CHAPTER 6: THE FUNCTION

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, soft and gentle. Natasha woke to the feeling of warmth and comfort. Her hand moved slowly across the bed, luxuriating in the softness. It was the best bed she'd ever slept on in the last five years. The sleep had been deep and dreamless and healing.

Then reality crashed back in.

She was in a killer's den. She had to escape. She had to find a way to get out of this place and reclaim her freedom. But first, she needed to bathe and think about the present. Escape could wait until she had a solid plan.

She went to the bathroom, switched on the warm bath, and went through her routine. The water was perfect. Everything in this penthouse was perfect. Everything except the man who owned it.

She got out, dried off, and wore a simple dress from the wardrobe that had been stocked for her. Designer clothes. Expensive shoes. Everything tailored to her size and taste. It was beautiful and suffocating at the same time.

She stepped into the hallway to explore. It was long and elegant, lined with expensive art and soft lighting. There were two rooms beside hers and one at the far edge of the hallway.

As she was admiring the space, the room at the edge opened.

She jolted backward. It was him.

Dimitri came out of his bedroom, and he hadn't noticed her presence yet. He was wearing a brown expensive coat, but his inner shirt was unbuttoned at three buttons. She could see his toned, heavy chest as he buttoned his coat's wrist button. His long black hair was tousled, falling slightly across his forehead. She could see a tattoo on his neck, something dark and intricate that looked dangerous.

She swallowed hard. Why did he have to look like that this morning? Why did he have to be so impossibly attractive when he was also impossibly terrifying?

He raised his head and smirked. He'd caught her staring.

She looked away immediately, her face flushing.

"See who's awake," he said, his voice filled with amusement.

He snorted and walked toward the elevator.

"Are you joining?" he asked casually.

"No," she said defiantly, shaking her head. "I would rather take the stairs."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

By the time she reached the bottom of the staircase, she was breathing hard. It was sure tiring. She should have gone with the elevator. But the thought of being in that enclosed space with him made her stomach twist.

The maids met her around the dining table, where food was already set. They escorted her to the table, and she had no choice but to sit opposite him. She began eating, keeping her eyes on her plate. He was reading a newspaper, a cigarette burning on a small tray beside him.

She heard him chuckle, a sound like he was angry about something he'd read.

"Alexei," he called out.

Alexei appeared instantly, bowing. Natasha rolled her eyes. Why did all of them fear him so much? Was he some kind of god?

"Drag the bastard to the warehouse," Dimitri commanded. "He needs questioning."

Natasha shook her head. Another person was about to die because of this man's whims.

Minutes later, he stood up. The maids rushed to clear his table. He was leaving.

Natasha stood up suddenly. "Will I be leaving today?" she asked, her voice hopeful.

He turned at her, rage written all over his face. It made her cower.

"I made myself clear," he said coldly. "You will not leave this penthouse without my permission. And if you try, you're dead."

He was about to leave when he paused.

"Get prepared," he ordered. "We're going to a function this evening."

He finalized and walked out, his men following like shadows.

Natasha was dumbfounded. A function? She was never going anywhere with that murderer.

In the warehouse, Dimitri sat across from a man in his forties. The man was wounded, his body covered in injuries from being beaten. He was on his knees, begging for his life, claiming he never signed any agreement.

Dimitri stretched his hand and was given a newspaper. He grinned as he showed the man the paper. The man's face went white. There was a photograph of him on the front page, evidence of his involvement in a sabotage operation.

The man got shocked. He wasn't expecting to be exposed like this.

"I did it for you," the man said desperately, trying to save himself with lies. "I did it for your purpose."

"Stop the fucking lie," Dimitri yelled, his voice cutting like a knife.

The man jolted and continued begging, his words tumbling over each other.

Dimitri brought out his gun and stared at it like it was something new. He looked at the wounded man.

"I could put this gun in your head and blow it off," he said casually. "And no one would look for you. No one would care."

The man begged even harder.

Dimitri laughed and returned the gun to his holster. He grabbed the man's shirt and pulled him close.

"Go to the police station," he ordered. "Turn yourself in. Take blame for all the sabotage. Or I kill you here."

The man, seeing an option for survival, scrambled to his feet.

"I'll turn myself in," he said. "I'll confess."

Dimitri raised an eyebrow, wiped his hands on the man's shirt, and ordered his men to drop him at the police station and report back to him.

He stood up and walked out with two men following.

As they left the warehouse, Alexei appeared with news.

"The drugs were exported successfully," he reported.

Dimitri nodded. "The Commissioner did well."

He was heading to his meeting with the board members in Montreal. Business never stopped. Not for anyone. Not even for a girl upstairs who refused to understand her place in his world.

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The maids were at her door, pestering her to get prepared for the function. They were fearing for their lives and their jobs because they knew the consequences of failing Dimitri's orders. Natasha had refused them repeatedly, telling them she wasn't dressing for some stupid function and she wasn't going anywhere with him.

But then she heard his voice downstairs, talking with people. Deep. Commanding. Dangerous.

She sat on her bed, expecting the worst to happen.

The door opened without any prior knocking. It jolted her.

