Xander Vittorio POV

Papa pointed out Olga as she entered the club, and I memorized her outfit because I didn't get a good look at her face. It all happened a little too fast.

Sitting in a car that's parked by the side of the building, I watch as Marc Vincent lights a cigarette.

"Mama's going to lose her shit when we come home with the girl," I state the obvious.

"Luckily, that's not my problem," my brother mutters. "I'm going back to Puerto Prinsesa, Palawan Island's as soon as we're done with this job."

I let out a sigh while scanning our surroundings. "I wish I could go with you."

Princess Coastal Entertainment is a training school slash resort in Palawan for anyone in the criminal world. It's the only neutral ground on the planet where we're taught how to be assassins, smugglers, and anything else crime-related. Marc Vincent is learning everything regarding torturing, fighting, and shooting. I'll go through the same course as him once I turn twenty-one.

"Just one more year." Exhaling a puff of smoke, he glances at me. "The training is tough."

"If you can do it, so can I."

He nods while his eyes flit back to the nightclub's entrance.

Silence falls between us, and we watch as people enter and exit the building.

Even though I'm not happy about kidnapping a girl, there's nothing I can do about it. I was born into the Demonyo Gang. It's been my entire life, and I always knew I'd fill some role in the organization as soon as I became an adult. It helps that I'm going through the training to be a Gang enforcer with Maryo.

Suddenly I'm ripped out of my thoughts when a girl matching Olga's description comes darting out of the nightclub, heading straight for us.

"Shit," Marc Vincent exclaims. "Grab her."

I shove the car door open and run after her. The high heels she's wearing slow her down, and I'm able to catch her before she can disappear around the side of the building.

Nervously, I keep looking around us for the guards while my arms lock around her. As I lift Olga off her feet, she cries, "I'm sorry. It was her idea."

Hearing her speak in an English accent makes a frown form on my forehead, but having a job to do, I haul her to the car. Marc Vincent opens the backdoor, and I shove Olga inside.

"Jesus," she hisses, shooting a glare my way.

After I slide in beside Olga, Marc Vincent starts the engine, and seconds later, we're speeding away from the nightclub where Papa and Maryo will take care of the guards should they try to come after us.

I turn in the seat to glance out the back window to make sure we're not being followed before I let out a breath of relief.

"That was easier than I thought," I voice my thoughts to Marc Vincent, then my eyes lock on Olga.

Holy. Fucking. Christ.

The woman sitting next to me is so fucking beautiful, I can only stare at her for a solid minute. She has wavy light brown hair, and her eyes are a mixture of brown and green. Her features are delicate and innocent.

"Do you understand English?" she asks.

Olga is half-Russian, half-American. Born and bred.

This woman has a full English accent.

Fuck.

"What's your name?" I ask, praying to all that's holy I didn't grab the wrong girl.

"Oh, thank God you speak English," she lets out a relieved chuckle. "I'm Anya de Luna. Are you Olga's guards?" She glances out the windows, then nervously brings her eyes back to me.

"What the fuck," Marc Vincent snaps from behind the steering wheel.

Apprehension tightens the girl's features. "This was her idea. She left the nightclub with her friends." She glances out the window again. "You can drop me off right here."

"Jesus fucking Christ," I mutter while quickly pulling my phone from my pocket. In Tagalog, I tell Marc Vincent, "Papatayin tayo ni Papa."

"What are you doing?" Marc Vincent shakes his head as he turns the vehicle left up a random street. "Don't call Papa. Let's think of a plan."

"Can you stop the car?" The girl...Anya is looking more anxious by the second.

I feel a twinge of panic because I wasn't lying when I said Papa would kill us for the mistake. We had one job, and we fucked up.

My eyes snap to the girl's face as I ask, "Where is Olga?"

She shrugs while gripping a backpack to her chest. "I don't know. She left the club ten minutes before me."

Suddenly there's a crash of metal, our bodies are jarred, and the car spins to the side.

"Fucking Christ!," Marc Vincent curses, trying to regain control of the vehicle.

Shock vibrates through me, and the air in my lungs bursts from my lips. Instinctively, I grab hold of Anya, who's too stunned to make a sound. I'm slammed against the door, and as the car flips, there's nothing I can do to stop us from being tossed around.

A faint peeping sound comes from Anya, and I feel her hands claw at my shirt. Pain rips through my left arm, and a moment later, everything stops. I hear the groaning of metal and something dripping.

