The Deep End

Chapter 8

•Polina•

For the next month I'm on my best behavior. I don't fight Riot or Luca, I don't try to escape. I do as they say like a good little captive and I get stronger.

Every day Riot is the one to bring me breakfast and Luca brings me lunch and dinner. For both meals Luca brings he sits and eats with me when he's able to. We talk about my sisters and our childhoods. What it was like growing up in the criminal world we'd been born in. He always manages to make me smile somehow.

Riot started bringing me little gifts with him. Various books to read, puzzles, and even a coloring book and crayons. The books he brings are dog eared and well worn. It makes me wonder if they're his or if he's getting them from someone. It's hard for me to picture him sitting down and reading. A task like that seems so mundane for a man of his caliber.

After two weeks of good behavior they didn't make me wear the shackle anymore. I still write down information about the Bratva when I remember it but I think the well is starting to run dry. The thought worries me and makes me wish I would've paced myself, held out on some things for a while. Once they've got everything I'll be of no use to them and that's a troubling thought, especially since I still have no idea where my sisters are.

"Buongiorno, topolina." Riot greets me as he stalks down the steps.

(Buongiorno, topolina: good morning, little mouse)

He's still his usual psychopathic self but he hasn't used his knife on me since that day he cut my neck, he also hasn't threatened my sisters. My behavior has probably helped with those things.

Riot places my breakfast in front of me and I close the book I had been reading before sitting up. His eyes flick over the cover before meeting mine. "Are you enjoying that book?"

"It's okay, a little dark for my taste." I answer simply, picking up the fork and cutting a piece of pancake off the stack.

"Just okay?" He inquired, his brow furrowed.

I dip the slice of pancake in the cup of maple syrup, preferring to dip it instead of smothering my pancakes, and look up at him. "Yes. Why?" I stuff the bite in my mouth and hum at the delicious flavors. I study his face as realization hits me and quickly swallow the pancake so I can talk. "You like this book, don't you? This is your book?"

He scoffs as if offended over my blatant disbelief that he reads. "Of course it's my book, where do you think I got it?"

I shrugged in reply and cut another piece of pancake off with the fork. "Reading doesn't seem like it would be your thing."

Axe throwing or target shooting, those seemed like more fitting hobbies for him.

His jaw clenches. "Well it is. I've read that book more times than any other. I have multiple copies."

I shake my head as I think about what I've read so far. "But it's horrible. The dragon's fire is burning everyone alive. Khol, the poor village boy, watched his little sister burn to death." Tears brimmed my eyes. "She was clutching her teddy as the dragon fire consumed her little body."

I'll admit I cried when I read that chapter. God, it was awful. He was so close with his little sister, she was so sweet and he had to watch her burn. He didn't make it to her in time, I don't think he'll be the same after witnessing that.

A tear escapes and rolls down my cheek as I picture my little sister Sofia clutching a teddy bear as a beastly dragon flies by and burns her alive. This is why I don't read often. The emotions in the books nearly consume me, it's horrible. It's so hard for me to separate fiction and reality when it all plays out so clearly in my head.