There he was. In a white shirt that was tailored perfectly to his muscled body, looking hot like the devil himself.

Did she just think about hot? She must be stupid. She shook her head, trying to shake off the thought.

"Why did you not allow the maids to prepare you for the function?" he asked, his voice carrying a warning.

She ignored him. But after several minutes, she couldn't take the silence anymore.

She stood down from the bed. "Why should I follow you to a function? I'm not your partner or your wife. I have no reason to go anywhere with you."

He looked at her with those cold blue eyes. "Then be my wife."

He said it so casually. So straightforward. No emotion. No expression.

She froze. "What?"

"You said that for you to go to the function with me, you should be my wife," he repeated. "So be my wife."

She rolled her eyes. "You're twisting my words. I never said I wanted to be your wife. God forbid, who in her right mind would be a wife to some kind of mafia bastard or killer?"

The thought in her mind was clear. She would never marry him. She would never be his.

"I'm not going," she said firmly.

He chuckled. It was a low, dangerous sound. He walked toward her.

She moved backward immediately. "What are you doing?"

"I have no choice but to do this the hard way," he said.

He suddenly grabbed her hands and pinned her to the wall, her hands above her head. The movement was sudden, swift, and quick. Her heart started thumping wildly at the sudden action. He had that annoying smirk on his face. His face was close to hers now. Too close. Her knees went weak.

"What are you doing?" she stuttered.

His hands moved to her back. He found the zipper of her dress and began pulling it down slowly. So slowly that she became aware of  the cold air hitting her back

"I'm going to undress you and watch while the maids dress you," he said, his breath against her ear. "Or you allow the maids to do it without me here. Your choice."

What the hell was this lunatic doing?

She pushed him away with all her strength. "I'll dress up. I'll dress up!"

He smirked as he walked out. "I'll be expecting you in fifteen minutes."

She sat in front of the mirror, her face still burning with anger and something else she couldn't quite identify. Such a lunatic.

In fifteen minutes, she was done. She looked unrecognizable. Her hair was styled in waves that fell down her back. Her makeup was perfect, highlighting her features. Her dress was stunning, a deep red gown that clung to her curves and made her look like she belonged in a world of power and wealth.

Dimitri's eyes scaled her from head to toe when she came downstairs. His expression was calm and unreadable at the same time. But she could see something flicker in those cold blue eyes. Something possessive.

They were left in one of his expensive cars. No men followed. It was just the two of them. Silence filled the space between them. There was nothing to say.

The function was at a place she had once prayed to attend and never thought she could ever reach. The parking lot was filled with cars worth not less than a million dollars each. Men and ladies of high class walked in pairs, dressed in designer clothes and jewelry that probably cost more than her entire life.

She noticed people bowing down as he entered. He held so much aura. Of course, he was looking strikingly handsome as hell. She hated to admit that. Her hands were intertwined in his as they entered, and every eye in the room turned to them. People were wondering who she was to the mighty mafia king.

She was in a world where she didn't belong. The ceilings were impossibly high, decorated with crystal chandeliers that cast light like diamonds. The ballroom was filled with expensive art and marble columns. Waiters moved through the crowd with champagne and caviar. The music was classical, sophisticated, and intimidating.

When people asked who she was, he introduced her as his wife.

What the hell? Why was he giving them the impression that she was his wife?

Some ladies came to him, all seductive and flirty, looking at her like she didn't belong there. She didn't care. She hoped this stupid function would end quickly so she could be free from these judging eyes.

She rolled her eyes as she watched him spank the ass of some ladies who came for him. Were they all useless?

"I need to sit down," she told him.

She excused herself and walked to the bar, sitting on one of the stools. She ordered a light wine and sipped it slowly, observing the scene around her. Dimitri was engaged in discussion with rich people, his presence commanding the room. She felt envious and sighed.

Two men came toward her, sitting beside her with sheepish smiles. They greeted her politely, but within seconds, they became touchy. Their hands were on her arm, her back, her knee. Were all men so shameless like this?

She was about to step away from them when Dimitri appeared suddenly. He twisted the fingers of one of the men, and the man groaned in pain.

The other guy stood up and looked at him. "Just because you're some mafia god doesn't mean you have the right to stop us from bagging any lady here."

She saw the smirk. She'd seen that smirk before. In the warehouse. Right before he killed Viktor.

"No one touches my property," Dimitri said coldly.

The man laughed, drawing a few people's attention. "Nothing here is your property. No one fears you. You're just some bluff."

The room went silent. The evil smirk was still on Dimitri's face.

He pocketed his other hand and spoke slowly, each word dripping with lethal intent. "People who try to touch what is mine always die."

He moved swiftly. He grabbed a knife from the bar table and took the guy's hand. In one smooth motion, he stabbed the knife through the man's palm, pinning his hand to the wooden table.

The man screamed in agony as blood poured from the wound.

Natasha gasped in fright. People who saw this yelled in terror as they retreated from the scene, scattering like birds fleeing a predator.

Dimitri moved his hair backward, his chest heaving. He was really angry. His eyes were blazing with a fury she'd never seen before.

He looked at her.

Then he walked toward her, yanked her hand, and pulled her out of the function.

What the hell?