Chapter five

"Let go of me!" I protested, my voice echoing through the hallways as I was dragged towards my future husband. It had been a year since Viktor's passing, and life had been anything but peaceful. 

Desperate to escape the fate that awaited me, I kicked and screamed as the guard hauled me down the stairs and into one of my uncle's studies. The impact of being thrown onto the wooden floor reverberated through my aching body.

As the door was secured with a click, my heart sank. Trapped once again, there was no escaping what was to come. For the past year, I had savoured my freedom, relishing the lack of abuse and control that I had endured for so long. But now, history was destined to repeat itself, and I was powerless against it.

As the door creaked open, my senses were heightened in anticipation of danger. The two figures that appeared were cloaked in black, exuding an ominous presence that made me recoil.

"Time to go," the man with piercing brown eyes stated, his voice cold and unyielding. But I refused to budge, curling into myself protectively.

I was not going to be taken, to be a pawn in someone else's twisted game. The two men exchanged a knowing look before closing in on me. Desperately, I scooted away from them, clutching onto the desk with every ounce of strength I had. "No! Don’t touch me!" I 

screamed, the desperation in my voice betraying the fear coursing through me. But they were unfazed, seizing me by the leg and wrenching me towards them. I struggled and thrashed, flailing wildly as a last resort. The man with icy blue eyes snatched my hands, twisting my arm with ease. I cried out in agony, unable to hold on any longer.

My limbs were seized by the invasive embrace of  brown-eyed man while his blue-eyed counterpart imprisoned my arms. Panic surged through my body as they hoisted me up, defying my writhing resistance.

"Let me go!" I roared in defiance, all too familiar with the suffocating terror of being touched by a man. The haunting memories of my past came flooding back, filling me with a lethal cocktail of scars and trauma.

My abductors marched me down the corridor, their grip tightening with every laboured breath I took. As we entered one of my uncle's studies, I knew I was in deep trouble.

"I said let me go!" I screamed, my body fighting like a fish in a net. But my struggle only served to excite them.

With a swift kick, the door gave way and my body was hurled onto the unforgiving ground once again. Despite the pain, I sprang to my feet and lunged towards the door, desperate for escape.

But the chilling sound of an ominous voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Enough with this nonsense Irena!"

With tears streaming down my face, I gazed down at my bare feet, feeling exposed and vulnerable. My once perfect dark hair now tangled and covered half my face, and my makeup ruined from the salty tears that fell freely. Dressed in a figure-hugging long-sleeved pink dress and black heels, I felt like a prisoner in my own skin. My heels were lost somewhere in the house, scattered in the chaos of the struggle against the man who had carried me against my will. 

Trying to catch my breath, I lifted my head and locked eyes with my cold-hearted Uncle Greg. His dark brown eyes burned into my skin as he stood tall and imposing in his navy-blue suit. Despite his neatly groomed salt and pepper beard and sunburn patches, he exuded an air of intimidation that made my heart race with fear.

My Uncle Anatol's unblinking gaze was fixed on me, his middle and index fingers wrapped snugly around a splendid Cuban cigar. Despite his youthful age of thirty-three, his imposing figure towered over me like a colossus. He possessed piercing blue eyes and dark blonde hair, yet a clean shaven face gave him a boyish aspect. His impeccable black suit spoke of his dominance within our elite family.

Unbeknownst to me, Greg had been silently approaching me with a menacing stride. His simmering rage was palpable. "You little brat!" he snarled before I could flinch, his palm connected with my cheek. The force of the slap jolted my head sharply off to the side. 

"Your fiancé is within earshot, and yet you're out here being a brat. Do you know what kind of disgrace you're bringing upon our family name?" Greg spoke with venomous malice, his words laced with disgust for me. He couldn't help but chastise me for my behaviour,

"If your dim-witted guards hadn't laid a hand on me, I wouldn't have been creating such a scene!" I glowered back at him defiantly, enraged by his condescending tone. I refused to be lectured, especially when I knew I was not at fault. My anger festered and erupted like a volcano, as I retorted with my own fiery words. Our argument was interrupted by the abrupt entrance of my Uncle Ian, with a stranger in tow. 

However, my focus was fixated on Greg.

Greg's eyes darted away from me to Ian and the stranger who had just entered the room. His fingers tightened around my arm like a vice, making my skin crawl. I attempted to pull away, but his grip only grew more insistent, as if warning me not to move an inch.  My stomach churned with unease as I watched the interaction between the men unfold. I glanced down at my bare feet, hoping to disappear into the ground beneath me. The tension in the room was suffocating, and I wished I could melt away into nothingness. 