What the fuck?

Letting out a groan, I shake my head before pushing myself up from where I'm laying partially over Anya.

I grip hold of the driver's seat and sit up. I notice blood seeping from a gash on my left forearm, then my eyes dart to my brother, who's slumped over the steering wheel. There's a cut on his forehead and blood trickling from his mouth.

"Vincent!" Even though I intended to shout, his name is nothing but a hoarse whisper.

"God," Anya whimpers, trying to sit up.

The doors are yanked open, and still dazed from the accident my reaction is delayed as I'm grabbed and hauled from the car.

When my arms are yanked behind my back, and someone starts to fasten zip ties around my wrists, I struggle, shaking my head again to rid myself of the fog left over from the accident.

This is an ambush.

I hear Anya cry.

As my eyes flick in her direction, I see men pulling her and Marc Vincent from the wreckage before a fist connects with my face, my muscles strain, but before I can do anything, another blow slams into my temple, and I lose consciousness.

Coming to it feels like I was hit by a train. My mouth is dry, and my head is heavy as I roll it to the side. There's a dull throb in the side of my face.

What the fuck happened?

It doesn't feel like a hangover, and my mind is too foggy to remember last night.

"Hey," I hear a panicked female voice. "Wake up. God. Please wake up."

My mind clears a little, and when I move my left arm, it throbs. I've had a broken arm before, so I know it's not that bad.

Lying on my side, I pry my eyes open only to see a stained wall. It looks like there's a spray of blood drops that dried ages ago.

Fuck!

"Wake up! Please," the woman begs again.

I push through the last of the grogginess and manage to move into a sitting position.

"Thank God," she whimpers before letting out a sob.

Turning my head in her direction, I stare for a moment before I recognize her, and all at once, the event of the ambush hits me. Jesus Christ. Our car was hit. Marc Vincent cursed as he tried to regain control of the spinning vehicle. We tossed around before being pulled from the wreckage.

"Fuck'," I mutter, realizing how serious this shitty situation is.

Marc Vincent!

My heartbeat speeds up, and I quickly glance around me, taking in every inch of the small, filthy room we seem to be locked in.

I try to remember the men who ambushed us but come up empty-handed.

I don't know who has us.

Maybe another Gang retaliated?

"What's your name?" Anya asks. "Do you think the other guards will look for us?"

Glancing around the empty room again, I see nothing but old blood stains. There's a sinking feeling in my stomach.

Fuck, this is bad.

"Please talk to me," Anya begs, her voice trembling.

My gaze swings back to her, and I shake my head. "Alexander." My tongue flicks out to wet my dry lips. "My name is Xander."

Anya's features tighten, and I can see tears brimming in her eyes. Her outfit is ruffled, and the high heels she wore when I grabbed her are nowhere to be seen.

"How long have we been here?" I ask.

Her frightened gaze is locked on me. "A couple of hours."

"Did you see what happened to my brother?"

"The guy driving the car?" When I nod, she shakes her head. "They put a bag over my head."

"Fuck'," I curse again. Struggling to my feet, I walk to the door and test it to see whether it's locked. The door doesn't budge, and I let out a sigh. "Ano ngayon ang mangyari sa akin?."

"I don't understand Tagalog," Anya whispers, her eyes still glued to me.

"I said fuck my life." I take a deep breath while my hand skims over the spot where my gun should be tucked behind my back.

It would be the first thing they'd take. That's why Anya doesn't have her high heels. I also noticed my belt is gone. Anything that could be used as a weapon has been taken from us.

Dropping to my ass next to Anya, I rub a hand over my face.

"Do you know what happened?" she asks.

I let out a sigh, then explained, "We were supposed to grab Olga, but she one-upped us. My guess is her father's behind the ambush."

"Ambush?"

My eyes meet the innocent girl's panicked gaze, and I wonder if she knows anything about the world I come from.

"You're American or?" I ask.

She nods. "I'm Italian but here on vacation."

I feel a twinge of pity in my chest. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you're fucked," I give it to her straight. There's no time to sugarcoat our situation.

The quicker she braces for the hell coming our way, the better for her.

Her face pales, her eyes jumping nervously over my features. "What do you mean?"

"Ever heard of the Mafia Gang or Bratva?"

She shakes her head.

"The Mafia..Bratva?"

