Chapter 3— Collateral: No escape

Valentina's POV

Tyres screamed against the asphalt, the sharp familiar screech as the car came to a halt. I froze, my limbs going numb as the car engine died and then all I heard was footsteps. Immediately, I stood to my feet, dashing to my window.

And there they were.

The two familiar figures I saw earlier today were here except guards were behind them and the lady was flicking a glistening knife in the air.

She turned and I dodged just before she could catch my frame. They shouldn't see me. I couldn't let them see me except the deal with Camila was settled.

Instantly, I dashed behind my bedframe, clutching my arms around myself, an action I used to do when I used to wait for my mum while she worked all day to care for me.

Immediately, I heard voices from the living room. “Don Nikolai,” I heard dad's voice.

“My payment or a bride, Harry. Which one do you have for me?” The calm, deep voice, followed.

“A bride.”

“Bring her.” The order came and all I heard was the clicking of shoes. I swallowed hard as I wondered what was next. What would Camila do? Throughout the day, dad was dressing her up but I knew for her to agree, she had a plan up her sleeves.

Perhaps she would mock the Don? Maybe she'll challenge him until he lets her go?

Silence reigned before I heard dad's frantic voice, “Camila!”

My brows raised. My eyes narrowed. What was happening? But still I stayed curled up in my room.

“Camila!” Her room was just beside mine so I could hear as they opened the door to her bathroom, then the voice came.

“She's not here.”

My eyes widened. A gasp escaped my lips as realization hit me. That was her plan. Escape. Runaway. How could she? When she already agreed? When dad already dressed her up? When the Don already said he'd come by midnight?

“Camila. No. She couldn't have ran,” I heard dad's trembling voice.

“Is this some form of trick?” The voice bellowed. “Three options, Harry,” the cold voice sliced the air and I gasped as something accompanied it. The cocking of a gun.

“A bride. My money. Or your life.”

“No, please,” dad's trembling voice filled the room. “Please.”

“The bride is gone. Choose, Harry,” the voice came in a cold smoothness, like steel wrapped in velvet. It was calm, unhurried and each word was delivered with precision. “Your life or my money.”

“A bride!” Dad screamed, his voice terrific, “A bride, Don Nikolai. I have two daughters!”

Two daughters. That means Camila and… me. No way! I shook my head at the realisation. Collateral. That's what I was about to be used for.

“What do you mean?” The voice was smooth, edged with something sharp beneath.

“I have two daughters. The actual one escaped. But there's one more. She's right in the next room.”

Dad's statement hit me, cold and brutal. Me. He was talking about me. Sweat rolled down my forehead as I glanced around the room, my heart palpitating. Then the order followed, “bring her.”

At the sound of footsteps, I knew they were coming for me.

At once I stood to my feet, my heart trembling, my hands shaky. If they took me, that means… I'll marry the Don, perhaps live a worse life than the one I've been living.

No… I couldn't let that happen.

I took my eyes around the room again before it rested on the window. I hurried to it even as my legs shook. I pulled it open instantly as the footsteps neared.

My eyes dwindled down as I breathed out while my chest shook. It was far… and I was about to jump that distance.

Footsteps clicked on the floor as I gathered courage. “You can do this, Valentina or you'll live a bad life,” I breathed out as I sat on the edges.

And just as the door was pushed open, I jumped.

Pain exploded through my legs the moment my feet hit the ground, sharp and immediate, tearing up from my ankles to my calves. My knees buckled on instinct as I crashed to the floor, a violent reminder that I wasn't used to such things.

I grabbed the wall immediately, forcing myself to stand and just as I raised my head, I met the eyes. The eyes of the lady.

We held eyes for a brief moment before she smirked, “she's trying to escape, Don!”

I forced myself forward instantly, my legs trembling beneath me as I forced myself to move.

To escape.

As I passed Camila's room, a knotted rope of clothes dangled from her bathroom's window.

That's what she used to escape. Leaving me to face this ordeal.

I dragged my weak legs along, half running, half stumbling. Each step was wrong, uneven, agony shooting up my calves and just as I staggered, I heard the dull echoing thump.

I turned instantly to see the lady.

My eyes widened at the realisation that she had jumped from the same window and was standing on her two legs. And she was coming after me.

I pushed myself to keep running but it didn't take long before the fingers curled around my arms. “That's enough games, Princess.”

“I am not a princess,” I protested as I twisted in her arms, “please let me go. Please let me go.” I dropped to my knees instantly, “I'm not the actual bride. Please just let me go.”

“The Don will decide,” she harshly said and before I knew it, I was being dragged along right to the compound I had just tried to escape from.

My eyes rested on the car they brought even as tears brewed in my eyes. I didn't know much about cars but I knew enough to know the car they brought screamed wealth.

Bodyguards were waiting at the entrance, burly men dressed in the same black attires like their bosses.

“Please,” I pleaded again when my tears finally dropped as we reached the entrance but the lady's arm was tightly curled around mine, with no intention of ever letting me go.

She dragged me forward immediately and pushed the door open and there they were; dad on his knees, a guard holding a gun to his head.

I broke into tears before I finally took my eyes to him— the Don. He sat sophisticated on the sofa, broad shoulders framed in fabric that seemed to absorb the light.

His eyes found me— and they stayed.

Dark. Not empty but calculating, amused. Like he was already measuring the weight of my worth. They lingered on me, the intensity of his stare making my insides curl.

He was different from every man I had ever known. He stood and at once my gaze dropped to the floor.

“She's here, Don,” the lady beside me muttered and at once, her hand drove to my back as she was about to force me to my knees.

“What are you doing, Isa?” His voice came, his steps echoing on the concrete as he stepped forward. “Don't make my bride kneel.”