"Saint," Greg's voice broke through my thoughts, pulling me back to reality. He yanked on my arm, dragging me towards Ian and the stranger. My eyes remained cast downwards, heart hammering in my chest. 

"Greg," a voice like ice replied. It sent a shiver down my spine, and I slowly lifted my gaze to meet the piercing stare of the speaker.

In front of me lies a frozen wasteland, void of any hint of feeling or life. His eyes resemble the hues of the towering trees of a mythical forest, with emerald green threads encircling his irises. His nose is regal and his angular cheekbones point towards a chiselled jawline, 

adorned with the scruff of sandpaper. His inky hair, cared for so meticulously, has a mesmerising ripple that speaks volumes about his healthy lifestyle.

And in those enigmatic eyes, there is an alluring power, dark and wicked with a hint of danger.

He glances at me through a veil of mystery, and his eyes rove over my form as if I am a captive bird, ensnared by his gaze. Though I try to break free, Greg's grip tightens around me, causing pain to spurt through my body.

"Why does she look like she’s been scavenged from the streets ?" Saint questions, now directing his stare to Greg.

Greg's lips contort into a firm slash as he fixes his gaze on Saint, as if daring him to question his words.

"Forgive us, Saint. We're having a bit of a trying morning with Miss Nowak. She's in a rebellious mood, it seems to be her time of the month," he mutters the last bit under his breath.

I furrow my brows in perplexity.

Lair. 

A sinewy fiber in Saint's jaw bristles as he sharpens his glare on Greg, whose face is now damp with perspiration.

"Your attempt at an apology falls as flat as a deflated balloon, Greg. Your confident promise of her polished and well-behaved demeanour has left me standing here, facing a woman who appears as though she's just been through a brawl with a wildcat. Your words have proven to be as empty as a fucking dry well, Greg." Saint declared, taking a menacing step towards Greg who stood frozen next to me. 

"Tell me, is this your plan to humiliate and disrespect me?" Saint probed, his eyes piercing into Greg's. Greg jolted back, emitting a nervous laugh in response.

As I observed the exchange between my uncle’s and Saint, my mind wandered. I had never seen them display fear before. They were notorious for their unyielding demeanour, emotionless and unbreakable. Seeing them tremble in front of one another was an unexpected twist that caught my attention.

“No, no—” 

“Why are you touching her like that?” His question pierced my senses like a knife, forcing me to look down at the hand wrapped tightly around my arm. It was as if a storm cloud had settled firmly on his forehead, his brows drawn together in a thick knot of concern. When our eyes met, Greg's grip fell away from me like a forgotten memory. I took a step back to distance myself from the men, rubbing the sore spot on my arm, bruising sure to follow.

My skin tingled with a deep-seated disgust. The feeling of being violated lingered like a sour taste in my mouth. Greg and his men had no sense of boundaries or respect for me. It was no wonder I acted the way I did.

Saint's fierce gaze burned into Greg's face, a fire raging in his eyes. Despite his cool and collected tone, there was no mistaking the snap in his voice. 

Greg's response was a mere excuse, full of thinly veiled disdain. "She was being a brat. I had to put her in her place," he explained, trying to justify his actions.

As I stood there, all eyes were fixed on me. My arms were tightly wrapped around my body as if they could protect me from the menacing men in the room. The air was thick with an aura of danger and I couldn't shake off the feeling of being unsafe, uncomfortable. These men were notorious for their cruelty and power and I found myself in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Women like me didn't belong in these grimy, nefarious businesses but somehow we were always drawn in, like a moth to a flame. It was a dirty lifestyle, filled with danger and unpredictability, yet we couldn't escape it.

I knew deep down that I was destined for this life - the mafia blood ran thick in my veins. My mother, born into poverty in her homeland of Morocco, knew this all too well. With her three brothers and one sister, she was the third youngest in the family. Her eldest brother, 

Fadoul, concocted a plan to make money for their struggling household and that's how it all began.

He suggested she take night shifts at nightclubs, working as a bartender. It paid a decent amount so my mother took the idea and started working at nightclubs. The payment was decent and the workplace sort of safe although there were a lot of criminals and paedophiles lurking in the bar but that didn’t stop her. She worked at the bar at eighteen and managed to learn and understand the concepts of her environment. For the past three years of working at the bar everything was going well until she met my father. 

