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Chapter Twenty-One
Luca
“My sister will find me! I promise you that. She will come here and slice the two of you up, limb from limb.” Ivana, the pitiful one of the two hollers at me from a mere six feet away, ropes binding her wrists together, tied to the iron bars of theoubliette.
Migual stands behind me, with his body leaning against the far wall as he looks onto the rabid creature of a woman. “I highly doubt it. We’re tucked away in an extremely secure location,” Migual informs her while he rolls his eyes. He gives me a look that only tells me he wishes I would’ve walked up to Elena in London. She was right there, but . . . fuck, I can’t explain it. I want her back, but I’m not a dumb man, I know there is no reason she’d ever want me again. I forced her out and for her own sake I hope she ran so fucking far we wouldn’t ever land our eyes on one another again.
Instead of replying with a blunt response, I turn and keep my attention focused on the woman in front of me. Meanwhile, the distinctive sound of Oxfords hitting the floor signal that Migual is heading up the stairs.
I walk forward into theoublietteand go to where the shower is, seeing the buckets filled with water that Migual prepared for me. “Why did you try and kill them all?” I question. I already know what drives these two women to be as crazy as they are. However, Ivana doesn’t know that I know.
“You would never understand,” She seethes, clenching her jaw, trying to lunge at me like a beast. It seems fitting that she’s in a cage.
I take a seat on the bed last occupied by my dear wife, Elena, and run my hands along the sheets as I focus on my new prisoner. “You’d be surprised the lengths I understand,”
“You? You’re one of them.”
I chuckle lowly. Gosh, what a woman who had the ideals to take us all down doesn’t even realize. “Yes, I am. But I almost wasn’t. You see, my brother was chosen to be head of our Clan. But . . . I’m assuming you already know that. My father had chosen my younger brother to head our Clan, going against tradition, but it was voted and approved by the other families. When Mariana came back, she approved it. It was one of the first things she did as our queen.”
“Is there a point here? You’re beginning to bore me.”
Ah, this one has a bit of spirit it seems. “The point is, you should know who you’re speaking to. I’m the man who didn’t even flinch as my wife stabbed my brother right in front of my very eyes. She took care of my problem for me, and that is my point. You’d be surprised what people are capable of. I never really gave a fuck about the Clans before her. I only wanted the power that came with the title.” I say, watching her brows furrow. I don’t even know why the fuck I’m telling her any of this shit. Maybe I want her to understand me the way Elena did, to find some sort of carbon copy . . . and now I’m being presented with an even better idea.
My plans with this one were simple. I’d shove her face into the water multiple times, almost to the point of her dying, and then pull her back out. Repeating the process over and over until she begged for mercy, pleaded with me to either kill her or allow her to live. While my mind is in deep thought, I realize I haven’t even grown an inch in my nether regions. Fuck, shit like this usually makes me as hard as a rock, and rightfully so, I love the sight of blood, or hearing women beg, plead, or any of that type of thing.
Although, as I stare at the woman across from me . . . I see potential in her. She’s feisty, maybe even just as much of a wildcard as my wife, and if I’m never going to see Elena again . . . I could just, well, I could have Ivana become my Elena. The same way I was trying to force Elena to be Mariana.
Standing up from the small cot, I approach Ivana, placing my right hand on the side of her cheek and pull down her jaw. “I will give you one choice, terror woman. And one choice only. Do you understand?”
Ivana nods her head back and forth, giving me the confirmation I need before I continue.
“You will be my personal fuck toy. You’ll dress how I want. You’ll dye your hair the color I want, and you’ll talk the way I want you to talk, so lose this Czech accent you have and speak like a proper Romanian woman would.”
Ivana nods again, so I pull her tattered sparkling silver dress down and reveal her naked body to me. Even looking at her now, she doesn’t do anything for me. She’s too thin, too blonde, too fucking different.
“I will be back in two hours. In the meantime, Migual will spruce you up a bit. . . to become more . . . accommodating to my tastes.”
* * *
I thought about waiting two hours, but I couldn’t just sit around and wait. I had to see what was becoming of the woman, and I gave Migual such explicit instructions. It’s not that I don’t trust him, because I do. Out of everyone in my life he’s been a constant supporter of me, no matter what I’m doing.
I leave my office, where I’ve been sipping on a chilled glass of ?uica and head down the stairs until my eyes land on Ivana, or . . . shall I call her Elena now. She looks almost exactly like her, with the darkest, most voluminous hair starting from the top of her roots, until they reach the bottom where it’s bleach blonde. While she isn’t as curvy as my wife, Ivana looks much better now. Migual put her in a deep sapphire blue dress, although I suppose it’s the only one he could find on such short notice.
There’s only one reason I’m doing this —because I haven’t been able to get my rocks off since Elena left. Every time I get somewhat close, something throws a wrench in it and I go soft like I’m a middle-aged man struggling with erectile dysfunction.
There’s just one plan I have with Ivana, to use her like I used all the women before her. To have her fill a void in me that I should’ve never let any woman burrow their place in. Elena did, and now look at me. I’m nothing but a fucking mess.
“Migual, leave.” I order, waiting for my right hand man to head up the stairs and leave me alone with my newest toy. Here’s to hoping burying myself between a look alike will somehow feel like the same thing.
