The car groaned to a heavy stop, jerking Anastasia out of the seat. Her hands moved to the dashboard as she tried to steady herself.
The door suddenly opened before she could process it all. Strong hands grabbed her arm and pulled her out with a force that pushed her to the ground with a loud thud.
A gasp escaped her mouth, fear and anticipation grasped her as he bent to grab her arm again.
She crawled back swiftly, her elbow grazed against the concrete floor.
The wrangler jeep Anastasia went out in earlier drove in, halted behind Matteo's SUV. The two men jumped out, their steps hurried to stand behind Matteo.
"I'm sorry Boss," they chorused. They apologized for Anastasia's attempted escape.
Matteo's eyes didn't leave her trembling body. His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable, but he boiled with anger, an anger he tried to curtail.
"Take her and lock her up," he said, referring to his men.
One of them bent to grab her, but she struggled. She stumbled in his grip.
"Let go of me! Get your hands off me," she screamed. The sound of her own scream echoing in her ear.
The man's grip tightened with every resistance. He wrapped his callous hands around her like a vice.
Matteo stopped him with the wave of his right hand.
He let go, dropped her to the ground like a duffle bag.
Matteo crouched in front of her, his eyes pierced with a quiet intensity that trembled her insides.
He searched her eyes for remorse, a tiny bit of it.
But there was none. Instead, she held his gaze with mad keenness, as if it was the only way to break even a tiny piece of his ego. But her defiance only furthered his fury.
Her fingers dug into her open thighs, she watched him with anticipation, waiting for his next move.
And then it stung, her head snapped aggressively to the side, the sound of his palm against her cheeks exploded the silence.
Her hair cascaded over her face, strands clung to her damp lips.
The slap stung, her skin burned with shock and humiliation.
A surge of anger as her eyes welled up with threatening tears. She refused him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
She pulled hair away from her face to meet his blazing eyes.
He leaned in, his face so close to that his breath tickled her face.
"You don't get to be stubborn, Anastasia," he growled lowly, the muscles in his jaw clenched.
She hated that he knew her name.
That she was close enough for his hands to reach.
She had never been hit by anyone. Her husband was the first.
She looked at him with contempt, her eyes fixed on him like she wished her stare could burn.
With every breath he took, he drew a battle between himself and the fury within her.
He took her wrist, wrapped his hand brutally around it, his fingers dug into her skin like thorned handcuffs.
Without a word, he turned to the door, walked in and dragged her along across the floor like she was nothing more than a pawn caught in his game. She was.
His men stood scattered around. They watched the drama unfold like they had seen much more of this to care.
Besides that, no one would dare to stop Matteo. He moved like a devasting, utterly merciless storm. A name that stretched across cities like a shadow and whispered in quiet alleys.
He dragged her through the hallway that stretched longer than Anastasia remembered it to be.
Her body was soaked with humiliation, her feet had grown bruised to muster any courage, but there was a war inside of her, a heat that made her break out a sweat.
He opened the door to a room at the end of the corridor and dragged her in. He disappeared behind the closed doors, the lock rattled close.
She burst out in quiet cries, the tears that welled up now streamed down her cheeks.
It was not the first time she had been locked up like a criminal, a prisoner of circumstances.
But this time the walls silenced around her, the air was damp and suffocating.
Artistic portraits lined the room with shadows that felt like they were watching.
Her chest rose and fell with heavy sobs. She couldn't help but miss Peach and Lori even more. The comfort Peach offered with her warmth. And Lori's encouraging words and hugs.
But the thought of her father made her stomach twist with disgust.
It made her insides churn with a more loathing anger.
He was the bane of her predicament, the reason Matteo's shirt still garbed her like a stain she couldn't scrub off.
Memories of a complicated past she had tried to wave away began to unravel, clawing their way back silently in her head.
She took a deep breath.
The world around her suddenly seemed to fade away slowly, the walls rippled.
A sudden lightness filled her head, almost weightless. It disoriented her thoughts. The air grew thick, as if time paused.