This time her eyes widen, and panic makes her breaths come faster.

"You got caught in a war." I shake my head, and unable to lie to her, I say, "It's going to get bad, but with a little luck, my father will find out where we are and come to get us."

But that will take time, and in the meantime, we'll be tortured.

That's if they don't execute us today.

Like I said, we're fucked.

XXX

Anya de Luna's POV

Terrified, I stare at Xander.

He looks a hell of a lot calmer than I feel.

In a matter of hours, I've gone from swapping clothes with Olga to being grabbed off the street to a car accident to being kidnapped.

It's surreal.

God.

Panic flares hot through my chest, and a hysterical breakdown threatens to overwhelm me.

If I weren't scared out of my mind, I'd actually appreciate how attractive Xander is. He has longish, dark brown hair, and strands fall over his forehead, making him look like one of the bad boys Papa Rocky Ace always warned me about. His eyes are brown with golden flecks giving me the impression he's a jokester. He's not dressed in a suit like Olga's other guards but is wearing black cargo pants, a black t-shirt, and boots.

There are tattoos on the back of his hands running all the way up his forearms, where I can see his veins snaking beneath his skin.

I have an overwhelming need to get to know him because he's locked in this tiny room with me. Without him, I'd be alone, and that's not something I can deal with right now. Honestly, I'm trying not to think about the fact that I'm in deep crap.

With anxiety tightening my voice, I ask, "How old are you?"

A frown forms on his forehead before he gives me a skeptical look. "Seriously? Do you understand how much trouble we're in?"

Turning my head away from him, I look at my knees and wrap my arms tighter around my shins. "I just want to know who I'm stuck with."

I want something to distract me from this horrible situation because thinking about the trouble I find myself in will make me lose my mind.

I should've gone back to the hotel. I never should've entered the club and agreed to swap clothes with Olga. If my parents were alive, none of this would've happened.

Xander lets out a sigh and leans back against the wall. "I'm twenty."

My eyes dart to his face again. The bruises near his left eye and jaw are turning purple, but it doesn't make him look any less attractive. "I'm eighteen," I whisper.

I'm only eighteen, and I've lost my parents. Now I've been kidnapped, and I'm stuck in a dingy room with a guy I don't know.

My breathing speeds up, and there's no stopping the wave of panic tearing through my insides.

A guy who kidnapped me.

Oh, God.

I duck my head, pinch my eyes shut, and bite my bottom lip as overwhelming anxiety and fear send shockwaves through my body.

What have I gotten myself into?

My breaths are coming so fast a strangling sound escapes me.

"Won't help to panic," Xander mutters as if being kidnapped is just another everyday thing for him. "It will piss them off, which means they'll kill you first."

Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

I lift my head, gulping breaths of air. My eyes lock on Xander, and I gasp, "I'm just a tourist here. I'm an Italian citizen."

He shrugs. "None of that matters to them." His features tighten momentarily, but I can't place the emotion on his face. "Just do as they say." He shakes his head and lets out a sigh. "My father should already be looking for us."

I stare at him, confused that he's so calm.

"Why aren't you scared?" Maybe he knows something he's not telling me.

His gaze flicks to the door. "Fearing the inevitable is pointless."

My voice trembles when I ask, "What is inevitable?"

I don't want to know.

Not really.

Alexander brings his attention back to me. "You're already panicking. The last thing I need is you having a breakdown."

His reply makes my fear double in size.

Suddenly the question I've been trying to hold back pops from my mouth. "You kidnapped me? Because you thought I was Olga?"

If I hadn't swapped clothes with her, I wouldn't be in this mess.

Xander's jaw clenches, and then he nods. "Why?" An impatient look crosses his face. "Like I said, you're in the middle of a war."

Resentment toward the man beside me fills my chest, and I turn my eyes to my legs.

We hear footsteps outside the door, then a rattling of keys. When the door swings open, my mouth grows bone dry, and my eyes widen.

Two very scary-looking men come into the small room. They don't look Filipinos, though, and neither is old enough to be Olga's father.

Xander lets out a chuckle. "Riccardo Ponti." I hear him move, and shooting a glance at Xander, I watch as he climbs to his feet. There's a hate-filled expression on his face that makes him look just as terrifying as our captors. "Does Lukas know what you're up to?"

