Ever since I was taken, I’ve known I’m being watched. Every moment of every day, there are eyes on me. Whether I can see them is a whole other story, but I know they’re there, watching my every move.
But as consciousness comes back to me, there’s something different about the way I’m being watched. At first, I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to draw attention to the fact I’m awake, but the moment something touches my cheek, my eyes fly open, and a scream tears from my throat.
Before I’ve fully realized it’s Elijah lying beside me, his green eyes assessing my every move, he rolls me to my back and settles his weight over me, a small smile playing on his lips.
“I like it when you scream for me, Snowflake.” The way my name rolls off his tongue is like a holy man saying a prayer. Reverence and heat in every letter.
“What are you doing?” I whisper as fear grips me around the throat and makes it impossible to drag in a breath.
“A little bird told me you’re not eating.”
“So? What do you care?” I should push him off me, or at the very least make some attempt to get away from him, but I’m frozen in place, like the moment he rolled on top of me, I lost all ability to fight.
Elijah sighs, annoyance flickering across his gaze. Rationally I know I shouldn’t antagonize one of the scariest men in Chicago, perhaps only surpassed by Tommy and his love for blood and death, but I can’t help myself.
“I thought I’d been quite clear with you about all this, Snow. You are here because you’re mine, and I take care of what belongs to me, even if you’re not willing to look after yourself.”
I stare up at him, trying not to allow myself to relax beneath his weight. His warmth is comforting despite him being the reason for my anxiety in the first place. “I’m not hungry.”
I turn my head until my cheek hits the pillow. It’s easier to deal with men like Elijah when you don’t have to look them in the eye. It’s why when I pick a fight with my brothers, I always do it over the phone.
His fingers grip my chin in a harsh hold, and he pries my face back to his. When our eyes clash, there’s heat and anger behind his gaze. “I don’t care if you’re hungry, Snow. I care if you’re healthy. Mrs. Chambers said you barely ate last night, which means if you miss breakfast, you would have missed two meals in a row, and that’s unacceptable.”
I glare up at him. How dare he speak to me like I’m a petulant child? I’m old enough to choose if I want to eat or not. Who the hell does he think he is?
“Mrs. Chambers made your favorite.” He nods toward the table beside my bed, and I follow his gaze, the smell hitting me the moment my eyes fall upon the plate. How did I not notice that before?
My mouth drops open and my head snaps back to look at him. “How the fuck do you know about that?” I hiss, using all my strength to shove his chest, but he barely budges. The only sign I hit him is the slight exhale and grunt he makes at my feeble attempts. He moves so quickly I barely catch the movement as he releases his grip on my chin and bundles my hands in one of his, pinning them above my head and rendering me completely at his mercy.
“I can see we’re getting off on the wrong foot here, Snow, so let me spell this out for you, so you understand. I know everything there is to know about you. Your favorite food, the shampoo you use, the flavor of ice cream you reach for after a bad day. I’ve been getting to know you from the shadows since the day I laid eyes on you.”
I stare up at him for long moments, completely immobilized by the way he’s handling me. His torso reaches over mine, and even with all the strength in my legs, I wouldn’t be able to throw him off. I think back to the self-defense classes Wynter dragged me to and almost sigh out loud. This position right here, this is the position they told us never to allow ourselves to get into, because it’s not as simple as throwing your assailant off you. It’s so much more complicated than that. Even if I were able to get out from under him, and that’s a very big if, what then? There’s nowhere to run. I’m locked in this house, this prison, and no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, I’m in a lot more trouble than I’ve ever been before.
Elijah sighs at my silence, annoyance flickering across the green of his eyes, but words escape me. What do you say to a man holding you against your will? One who is so clearly unhinged and obsessed with you at that?
“Why me?” I whisper without thinking. It’s not the first time the question has flitted through my mind since I woke up here, but it’s the first time I’ve thought to ask the man holding me captive.
A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “The first night I saw you, I thought you were an angel,” he muses as he softens his hold on my wrists, not so much I can escape, but just enough to make me more comfortable. “It was right around the time Everett moved in with your family. I was always so jealous he got away from them and I didn’t, but he never belonged there. We’d grown up as enemies of sorts, despite being cousins. We were constantly reminded that one of us would take over for Angelo one day, and we were always in competition for who that would be, even when we were children and didn’t understand what our uncle did.
All night I was looking for him, my father wanted me to hurt him for abandoning the family in favor of the enemy, and I would have done it, but then I saw you. You were so beautiful, so carefree and happy, and I was fascinated by you. I followed you around all night, completely forgetting about what my father had asked me to do, completely oblivious to every other person at that party except for you. For the first time in my life, there was light in the darkness I called home, and when the night was over, and you left with your family, I knew I couldn’t return to the dark, somehow I had to have your light in my life, even if I had to steal it.”
This time when my mouth drops open, it’s in surprise rather than horror. His words are almost poetic, the way he speaks about me like I’m the only good he’s ever known, but surely that’s not the case. Even though Rayne and Storm grew up in a Mafia family, they’ve always been loved, and there’s always been some light in their hearts. But then, I can’t imagine any of the Russo men had an ounce of good in them.
“I want you to want to be here, Snow. I’ve done everything I can to make sure you’re comfortable, but you’re staying here even if you don’t want to. This is happening, we are happening, and there’s nothing you can say or do that’s going to change that reality.”
“How long?”
“How long what?”
“Am I here? I assume you’re going to get bored and send me back at some stage. So how long? Or will you kill me and dispose of me the way your father and uncles used to when they were done with women?” Even as the words fall from my lips, I regret them, but I’ve never been that good at restraining myself and the things I say.
