Sold to Moretti Mafia

Elena

The key seems to weigh ten pounds in my hand. I’ve been pacing the bedroom for hours trying to decide what to do. I thought Julian and I were getting closer, I thought there could really be something between us, but after today, I’m not sure about anything.

Nothing makes sense. None of his actions line up. He buys me, he touches me, then rejects me in the next instance. Something more is going on, and I can’t be stuck in this room any longer doing nothing. What if my father was telling the truth? Julian could be out there killing my father, and then come home to finish the job.

Or maybe Julian simply doesn’t want to have sex with me. He mentioned before that he doesn’t think I can handle him, handle his sinister needs. What if he went to have sex with someone who can?

Both theories have me in knots. Every thought is worse than the next, and I don’t want to believe either theory is true, but what am I supposed to think? Is there even a third option, and would that one be any better? I wish I could call my father. I think if I could talk to him freely, he would tell me the truth, tell me what is really going on. Julian won’t allow that, and even if by a miracle, he would agree, it would be under supervision, and my father would never tell me what I want to know with Julian hovering over me.Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

Then a thought occurs to me. Maybe I could sneak out and find a phone. I think there’s one in the kitchen. I saw one of the maids talking on the phone before, and it looked to be a landline. I mean there has to be a phone in this house somewhere.

Looking out the window, I see the orange bursts of light on the horizon.

It’s now or never.

Running into the closet, I find a pair of sneakers and slip into them. My heart is racing as I cross the bedroom and stop in front of the door. Bringing the key to the lock, I briefly wonder if it will even work? I still don’t understand how my father could have gotten ahold of this.

All my doubt dissipates when the key slides into the lock with ease. I turn it and listen to the lock disengage. My lungs burn as I hold my breath. Twisting the brass knob, I slowly pull the door open. There is a small squeaking sound, but in the early morning hours and the quiet hallway, it seems extremely loud.

This feels like a dream. Like at any second, I’m going to be shaken awake and find that I was only hoping the key had worked, and that I was free of the bedroom.

Sticking my head out the door, I peek into the hallway to make sure no one is coming from either side. I wait for a few more moments, using the time to gather up all my courage. When there is still nothing but silence, I step out and pull the door closed behind me.

On tippy-toes, I move through the semi-dark hallways. The house is huge, but I’ve paid enough attention to know my way around by now.

I make it into the kitchen without hearing or seeing anything, which makes me wonder if I could be truly alone. Like a needle popping a balloon, that thought bursts from my head when I hear two male voices carry through the house.

Panic claws at me, threatening to petrify my limbs, but I force them to move. Pushing past the fear, I do my best to keep my breathing even and hide behind the kitchen’s butcher’s block… how fitting since that’s where I’m going to be if they catch me.

For the first time tonight, I’m thinking about the repercussions I could face. What will happen if I’m caught, and why the hell didn’t I think this through? Will Julian hurt me? He hasn’t, but I’ve also been listening to him. He threatens me repeatedly but says as long as I obey, I won’t be harmed.

As the voices come closer, my fear rises exponentially. Curling myself up into a ball, I wish the ground would swallow me. With each passing second, the men grow closer, until they are close enough for me to make out what they are saying.

“I wonder why the boss moved the timeline up?”

“I guess he can’t wait to see the Romero family dead and gone.”

No! It can’t be. My heart stills within my chest, and the beating is replaced by a deep ache. Closing my eyes, I will the tears away, wishing I would have just stayed in the room. Ignorance is bliss, I suppose. I don’t know why I thought things were different. Maybe because of how caring he’s been? I think back to the way he cared for me after the auction and gave me a chance to spend time outside.

I listen to the men’s footsteps as they pass the kitchen and continue walking down the hall, in the direction that I just came.

When everything is quiet once more, and I’m sure they are gone, I pop up and out of my hiding spot, surveying the area. The kitchen is clean, immaculate even, and worst of all, I don’t see a phone.

Shit.

Now, more than ever, I need to speak to my father. I need to warn him, and if I can’t call him, that means I have to get out of here to warm him.

Rushing over to the terrace door, I unlock it and slide it open just enough for my body to squeeze through. Crisp morning air fills my lungs, and for a split second, I actually feel free.

“Going somewhere?” Julian’s sinister voice meets my ears. His tone dark and restrained, promising a world of hurt. A hand wraps around my heart. Squeezing my eyes shut, I curse myself for being so stupid for thinking I could actually get away.

Slowly, I turn to face him. The devil, that’s what he looks like. Seconds away from pulling the rug right out from under my feet. I have to think… I have to. Swallowing thickly, an apology sits heavily on my tongue, but I can’t suck in enough air to form the words.

“You look like you’re scared that I’m gonna kill you now.”

Isn’t he? Isn’t this the whole point? My family dead, including me. There’s a giant lump in my throat that won’t let a single word pass, but apparently, my legs are still working because in the next moment, my fight or flight response kick in. My subconscious chooses flight, and before I can stop myself, I’m on the run.

Pushing my legs as fast as I can, I dash past him and across the terrace. Hoping that my shorter legs are at least faster than Julian’s, I run down the marble stairs, which are wet with morning dew. When there are only three steps left, I jump over them, my heels sinking into the soft grass before I take off on another sprint.

I think maybe I have a chance, but I don’t. Not against Julian. I make it about five more feet before his chest bumps into my back, his thick arms circling around me. One moment I’m running, and the next, I’m in the air, headed straight for the ground.

Somehow, he manages to turn us both mid-fall, so I land on top of him instead of the other way around, but the impact alone knocks the air from my lungs.

By the time I’m able to suck a breath into my lungs again, I’m pulled off the ground like a doll and thrown over Julian’s shoulder.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” he growls as he trudges through the grass and back to the house. I don’t even fight him, there is no hope, no point.