Jan Nowak. 

My mother Fatima caught Jan’s eye. 

Jan charmed Fatima and swooped her off her feet. They were deeply in love and my mothers family approved of him because he had money and they saw it as an opportunity for him to help them out. 

They thought if Jan proposed to my mother they would all move to my dad's country and start a new life in Poland, what they didn’t know is that Jan was more than just a businessman on vacation.  

He was part of the Polish-American crime organisation groups. 

Two years in Morocco they both decided to take the next step since they have fallen deeply in love, eventually during their 3rd year as a couple Jan impregnated Fatima with me which caused issues because my mom did not know what she was getting herself into. 

My life story began on the sands of Morocco, but fate had other plans. As an infant, my family left those golden dunes behind, returning instead to the endless plains of Poland. It was a world away from the colourful bazaars and bustling souks of my birthplace.

As I grew, tragedy and tumult followed me like a shadow. My mother, desperate to protect me from my father's dangerous connections, attempted to flee with me, but paid the ultimate price. My father, drowning his sorrows in bottles of vodka, soon followed her to the grave, leaving me an orphan at the tender age of five.

No longer able to care for me, my father's brothers took me in, ushering me into a world of homeschooling and isolation. But even as the years passed, I remained an outsider - the shy girl in the back of the class, pitied by those around me.

It wasn't until my teenage years that my life started to shift. Two unlikely friends and a sweet new boyfriend brought brief moments of joy, but even those were not immune to heartbreak. In the end, I learned the hard way that not all love was pure, not all friends were true, and not all roads lead to happiness.

Just as I thought my life had reached a certain path, my uncles took me out of high school and threw me back into the world of homeschooling. Then fate intervened, in the form of Viktor, and six years later I stood before my new husband. But as much as I tried to embrace this new life, there were times when I couldn't help but wish for a different outcome. 

And now, as I trembled in front of Saint and Greg, I couldn't help but feel violated and alone. The sharp steps he took towards me were intimidating; I desperately wanted to take several steps back. But in that moment, with my heart racing and my mind racing even faster, I knew I couldn't let them see my fear. I had to be strong - for myself, and for anyone who might come after me.

As Saint strides towards me, my heart races, and my feet involuntarily back away. “You’ve been troubling your uncles.” His voice, deep and velvety with a French lilt. At this moment, I feel both vulnerable and defensive. My heart raced as his words struck a nerve, reminding me of the pain and hardships I had endured from these men my entire life.

But I refuse to cower before him, no matter our marital status. I will always stand up for myself, no matter the cost. “Why?” Saint demands an explanation.

As the tension mounts, his once eased demeanour grows cold and his jaw clenches in frustration. I stood in silence, determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing the truth. Saint's expression darkened, and his voice grew hoarse with annoyance. He seethed, "Irena, I'm talking to you."

The heat between us is palpable, crackling with unspoken words and unresolved tension.

A sheepish sensation crept beneath my skin, drumming my pulse with intensity. It felt as if my heart was a thunderous storm, striking against my chest with all its might. My inner thoughts begged to be swallowed by the earth and never wake from my slumber. 

Before me stood my soon-to-be husband, his eyes gawking in expectation. The mere thought of speaking made my head spin, and the silence offered no solace either. Either way, consequences loomed. 

Perhaps it is best to remain silent. I can weather the wrath of my uncles, but Saint's fury was another tale entirely.

As Saint's penetrating gaze fixed on my uncles, I couldn't help but feel a shiver run down my spine. “Does this woman even speak?” His tone was laced with annoyance, sending my heart racing with nervousness. I immediately averted my gaze, staring down at my newly painted toes, hoping to disappear into oblivion. 

But to my surprise, Uncle Ian let out a low chuckle, breaking the uneasy silence. "Don't be fooled by her quiet demeanour, Saint," he teased, his playful tone in stark contrast to Saint's severity. "She talks enough to give us all a headache. You'll see, once she gets comfortable with you."

Compared to Greg and Anatol, Uncle Ian rarely shows me a tough side. Usually, he keeps to himself and doesn't bother with me as long as I don't meddle in his affairs. Keeping a respectful distance from him earns me his favour.

Saint's piercing stare bore into me, sending shivers cascading down my spine. I couldn't bring myself to meet his glance, but I could feel the weight of his gaze like a physical force. 

