Chapter 6

I've been in this hellhole for six days.

At least I think so.

I've been moved to a different room days ago so it's hard to keep track when there are no windows, or a damn clocks, but at least I get a locked door. The random intervals of when they bring food is absolute insanity. Dinner, lunch and breakfast is served sometimes in the middle of the night or even in the middle of the day.

It's all blurred into one long stretch of confusion. Sometimes I hear footsteps in the hallway, but that doesn't help with the time.

I am crouched down by the sink, water drips from my naked body but I ignore it. I am on a mission. The sound of my breath echoes in my ear as I hastily make a small singular scratch into the cardboard roll. One line for today. They are six tallies now. That's all I have.

It's strange, how the days stretch and bend, like rubber, until everything feels like it's been forever.

Today's slower than usual, the kind of slow that makes the air feel heavy. I wonder if I'll ever get used to this. I am still crouched over scratching away at the flimsy roll, trying to make the sixth tally, when I hear it the sound of the lock turning.

It's soft at first but in this silence, it may as well be thunder.

My spine straightens on instinct as my hands scramble to hide the roll back under the sink. I manage to press it back flat against the cool tiles and barely make it up to my feet when the door creaks open.

He's here again.

The same man from three days ago. No knock. No warning. Just his dark shadow spilling into the room before he does.

I don't know his name, but I know the look in his eyes. Cold. Detached. It's like I'm just a thing in his world, a puzzle he's trying to figure out though I'm starting to think that maybe I'm not the one he needs to be so focused on.

I figured he was the one calling shots from the moment I was sold to him.

Not because of some grand entrance or flashy display, it was in the silence that followed him. The way the others paused, like the air itself was waiting for his next move. That was Day One. And now, six days later, I'm even more sure.

He speaks like someone who's used to obedience, with that slight Italian accent curling around his words like a slithering viper. And the others? They obey him before he finishes speaking.

Me? I simply don't give a fuck.

I cross my hands in front of me as I stand straight and proud, trying not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me scramble.

He looks me over, not bothered by my nakedness, like he's seen it a hundred times before.

"This door remains open," the man says in a flat voice. It's clear but with a twinge of Italian accent.

. Over the last few days, I've heard him switch between languages--- Italian, Russian, and once, even a trace of something I couldn't quite place.

I raise an eyebrow. "Why? You want me to give your guard a daily strip tease?"

His eyes narrow for a moment, and I think I see a flash of amusement before it's gone and replaced by that same cold indifference. His mouth had twitched like he wants to smile but won't let himself. It's working. He thinks I'm flippant. Careless. Maybe a little mouthy, but certainly not a threat.

Good, it will be his downfall.

The man takes a step closer, then leans against the doorframe.

"I'm the only one who has the key to this room," he says, matter-of-factly.

"Well, that's reassuring," my tone drips with sarcasm.

!

"What are you doing in here bella?"

I shrug nonchalantly. "What does it look like, genius? Took a shower."

I grab the towel and slowly wrap it around my body. I do it with purpose as I hold his gaze, daring him to say something.

He doesn't. Instead, he steps inside the bathroom and his dark eyes scan the small space. The air changes when he moves. I feel it, like he's filling up every inch of the room, taking up all the limited space.

"You don't strike me as someone who follows rules," he notes. It's not curiosity. It's... acknowledgment.

I shrug, trying to act like I've got it all together, even though my heart is pounding too loudly in my ears. "I wasn't aware there were any rules."

His lips curl in a hint of a smile, but it's empty like he's already bored. He eyes me again and tilt his head just slightly.

"You've been quiet, you know. Most of the girls scream, cry... beg. You? You've been... watching."

I stand a little taller, pushing back against the corner of the sink. "Maybe I'm just trying to figure out what's going on here. Maybe I'm waiting for you to tell me."

He doesn't answer right away. I don't know if I'm supposed to feel relieved or even more terrified.

"You think I'm just gonna break?" I narrow my eyes. "Maybe I'm not the one who needs to be worried."

His lips curl slightly. It's not a smile, but it's something that could be interpreted as one if you squinted hard enough.

"No," he shrugs, unfazed by the sentence. "Maybe you're right but regardless this door stays open. Now hurry and get dressed,"

My brows shoot up, the motion is automatic. Suspicion starts to flare in my chest. I haven't been able to leave this place since I got here... well not unless dragged or someone decided I was worth moving.

"Why?" I narrow my eyes.

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he turns his back to me like the question doesn't deserve his attention. He heads straight for the bedroom closet.

I follow him into the room, each step is cautious but not completely out of fear just more so calculation.

He flings something at me. A register the flash of blue, I barely manage to catch before it hits the ground. I analyze the fabric, it's a short sleeveless dress--- the kind of thing you wear when you're being paraded around.

"Affrettarsi," his eyes flash with coldness and I can feel his patience thinning now. "Get dressed."

I hold the dress up between us. "This is absurd. I need underwear."

"No time," the man snaps. "Just put the fucking dress on."

I press my lips together, swallowing my smart-ass reply that might piss him off more. Whatever's going on, it's not normal. He's tense, wound tight like something's gone wrong or is about to.

I silently do as I'm told, sliding the dress over my wet naked skin. I have no bra or panties, just vulnerability disguised in blue fabric.

He opens the door, nodding at the guard outside. The man acknowledges him with a subtle nod, a hand rest on the gun strapped over his shoulder. He moves like it's second nature... like it belongs there more than a limb.

I can feel the tension in the air. The walls seem to press in tighter with every step, every turn, until we reach a part of the mansion I didn't know existed. It's dimmer, colder and the air tastes metallic. I can hear grunting and Italian curses from beyond a heavy wooden door.

My heart races with possibility of what lies beyond it as dread crawls up my throat.

Without warning, the man opens the door and shoves me inside.

I stumble but catches myself just in time before I could fall.

The room is chaos.

A man is sprawled on the floor with blood soaking through his white button-down shirt and seeping into the cracks of the stone tile. His face is pale and lips are already tinged with blue, but even though he's bleeding out fast there's still life in his eyes. A bullet hole seems to be in his chest but I don't have much time to assess the situation because my gaze wanders to the Ice King's sister who is cradling this man's head in her lap. Her hand is over the wound, desperately trying to stop the bleeding, but it's useless.

"Antonio!" she screams, her voice is raw, full of terror and anguish. Her fingers are covered in blood as she presses harder against the wound, but it's clear--- there's not much she can do at this point. His life is slipping away, and nothing short of a miracle will save him now.

I take a step closer, unsure of what's expected of me. The Ice King is still behind me, cold and detached as ever, watching the scene unfold without so much as a flicker of emotion on his face.

"You're going to save him," his voice is a command that leaves no room for negotiation.

My mind is racing. What the fuck? Being a former nurse doesn't make me a damn surgeon or a miracle worker. I can change a dressing, start an IV, maybe even assist in a trauma situation--- but this?

This is a bullet wound, straight to the chest and he's fading fast.

The Ice King's glare is still drilling into the side of my face like I'm supposed to magically pull a defibrillator out of my back pocket and save the day.

"I... I can't," I stammer, glancing at the man on the floor. His body is shaking as he struggles to breathe. "He needs a hospital. He needs---"

Before I can finish, the sharp click of a gun being cocked cuts through my words. I freeze as my blood runs cold.

The Ice King's expression hasn't changed much, he's still calm and unreadable but the threat in his eyes is unmistakable. The metal that kisses the side of my head, is cold and absolute.

I don't dare move or even breathe too hard in fear of ticking him off.

"You let him die," he says quietly, "and I start with you bella."

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