Chapter 7 Tiffany's Pov

• It's baffling how no one has come to my rescue yet, not even Mark, whom I considered my guardian angel. But somehow, I got this feeling that he would show up eventually. I have faith in Mark more than I do in my Father.
• It's the smallest place I have ever seen. I only see places like this in the documentary Or movies.
• Aside from the fact that the room was a little Dark with an old couch. it seems difficult for me to Escape. I only remember waking up with a headache not even a trace of how I got here.
• How do I then plan my escape if no one comes for me ,I thought to myself .
• A little door by the side of the wardrobe was the rest room and it also had some dreadful skull drawings and weird inscriptions on the wall written in Italian.
• I wasn't sure what those words meant, but I could tell they meant trouble. It's a good thing I couldn't read Italian, though. I mean, knowing what the words meant could sum up my sufferings.
• I thought I had seen it all when I leaned forward and caught a glimpse of some strange photos pasted on the wall with some warning signs on them. I wanted to ignore it when I found my photo next to a little girl.
• “Argh!” I screamed, but no one cared to listen. My voice echoed back to me. I couldn't capture a soul strolling around. I could get killed without traces.
• “What on Earth is my photo doing there?” I asked myself. Sadly, no one was around to answer the question.
• From my reflections, I visualized those are photos of past captives that were captured. Did they prevail? What was their fate? These were the questions that kept shuffling in my head.
• I demand answers desperately to solve this mystery in my head, even if it means asking the kidnapper guy.
• Just like I anticipated, the tattooed dark tall guy walked past me. I tried to whisper, but he seemed not to care , and I couldn't reach him.
• Deep down, I hoped and prayed for his return. For the first time in my weird life, I acknowledge God's presence. I had always thought I would do everything on my own without God's help. But in a situation like this, I would need more than just a miracle to come out of this alive.
• Just like I predicted, God came through for me when I spotted him from a distance. It's quite obvious that he was strolling to my destination.
• I immediately left where I was and leaned against the room door,getting ready to whisper at him. The moment he got close, I whistled with my last strength. I couldn't be more proud of myself. It was the bravest thing I have done in recent times.
• He halted, narrowed his gaze around, and pointed to himself. He needed to be certain if I was referring to him or anyone around.
• “Yes, you.” I nodded to reaffirm my decision.
• With a hint of uncertainty, he walked in my direction and stood a few miles away from the door. He maintained his distance and asked if I got the coffee he sent to me?.
• “you sent it to me?.”
• He starred at me like he was about to tear me apart.
• “Oh, yes I did,” I paused. That was the only sentence I could utter at that moment. I had rehearsed my line perfectly before his arrival but seeing how scary his eyes were completely erased my memories. How was that even possible? I barely forget.
• Aside from his terrifying look, he looked cute which makes me wonder why he was willing to settle for a kidnapper when he could have been a runway model for Gucci or Louis Vuitton brands.
• “I'm listening!” He folded his hands and threatened to leave if I didn't start talking.
• “Okay, I'll speak.” I hurriedly said to enable me to rack my head to figure out what to say.
• “Are you free at the moment?”
• “What? That's a dumb question. Look, if you're hungry, just say it already, and I'll go get you something,” he snarled at me.
• “I'm not hungry! Even if I was, I wouldn't eat anything from you,” I mumbled silently and looked sideways.
• “I heard you correctly.” He caught me. Well the coffee can sustain you till whenever you want .
• “If you're not ready to speak, I'll just walk away, and trust me, this would be the last time you'd see anyone around here,” he threatened me.
• “What's that inscription on the wall?” I tossed the unexpected question at him.
• “Really?” He shook his head. He was stunned by my question because he thought I would know it since it was written in Italian.
• “I get the look on your face. The truth is, I can't even speak Italian to save my life,” I admitted. It was needless, but I needed to be honest just to get some piece of information.
• “Clearly!” He nodded to mock me.
• “To start with, my name's Stefano, and I suggest you stick to that. I don't enjoy you whistling at me every godforsaken time,” he warned me.
• “Aye Sire,” I saluted.
• There's something unique about Stefano I just can't place my head on. He seemed cool and Nice but obviously needed to act his job role . Without being told, I knew something must have triggered him to become a kidnapper.
• “nessun modo per tornare a casa,” he read it aloud.
• “It means you're stuck here and there's no way to get out even if you try,”
• The meaning got me scared again. I already considered myself Dead. I couldn't have doubted Stefano's interpretation. The scary skull drawings on the wall already explained what I needed to know. I knew I was in trouble. Now I'll be needing more than just Mark's intervention to come out of this damn place alive.
• “Another question, please,” I said when I noticed he was about to leave. The odd look on his face depicts how angry he was. I care less. I was only focused on getting answers to my question.
• "Pointing those photos against the wall, I asked him, “What are they doing there?”
• He looked at me, stared back at the photos, and frowned. The question pissed him off. Who cares if he's upset at my question? I just needed to unravel the mystery in my head.
• “Are you sure you want to find out?”
• “Why wouldn't I?
• Is it that scary? Come on, spill it already. I've dealt with more serious cases than this,” I bragged, but deep down I was scared to death.
• “It means we would kill you if your demands aren't met, just like those you saw in the photos,” Stefano explained with a baritone voice and wicked laughter.
• I didn't know which was scarier; the fact that I would die, his baritone voice, or his annoying laughter.
• I struggled to hold my breath. I could only imagine myself drowning in my pool of blood when these people finally slit my throat with their dagger while I plead for Mercy.