Half of me longed to curl up in a ball and give in to defeat, whilst the other was determined to stand my ground and prove my worth. To show him that I was so much more than a mere feisty woman. 

"Look at me," Saint commanded, his voice low and menacing, sending my heart into overdrive. 

Forcing myself to raise my eyes, I was met with those same intimidating orbs - like a predator eyeing up its prey. Ready to pounce. 

"Leave," he ordered the others around us, never once breaking his hold over me.

My chest is a battlefield, my heart pounding like the drums of war. I've never been so desperate for my uncles to stay, to shield me from this dangerous man. But even with them by my side, I can't shake the feeling that I'm a lamb among wolves.

I've never trusted anyone, and Saint is no exception. His name alone sends shivers down my spine, and I know that he's capable of anything. My uncles may be my blood, but they will literally sell me for a pot of gold. They can't guarantee my safety when faced with the likes of Saint.

Betrayal is nothing new to me. Even when I showed them the proof of Viktor's disgusting deeds, my uncles dismissed my pleas for help with accusations of lies and attention-seeking. But now, as I stand before Saint, I feel the full weight of their betrayal.

My uncles are hesitant to leave me alone with Saint, but he won't have it. His growling voice is a warning that sends me reeling, and I know that I'm in for a battle of a different kind.

As the rest of the room dissipated, leaving only Saint and myself, a sense of unease crept over me. Suddenly, Saint was upon me, seizing my neck and drawing me in close. His breath, tinged with the freshness of mint, washed over my face, intoxicating and menacing all at once. 

A dark look engulfed Saint's eyes as he cocked his head ever so slightly, studying me with a scrutinising gaze. I could feel the weight of his scrutiny bearing down on me.

Suddenly, an overwhelming desire to vomit rose up inside me. The thought of anyone touching me made my skin crawl. But somehow, Saint had sensed my disgust, and a frown creased his forehead in response.

“Did your uncles forget to teach you manners?” Saint’s voice flowed like a tranquil river on a moonlit night, but his touch was suffocating me. My body froze and my mind went blank, struggling to find a response. His fingers dug deeper into my neck, crushing my windpipe and stealing my breath. 

I felt sickened by his touch, a feeling that twisted my insides. “Answer me.” His words dripped like honey, slow and sticky as he increased the pressure around my fragile throat, cutting off my air supply. 

My heart jolted into my throat as tears blurred my vision. I tried to push him away, my hands grasping at his face in desperation. But the harder I struggled, the tighter his grip became, pulling me ever closer to the brink of unconsciousness. Each second felt like an eternity as the world around me slipped away. 

My gasps for air fell on deaf ears, as my lungs begged for relief.

Facing him is like taking on a titan, but I refuse to cower. I may be a lamb, but I'll bite back like a fierce lioness. Instinct kicks in and my nails claw at his skin, drawing blood as I scratch him across the face. Saint releases his tight grip around my throat and I gasp for air. He snarls in fury, covering his now bleeding eye with a vengeful hand. My heart races as I catch my breath, rubbing my sore neck. The battle may be uneven, but I won't back down.

With steely determination, Saint unclenched his jaw, slowly lifting his hand away and revealing a crimson river trickling down his face. My eyes bulged in disbelief as I took in the wound I had inflicted, a jagged gash stretching from his left eye down to his cheek. As the implications of my actions hit me like a ton of bricks, I couldn't help but think that this would be a scar Saint would carry with him for a long time to come.

With deft movements, Saint produced a pristine handkerchief from his immaculate suit jacket, delicately dabbing at the blood that glistened on his rugged hands and face. I braced myself for the inevitable - his wrath, his rage, his violent outburst. But what came next was unexpected. A sinister, twisted smile curled at the corners of his lips, sending chills racing down my spine. This was no ordinary expression - it was the haunting grin of a demon, a warning of the darkness that lurked behind those cold, calculating eyes.

As I stared at him, my eyes wandered down his chiselled physique, avoiding his piercing gaze. It was then that my saccades halted abruptly. And when the realisation hit me, my pupils dilated in disbelief. 

A chilling sensation crept through my body as I gazed in utter revulsion at the prominent bulge between his legs. His gaze met mine, revealing a twisted and animalistic need that made my skin crawl.

Elegantly, Saint folded the handkerchief with a practised finesse and tucked it away, striding purposefully towards the door. His piercing gaze lingered on me for a fleeting moment, leaving a trail of icy shivers in its wake before he silently left the room, leaving behind a thick air of unease.