3. His Doll

"𝔗𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔢 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔡𝔦𝔡, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔩𝔢𝔱 𝔪𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔫𝔶𝔴𝔞𝔶."

— 𝔈𝔡𝔤𝔞𝔯 𝔄𝔩𝔩𝔞𝔫 𝔓𝔬𝔢

[CAMI]

I wake up with a groan, my back sore, my legs too stiff to move. After blinking a few times, I notice the ceiling isn’t familiar at all. Propping myself up on my elbows, I lift myself, wincing. The dull throb in my head won’t stop. 

What the fuck is this place? 

I’m on a large round bed covered with the softest mattress, covered in a smooth red blanket, a water fountain being the view in front of me through floor to ceiling high windows. The light in the room is warm, just perfect—something I imagined I’d have in my apartment some day. 

But this is not my apartment, and I absolutely do not remember coming here. 

I dig my fingers into my hair, shutting my eyes to focus. To remember. 

It all rushes back in like an acid reflux. 

The strange man in the hat. Being grabbed from behind, smelling something that knocked me out. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Where’s Daniel? 

I’m still in my oversized t-shirt. But my wrists are itching, and there are red marks on it. My throat is parched. I was tied up. 

Why would anyone kidnap me? I don’t even have anything on my name yet. It’s too soon. 

I kick my feet off the bed, and walk out, pushing aside the glass windows and stepping into the fancy patio. It’s dark outside, and it’s cool. Droplets from the fountain patter on my bare feet, while the mist kisses my face. 

This doesn’t look like a nightmare, but a dream. I’m not even sure if I want to escape. 

If Claire heard me now, she’d punch me to my senses. 

But this means I don’t have to show up in my office. 

Stop it, Cami. You should be terrified. You should be pissing your pants. 

Maybe I took a vacation somewhere and forgot about it. 

“You’re awake,” a deep voice calls from behind. 

I flinch, turning on my heels too soon. It’s the same man from my apartment. He looks hideous now. And dangerous. And I’m pretty sure he has a gun in one of the pockets of that jacket. I should’ve run when I had the chance. 

Maybe I can still make it. 

My thoughts must show on my face because the man quickly follows with, “Nah. Don’t even try. It’s a 100 feet fall from there.” He points behind me, prompting me to turn. It’s a grass hedge—a fence or something, and beyond it is the open sky. And there’s the sea beneath it. This house is on the edge of a fucking cliff. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen now—you will behave, woman. As long as you do, no one will hurt you,” he says calmly. 

I stutter, feeling the terror finally kick in, “Why am I here?” I have no idea what awaits me. Death, or something worse. 

“And no questions,” he blissfully adds. 

I shake my head. “Where’s Daniel?” my voice breaks. 

The man answers, “The boy we found? May God rest his soul. He wasn’t brave though. Said he had nothing to do with you. Said he barely knew you. But we couldn’t let him go.”

Cold floods my veins. This is real. But I can’t believe it. This isn’t happening to me. 

“Is this some sick joke?” I fire, lunging at him foolishly. 

He stops in his tracks, then turns and grabs my face, his nails digging into my cheeks. “No questions,” he repeats, drilling a glare at me. Then with a smirk he continues, “Zeke will enjoy breaking you. He’ll savor having someone with a little fire in their veins. I could’ve had you myself if I had the chance.”

He lets me go with a cruel push, pressing my face hard so it hurts. My fingers brush over my cheeks where I’m sure I’ll have red prints. I let out a little groan but it doesn’t make him budge or turn back. He goes back into the room and locks the door behind him. 

I draw in a breath, feeling my body shudder in fear. 

Who is Zeke? And what does he mean—

I need to run. I need to get the fuck out of here. 

Before I can think, before I can even breathe, the door swings open. The woman who steps inside is in her late forties, her sharp eyes raking over me like I’m something to be inspected and discarded. There’s no pity in her gaze, just cold indifference. 

I don’t bother pleading. I know she won’t help me. But what can I do except obey—until I find my chance to escape?

Claire will know I’m gone. When I don’t text her, she’ll show up at my apartment. Daisy will tell her I never made it to work. They’ll look for me. They have to.

“Will you come back in, or will I have to drag you?” Her voice is sharp, ruthless. 

I flinch and swallow down my fear, walking briskly to her with my head down. Submission for now. Survival first.

She sneers. “What a pretty face.” The words are spat, not a compliment but an insult wrapped in mockery. Her hands are rough as she shoves me down onto the chair in front of the dressing table. “I don’t see why Elio thinks you need dressing up—or why I’m the one stuck with the job. The Don doesn’t give a damn what you’re wearing.”

“The Don?” I repeat, my voice a weak whisper. 

She laughs, a short, cruel sound. “The Don, yes. Where did that father of yours stick you? You look like you’ve had a tough life. A wild thing.” 

I freeze. My father? No, that can’t be right. My mother never told me about my father. I never knew him. Not even a name, forget a face. 

“You know who my father is?” I blurt out. 

Her fingers twist into my hair, yanking my head back sharply. Pain blooms across my scalp. “You talk too much, girl,” she snaps. Then, with a huff, she thrusts a dress at me. “Put this on. It won’t stay on for long anyway.”