The ground tilted beneath, her vision blurred, and before she could grasp what was happening, she slipped into darkness.
Her back rested on the side rail of the bed frame.
It was morning, the next day. The sun was out and warm. Anastasia's eyes fluttered open, squinting as she tried to adjust to the bright glare of the overhead light that hung on the ceiling.
Her fingers lifted to caress her temples gently.
She winced from the throbbing headache that pulsed behind her eyes.
She opened her eyes fully, scanned the room, piecing together fragments of her memories.
The artistic portraits, sterile white walls with minimalist decor. The room lacked any personal touch. Different from the exquisite room she woke up in the previous morning.
She sat up instantly, pondering about how she got on the bed after falling unconscious on the floor.
She looked at the window, a light chiffon curtain hung across it, small lines of the sun's rays filtered through.
The lock suddenly rattled open, the door creaked slowly, and a sense of unease washed over her. Prickled her skin.
The girl from earlier, Raquel, walked in with a tray of food in hand.
She was dressed in a short jean skirt and an even shorter top that hung on her chest, exposing beneath, the soft skin of her breasts.
"Good, you are awake," she said softly. She dropped the tray on the nightstand.
"Here, it's some painkillers."
Anastasia blinked at her hesitantly, before hovering above the transparent box to take the tablets. She dropped the pills in her mouth and gulped them down with the glass of water handed to her.
Suspicion flickered, but she didn't have the liberty. She needed the throbbing pulse in her head to stop.
"This is a balm, apply it to your wounds."
Anastasia looked down at herself, only now realizing the bruises that covered her skin.
Raquel turned to leave, she grabbed her wrist, stopped her mid-step.
Raquel's eyes shifted slowly until they met hers. They flapped cautiously, waiting for her to say something.
Anastasia simply held her there, gently and with need. She hoped her eyes answered all the questions Raquel had.
"Ple... Please help me," She stuttered. Her voice barely above a whisper, like she was scared the walls would hear.
The vulnerability in her tone startled her.
It wasn't her, she didn't beg, other than her father. She didn't talk in hush tones, scared that someone close might pick on her.
But here, her hand wrapped around Raquel's wrist like a loose thread, too scared to let go.
Raquel stood there, stiff. She watched Anastasia with an expression that caught between sympathy and fear. The silence between them stretched.
Then she moved closer, wriggled her hand free from Anastasia's grip.
"I can't. You can't," she said quietly.
Her voice was so quiet it almost got lost in the silence of the room.
Anastasia stared at her, confused.
"What do you mean? Please, I just need to get out of here," her voice cracked.
Raquel nodded her head slowly, her gaze fixed on Anastasia's.
"You belong to him now...and there's no going back from it." Raquel replied.
Her heart sank, the words struck against her spine. It crumbled her.
Her lips parted to say something, but she couldn't find any words.
"Raquel," someone called. The deep voice echoed from the other side of the door like a command.
Raquel stiffened instantly, straightened her shoulders and slipped into a mask.
Whatever softness that lingered in her expression immediately vanished.
She reached for the door, her fingers almost trembling.
"The Boss sends for you," the thick voice said the minute she stepped out.
She shut the door, sealing Anastasia again in the silence. The cage that held her reality in the air.
She sat still for a moment, staring at the door Raquel had just walked through.
The words from Raquel echoed in her head. It shattered all the hope she had left.
She didn't know who he was, but she knew his name, a mute curse no one wanted to summon. Matteo Ramirez.
And the flicker in Raquel's eyes earlier was the same as her father's when he broke the news of her marriage.
'He's a good man'
But her father's definition of a good man was distinct, twisted.
Not the type that valued his family, safe and loving.
It was a man with a gun, power in his name, a type that made people tremble at the call of it. A cartel boss. A mafia. A man with enemies buried beneath his feet.
And now she belongs to one. In a world she knew nothing of, one she dreaded. She held his name with a paralyzing cold.
No one was coming to save her.