𝐋𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐢𝐦

[7] ᴛᴏʀᴛᴜʀᴇ

He slams his tight fist on the table and I slightly jump at the noise it makes.

"We're fucked," He buries his face in his hands.

"You've said that twice already,"

Nikolai shoots me imaginary daggers with his eyes and I take that as my sign to sit back and stay quiet. I've told him what happened over and over again after he asked me to repeat the story to make sure he wasn't hearing things. 

"Mikayla, we're going back." He stands up from his seat, heading for the pilot's door but I quickly run up in front of him, blocking the door.

"I'll go back, eventually,"

One of his eyebrows raises and I know he's thinking hard about something. 

"You have to be back by the wedding." 

I purse my lips as he goes back to sit down. 

I've been running from my problems for so long, I forgot what was standing right in front of my eyes. Like the life my father has worked so hard to build for me. The Romano's just swooped in and swept me off my feet, taking me into their territory but there is no way I will be going back. No matter how threatening the words coming out of Damien's mouth are. 

I find my seat again, leaning all the way back with my feet tucked under my legs.

When we land, the flight attendant opens the door and Nik and I walk out. I immediately start looking around the area for a sign as to where we are.

"Denver" Nik grimaces.

"Let's see if we can get some tacos" I cheerfully smile to myself.

Nikolai thinks american greasy food isn't actually food. 'It's a ton of bullshit on a plate' is what he would say.

I glance behind my shoulder, expecting him to give me a disgusted look but he's disappeared. 

A strong smell hits my nose and I feel myself getting nauseous and wanting to collapse.

"Sleep well, bella" Is what I hear before my consciousness is torn away from me.

»»———-　　———-««

I wake up on a damp, dirty floor with the only light source being a basement lamp. It takes me a couple of blinks to adjust to the brightness of the room.

The place I'm being held in doesn't even look like it's stable enough to keep on going for the next few weeks. The tiles are worn, there's leaks from the ceiling, causing the floor to get damp and the mold on the walls have grown too large. I wouldn't be surprised if the whole thing came crashing down on all of our heads.

I struggle to get up but I stop when I see a tray of food in front of my legs. 

Oats, soggy bread and tea as a meal? No thanks.

I kick the tray away from me and I groan loudly.

I hear the multiple locks on the door open and I roll my eyes.

"Not eating the food I gave you isn't going to make me get you nicer food," A familiar face with the same thick, Italian accent as Damien walks slowly down the basement stairs.

His dark green eyes once again meet with mine and I feel my chest tightening. The air around me becomes crisp and the oxygen in my lungs runs thin, making it harder to breathe.