empty except for one maid. I think her name is Lily. Lila? I haven't been in much of a room for socializing, so I'm really not sure what any of their names are. They are nice enough, but I'm not here to fucking make friends.

"Oh, uh...hi," I say awkwardly, fidgeting the hem of my shirt. "I just, uh, wanted a glass of water."noveldrama

Flashing me a smile so large it seems out of place, she moves to the fridge and pours me a glass of ice water from a pitcher. She hands it to me, and I regret not being polite to her before. She seems...nice.

"Thank you," I say, clearing my throat. "I...don't remember your name," I confess, embarrassed.

She chuckles, shrugging. "It's okay. I doubt Mr. Romana knows it either. We're supposed to be invisible." She rolls her eyes. "I'm Laura."

Ah... I was close.

"It's nice to meet you, Laura," I reply. "Despite the circumstances." I'm not in a situation to trust anyone, but so far, Laura seems kind. I may as well be polite to her. I take a sip of the water and feel marginally better.

She stares at me and sighs, her eyes darting to the door for a second as if to make sure no one is coming. "Listen...." She leans forward, her mouth so close to my ear, I can feel the warmth of her breath. "I don't know you, but I think I know what I'd do if I were in your situation." I raise an eyebrow, and she continues. "Don't do it. It won't work."

I frown, narrowing my eyes at her. "What are you talking about?" I try to keep my voice nonchalant, but I hear the quiver in it.

"No one escapes Mr. Romana. Believe me, I've seen so many die because they dared to try."

My heart skips a beat as I realize what she is saying. I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. "I'll keep that in mind." It's all I can say. I have no doubt my uncle is used to keeping dangerous people prisoners here, people he's at war with. If they can't get away from his clutches, what are my chances?

Not good.

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Laura offers me a small, sympathetic smile before heading back to the stove. I'm about to leave the room when a glint of silver catches my eye.

A wooden block full of knives sits on the counter. Blades of various shapes and size stick out of the slots, everything from a paring knife to a meat cleaver. Without hesitation, I reach over and grab one of the larger steak knives and slide it under my shirt, into the waistband of my pants. I have no plans to use it at this point, but it won't hurt to have it with me-just in case.

I fucking know how to use it, after all.

"Thank you, Laura," I say before rushing out the door.

I'm halfway down the hallway when an unpleasant odor hits my nose. Yakov appears in front of me about the same time I place that sweaty, spicy scent. My stomach turns over, and I wish I'd stayed in the kitchen with Laura.

When he sees me, a crooked smile tugs up one side of his face. He approaches, flanked by bodyguards. "Ah, Tatiana." His eyes meet mine, and I look away as my skin begins to crawl. Even his voice disgusts me. "What a surprise to see you walking around the house. I hope you're not getting too attached to it, though. I plan on moving to a different estate after the wedding." He chuckles, and his bodyguards mimic him. I don't give him the satisfaction of answering. In fact, I hope he finds me dull and unintelligent enough that he decides not to marry me. Unfortunately, my plan doesn't seem to be working. Even with me standing here staring blankly at him, his smile widens, and a glint in his icy eyes tells me he's thinking repulsive thoughts. Once again, bile rises in the back of my throat, but I choke it down.

Disgusting.

"What's the matter, kukolka? Cat got your tongue?" I drop my eyes to the floor, praying he'll leave me the hell alone. He takes a step toward me. I brace myself as his stubby fingers lift my chin. It's all I can do to keep from pulling away. Seeing my reaction, he tightens his grip, forcing me to look up at him. "That's another thing I'll have to fix once we're married,” he continues through gritted teeth. His anger radiates from his every pore, but I don't budge. "Look at me when I'm talking to you."

I want to tell him to fuck off because I couldn't care less, but he shoves me backward, his nails scratching my face as he does so.

I bite down the rage boiling inside me. One swift move from me, and the knife hidden

in my waistband would be sticking out of his chest. But that would leave me dead

before I have a chance to kill my true target-his bastard father.

I need to wait for the right moment, for the right chance, to get my revenge.

In the meantime, I glare back at his icy eyes, imaging all the ways I'd like to rip this asshole apart.

Soon.