Chapter 1 Prologue

• My feet bounce off the breaking concrete as I run down the dark passage, my hair whipping back and forth, obstructing my vision but I dare not stop and flip it over my shoulder. I can feel them near, breathing down my neck, getting off, and seeing just how much longer my legs can take me. I pack the hem of my dress — the one Kristoff gifted me last night for this date. The one he'd said looked good on me this evening before I left for the restaurant's bathroom.
• Before these men kidnapped me.
• I'll be lying if I say I don't know where they're from. Kristoff is a powerful Mafia Don — much feared in New York and all over the world. A cruel underboss with a reputation to match that phrase. I knew what I was getting into when I let him into my heart after our initial agreement. I knew what I was getting into when instead of packing my stuff and leaving his mansion altogether, I got into a fight with my uncle when I went back to our shack to clear out what was left there.
• "You don't know what you're getting yourself into, Titania," he'd said, his cold blue eyes twinkling in fury. "You might think that I'm standing in the way of your happiness with Kristoff but I know how these things work. I'm much more experienced than you. Kristoff Stravkos will ruin you. He's like a mighty tornado, sweeping everything in its path. Don't say I didn't tell you."
• "I'll be fine, papa," I'd replied lightly, strapping on the backpack that contained my leftover stuff. I leaned in to kiss his cheek. "Instead of worrying about me, pray. Pray for me."
• Now, even a prayer can't save me from what's about to happen.
• My knees will give way any minute, and my chest is burning. I pant heavily as I try to run faster, feeling their clutches on my dress, tugging it back.
• Oh Kristoff, where are you?
• Suddenly a figure emerges from the shadow up ahead, blocking me. I scream as I'm jerked back and thrown on the floor, flashes of fluorescent bulbs all over the place. Rubbing my waist that's hurting from the hard impact with the ground, I don't look up into their faces. I don't familiarise myself with my potential killers.
• A cool finger reaches out under my chin, lifting it up slightly. I gasp, staring into shiny, hazel eyes — the brightest I've seen — behind dark shades. His lips are thin, the sides curling into a devious smirk as he shoves my face away and turns his back.
• "Kill her."
• Oh, God.
• |One month earlier|
• I'm excited as I tap my knee while biting my bottom lip in impatience. The elevator was so slow today, and I can't wait to go up and show Uncle Patrick the wristwatch I've gotten for him as a birthday gift. His birthday took place a few days ago, but I'd been out of cash — my paycheck didn't arrive until the end of the week so I couldn't buy him a present sooner.
• At last, the elevator stops, and I slide out, a bounce on my steps. There's no music coming from the Japanese neighbor's apartment, nor the smell of spice and onions. I press my ear softly against the door, trying to catch a whiff of conversation on the other side but I have no luck.
• Maybe she's not in.
• But then again, the whole place was eerie silent as well. Which was suspicious.
• Something didn't seem right.
• It's way past six PM, which means everyone should've been home by now. Uncle Patrick leaves the spare parts firm he works for by four at most, then twelve any day he didn't have a lot of work. The Japanese lady runs a food court downtown and often rushes home to make dinner before I got off my shift at the local cafe. It's basically a tradition for the flats to be rowdy every evening.
• Shrugging my shoulders, I turn the corner and halt at our door when I hear whispers. I don't recognize the voices in the room, but the most prominent one is deep and scary, like a creditor threatening his debtor to pay up. I wonder if Uncle Patrick has visitors over but forgot to inform me. We tell each other everything.
• Ignoring the cooling dread pooling pooing in between my fingers, I lift a fist and knock softly. "Uncle Pat? Are you in there? It's me, Titania."
• My legs wobble as I run my sweaty palms together, finally realizing that something is wrong.
• I jump as a couple of rats race past me, disappearing down the corridor. Placing my left hand on my chest, I reach out for the doorknob with my right and turn it, pushing back slightly.
• "Uncle Pat?" my brows furrow as I try to register the piece of clothing tied around his mouth, his hands behind his back. He's still seated on his favorite leather chair, a white rope around his legs as well. "What's happening? Who tied you?"
• I push the door wide open now, rushing in. There's a bruise forming on his right cheekbone and his lip is cut. I clench my hands in anger. "Who did this?"
• He makes a muffled sound, pushing me away from me. I get the signal to run but there's no way I'm leaving without you. "You have to explain. I'm taking you with me."
• The door slams shut behind me and I scream, my spirit practically leaving my body as I turn to see a hulking man for the first time, pointing a metal gun at me. His face is partly veiled and he steps forward, clutching a hand around my throat and riding me up against the wall.
• My entire life flashes before my eyes as I struggle against his grip. Uncle Patrick's muffles increase as he tries to kick aggressively, his eyes on me, stark with fear. I look past the hulking man's dark, steely eyes to see that he wasn't alone. His equally veiled companion advances toward Uncle Patrick and knocks the butt of a gun across his temple, sending him crumpling on the floor, along with the chair.
• "No..." I trail off with a cough, gasping for air. The man's hand tightens further around my neck, almost stifling my life. Suddenly, he releases me, and my back slides miserably down the wall. I lift my fingers to my sore neck.
• "Who the fuck are you people?"
• I realize that I'm practically digging my own grave by asking stupid questions. These guys are armed robbers at most and thought we have a lot of money. Probably because Uncle Patrick works for the most popular spare parts firm in Manhattan.
• "If it's money that you want, then I'm sorry to disappoint you. We have nothing. You can see for yourself, the state of our house." I gesture around our surroundings.
• The two men stare hard at me, then the man who knocked Uncle Patrick out steps forward and pointed his gun directly at my forehead. "If you don't stop talking right this minute, I'm gonna blow your fucking head off."
• "Right, right. I'm sorry." I pin my lips together with two fingers. "I promise, I won't talk again."
• "Actually," he taps the butt of the gun against the heel of his palm, moving even closer. "It'll be best if I knock you out as well. This isn't about you, but the wrong place and the wrong time, sweetheart. Now you're gonna go in for it as well."
• Before I can protest, I feel a sharp pain in my temple. Lights explode in my vision, then complete darkness as I fall over, my head hitting the wooden floor gently, my eyes closing.