Her words turn my stomach, but it’s the dress that makes my hands shake. Red. Short. A slit up the thigh. A dress meant to be looked at.

I don’t move.

She clicks her tongue, irritated. “Hurry up! You don’t keep the Boss waiting.”

When I still don’t react, she grabs my shirt, yanking at it. Instinct kicks in—I shove her back.

The slap lands before I can blink. A crack of skin against skin. The sting explodes across my cheek, sharp, hot, humiliating. My ears ring, tears burn in my eyes.

“How dare you,” I hiss, my voice shaking with rage.

She scoffs, unbothered. “What a marvel. Someone with a spine! Too bad I won’t get to see the fun.”

The words chill me to the bone.

I want to fight. I want to rip that smug expression off her face, slam her head against the wall until it cracks apart. But I don’t. I grit my teeth, tasting blood where I bit my tongue, and I take the dress.

“There,” she says once I’ve put it on, stepping back to admire her work. She tilts her head, running a finger through my hair. “Like a doll. Is that hair real? It looks like a doll’s.”

I breathe through the fury clawing up my throat.

She grabs my arm. Her grip is iron.

She directs me out of the room, into a hallway that surrounds a faux garden, flashing yet another water fountain. The floor is marble, polished. The walls high and sleek. I don’t see an exit anywhere. If I run, I’ll be caught in no time. 

I still don’t believe this is real.

We round a corner, before she knocks at a door. I hold my breath. 

It opens into a room with panelled wood and lush carpets which smells of cigarettes and alcohol. The man from earlier is inside, sitting on one of the leather couches. But it is the man behind the table who catches my attention. He has his back to me, but something about the way he sits makes my blood run cold. Those shoulders are impossibly broad, and the very air around him feels dangerous from a distance.

My heart thumps. 

I just know that he’s the trouble. The Boss. 

“She’s here,” the man from the couch says, getting to his feet. He has a pleased smile on his face. “I delivered, Boss.”

The chair spins, revealing a face that makes my jaw drop. 

The resemblance is surreal, and it takes me a few seconds to be sure. But it is him. The guy I fucked in the hospital washroom eight years ago. Only he looks a lot more… dangerous. And ruggedly sexy—with muscles in his arms that threaten to rip the fabric of his shirt. 

It clicks for him too, because I notice how his eyes narrow, one of which now bears a scar—a line that travels to the side of his chiselled, hard jaw. He leans forward on his elbows, watching me in silence. I see the whole thing replay in his eyes. The slap is what makes him finally smirk. 

“Less than 24 hours, Elio. You’ve done it,” he says, his voice deeper than I remember. “You’ve stayed true to your words.”

The man nods, and I see it now—the nervous edge in the way he stands. Like he’s afraid. 

Zeke. That's his name. That’s the guy I never thought I’d see again. But here he is. And he had me abducted for? Something that happened eight years ago? 

Zeke stands, walks around the table, and then leans back against its edge. The man who’s been standing this whole time by his side clasps his hands behind his back, smirks. “So tell me, Elio… she is Vance’s daughter? You’re sure?”

Elio nods again, his feet shifting impatiently. “Yes, Don. She’s the one he’s kept cleverly hidden. Until now.”

Zeke’s gaze lands back on me, freezing me in place. I don’t like the way he looks at me. Like I’m something he owns. “And she hasn’t been hurt on the way back here? She wasn’t tortured?”

Elio exhales shakily. “Of course, not, Don. She will be your wife, after all. She’s yours to harm and torture. I hope I’m done here. I would like to ask for your leave.”

“I’m not done yet,” Zeke announces, not taking his eyes off me as he walks to me. He’s barely a few inches from my face when he stops, towering over me. I strain my neck from looking at him, refusing to break contact. When he reaches up to touch my split lip, I flinch, clenching my jaw. He has seen the red blotch on my cheek. “What happened to your face, Doll?”

The woman behind me tenses, quickly clambering forward to answer, “She’s so fair. She blushes too easily. Truly a doll, Don.”

I don’t let it slip. “Did you forget? You slapped me. And you threatened to do it again.”

Zeke wasn’t expecting me to speak. I know that from the way his eyes slightly widen. “Is that true, Mrs. Mancini?”

From the corner of my eyes, I watch her swallow hard, fear flooding her eyes. 

That’s enough admission of guilt. 

Zeke clicks his tongue, humming as he turns away. His voice has a dangerous edge when he says, “You should’ve told your wife, Elio. No one touches what’s mine.”

Something seems to take over Elio. He shakes his head profusely, pleading, “It was a mistake! She won’t do it again.”

Zeke nods once. “Oh, but punishment is necessary,” he claims plainly, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a gun. He clicks the trigger and it goes off, lodging a bullet right in the centre of Elio’s forehead. 

He drops to the floor, stilling immediately. 

His wife lets out a yelp, and falls to her knees. 

I don’t hear her cries after that, just a ringing silence in my ears as my eyes meet Zeke’s again, my body breaking out into a cold sweat. 

I’m fucked.