Repaying the Mafia’s Dept

Isabella It’s hot today. So hot I’m sweating.

I’m grateful Tristan didn’t come back and cuff me to the window again. The freedom of movement enables me to shower and clean myself in the En suite bathroom.

When I finished, I chose a loose-fitting t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants from the stash of clothes he brought me. I wondered if they belonged to Candace. We’re about the same size so it would make sense. I also couldn’t imagine Tristan prepping clothes for me to take on this kidnapping spree.

I’m out on the terrace because it’s cooler than being inside the room.

Today his brother brought in breakfast which wasn’t as elaborate as days gone by. It was just a buttered roll and a glass of water. Both of which I ate and wanted more.

I feel sick from the days of not having anything to eat. Last night I started sipping water, but it wasn’t enough to sate the weakness in my body.

The meager breakfast today suggested I’ve pissed everyone off.

I don’t want to ask them for anything so I’m waiting for the next person to come in with food.

I’m sitting by the balcony now just watching the sea. I’m the girl who loves the water. I love swimming and doing anything water related. Watching the sea like this though makes me feel more trapped. The sea out here doesn’t have that calm flow I’m used to. The waves are always crashing against the rocks like a storm is brewing.

Eric used to tell me that’s a sign the current is stronger in those sections and the parts you stay away from in a storm.

It’s nice to watch the sea come alive and I can tell this island must have its own wonders, but I’m a prisoner here. Trapped with a man who confuses me. I fear him and I want him. I hate him and I want to know more about him.

It’s complicated and I’m complicated. I can’t explain the want because it doesn’t make sense.

I guess perhaps it might be simply explained with the fact he’s the first man since Eric to make me feel that wild desire of need which can only be fulfilled by that person.

What I do know is I’m helpless, and now I’m weak.

I’ve been sitting here in the heat with sweat running down the side of my face and I’m either too weak to move, or my mind has given up.

I turn my head when I hear footsteps. They’re faint and sound like they’re near but far away. The person they belong to is a few paces away from me so it must be me in my weakness unable to grasp what’s happening around me. It’s Candace and she stands before me with a plate of cookies and a glass of chocolate milk.

There’s something about seeing the cookies that soothes me. My mother used to bring me cookies when she knew I was upset. Or when she suspected I was worried about something.

Most often I was worried about my father. That was when he was still a father to me, and I used to worry when I didn’t see him for a while. I understood from an early age he wouldn’t always be home, but back then things were different. We were almost like a real family. Almost, but never.

“I know I’m probably the last person you want to see but I brought this up,” she says. “Don’t worry they’re not poisoned.”

“I don’t think anyone will poison me if they need information from me,” I answer. I am still infuriated by her, but if she works with Tristan then she’s just doing as she’s told. I know what that’s like.

It’s like Sacha wanting to help me but he can’t. It’s like everyone who’s wanted to help me but knows it means death if they do. So, I decide to cut her some slack.

“I just wondered if you might think the food was poisoned. You haven’t eaten properly in days.”

“I can’t eat when I’m … scared,” I confess.

“Me too. The sugar helps though,” she answers surprising me. “There’s a lot of monsters to be scared of. Sometimes it’s the little things like this that help. Small and unimportant but sometimes effective.”

I nod my agreement. “Yeah,” I agree, then I contemplate whether Tristan might have sent her to befriend me. “Did he send you up here to talk to me? My answer is still going to be the same no matter who comes. I don’t know where my father is.”

“Nobody sent me. I just came up on my own accord.” She holds my gaze and I search her eyes.

The eyes are indeed windows to the soul and right now hers seem genuine enough for me to believe her.

“Thank you. I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you the other day. It was rude.”

“You were right though,” she says stepping closer. “I won’t say you were wrong. You were right, but things don’t always look like how they seem. People aren’t always who they are, or what they appear to be.”Text © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

“Sometimes they are, though. Like me. I can’t change who I am no matter what. I’m the daughter of the devil and that is my death sentence. That’s why I’m here.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve seen enough darkness too. My parents did the devil’s bidding, and the fires of hell came to get us,” she explains. In her eyes I see pain that mirrors my own.

“I’m sorry,” I sympathize.

“It’s okay. Life happens.”

“Candace… I don’t know where my father is. I would tell them if I knew. I would. I hate that this has happened to me and I hate what he’s done to people I love. He deserves everything he gets. I want to get out of here, but I want to leave everything. I want to…” My voice trails off as my head feels light.

Candace fades before me and comes back into focus.

She’s saying something but I don’t know what it is.

I stand up and then I’m falling.

I fall to the ground and it’s only then I can hear her. Just for a few seconds though then I lose awareness of everything.

“Moya lyubov’,” Mama says and her eyes twinkle. She’s always called me her love.

We’re sitting at the table in the kitchen at home. Home in Russia the place where my mother was killed. But I’m aware I’m here.

She hands me a plate with cookies, and I smile at the sight of them, although I know it’s something to distract me. We haven’t seen my father in days.

“Spasibo Mama,” I thank her and start eating them.

She takes my hand and watches me.

Her lips part to say something more but the fog comes, and she fades away.

Thick fog engulfs my surroundings and when it clears, I’m on the staircase.

I’m aware of where I am and what’s going to happen if I’m here. My mother is going to die, and I don’t want to see that again. I can’t. It’s too much.

It’s a nightmare of a memory I don’t want because I can’t stop it.

I try to wake up, but I can’t.

I hear her scream. She screams and the sound pierces through me, compelling me to move.

I run down the stairs and I see my father plunging the knife into my mother over and over again.

Footsteps shuffle behind him and I look across the room to see a man standing in the corner.

He’s Italian with mid-length black hair and a crooked nose. His almost black eyes stare back at me with death brimming within them.

He looks straight at me and I have the urge to run away but I’m screaming so much now I can’t stop.

Arms wrap around me and carry me away. The fog comes back and then I’m with Eric.

This time the scenery doesn’t change. It just appears. He just appears before me.

I expect to see his death like I always do, but it’s just him.

“Eric?” I ask walking toward him.

He smiles at me and nods. “Y ou have to get away from here. If you stay here there’ll be nothing left of you.”

Those words… are another memory. That was the first time I knew he cared about me.

“Can you save me?”

He doesn’t get to answer. I hear the guards coming for him and just like I knew my mother was going to die, I know I’m about to see his death again.

Dmitri comes in first and takes him.

“Stop!” I cry. “Someone help him! Don’t let him kill him.”

Someone shakes me and everything starts flickering before my eyes like the fragments of reality are confused.

At first, I see Eric and then I see… Tristan.

Warm fingers flutter over my cheek and as I blink Tristan’s face comes into view. He’s hovering before me, but I can’t quite pull my mind from the nightmare world.

Eric. I think of Eric and for a fleeting second, I wonder if maybe the nightmare never happened.

Maybe I’m not too late. Maybe I can still save him.

“Please, help me,” I beg grasping on to Tristan shirt. He holds me still when I try to get up. “Don’t let him kill him.”

“Isabella it’s just a dream,” he says cupping my face.

“No, please help him… It’s not too late. Please help me. My father will kill him. Please.” The words tumble out of my lips before I register what I’m saying and where I am. Or even what’s happening.

“Isabella…” he says. “It’s a … nightmare.”

Nightmare. I blink a few times and look around me, then I remember. I remember I am too late.

Years too late and the last person who will help me is my captor.

That heavy feeling of loss and sadness come over me as I remember the past and present.

Yes, it was a nightmare of things I can’t change and the weight of everything that’s happened comes crashing down on me.

With that the tears come.