The man, who I assume is Riccardo Ponti takes a step closer to Xander. "Until the mafia and bratva cut ties, we don't report to Lukas."

Xander lets out another chuckle that sounds more like a warning. "Viktor and Lukas will kill you for this."

Riccardo gestures toward me, and the other man comes to grab my arm.

I'm yanked to my feet and exclaim, "No. Wait." Panic and terror swirl in my stomach, making me feel queasy.

I give Xander a pleading look, hoping he can stop whatever's about to happen, but he doesn't even look in my direction.

I struggle against the hold on my arm while crying for them to wait as they drag me out of the room.

I'm taken down a narrow hallway, where I notice four armed guards before I'm shoved into another room.

Riccardo takes a seat on a chair, and crossing his legs, his eyes slowly sweep over me. He seems to be in his late twenties or early thirties, and wearing a suit, he looks like an ordinary businessman.

The other man still has a biting hold on my arm, and all I can do is tremble, my fear too intense to try and think straight.

"Who are you?" Riccardo asks.

"I'm a tourist, an Italian." I have the futile hope that my nationality will keep them from hurting me or worse. My mind slams up a wall, refusing to think of death.

A frown forms on the man's forehead. "How are you affiliated with the Demonyo Mafia?"

My tongue darts out to wet my lips. "I'm not. I don't even know what the Mafia is."

He tilts his head, his dark eyes staring at me until I fear that I'll wet myself. "What's your name?"

"Anya...Anya de Luna."

"Never heard of you." He glances at the man holding my arm and orders with a bored tone, "She's worthless. Get rid of her."

An eerie sensation ghosts over my skin, and a feeling I've never felt before rattles me to my core. I'm not ready to die. Honestly, I'm terrified of dying.

Maybe if I explain the situation that I just swapped clothes with Olga, he'll let me go. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but something tells me not to divulge the information. Instead, I beg, "Please. Just let me go. I won't tell anyone."

The man gripping my arm says, "She was in the back seat with Xander. They looked cozy before we rammed into their vehicle. We could use her to break him."

I almost divulge that I don't know Xander but bite my bottom lip to keep from talking.

Riccardo again just stares at me, then asks, "What's your relationship with Alexander Vittorio?"

Lie!

"Ahhh..." I wet my lips again, my anxiety level through the roof. "I like him...love him! We...we're dating."

They will ask Xander, and if he tells them the truth, I'm good as dead.

At least I'm buying myself a couple of minutes.

"Take her back to the room."

I'm manhandled, and when I'm shoved back into the small room, my eyes lock on Xander.

Instead of asking Xander to verify what I said, the door is locked again, and we're left alone.

"Oh, God," I whimper, goosebumps spreading over my body. I sink to my knees, and wrapping my arms around my middle, a horrible sob escapes me.

"What did they do?" Xander asks, his tone too calm for my frazzled mind to handle.

"T-they wanted t-t-to know who I am," I sputter. I give Xander a pleading look. "I-I told them we're dating. They were going to k-kill me. I panicked and lied. Please don't tell them the truth."

When I'm done rambling, Xander just stares at me.

"Please," I beg again. "I didn't know what else to do."

When I start to cry, ugly sobs bursting from me, he says, "Calm down. I'm not telling them shit, so your secret is safe with me."

Intense hope washes through me, and I feel dizzy from relief.

"T-thank you," I whisper, uncontrollable sobs shuddering through me.

"It's the least I can do for kidnapping you," he mutters. He rests his head against the wall and closes his eyes.

All I can do is stare at the guy who's way too calm in the nightmare we find ourselves in.

XXX

Alexander Vittorio POV

It's getting hard to tell how much time has passed since Riccardo Ponti visited us.

I was caught off guard that Ponti was the one who ambushed us instead of Emannauel.

Riccardo Ponti is the eldest son of Ignacio Ponti, who's been loyal to the mafia all his life. It's no secret the Ponti family isn't happy about the ties between the mafia and bratva, but I didn't think they'd go this far.

The Italian is looking for shit to rain down on his head. Once Viktor, the head of the bratva, and Andre, the head of the Demonyo mafia, hear of this, all hell will break loose.

The Demonyo Mafia is tied to the Bratva through marriage, and from what I've heard, it's a happy marriage. There's also the fact that Viktor and Andre are close friends.

With Ponti taking us, he's declaring war on the mafia and bratva.

I'd laugh my ass off if it weren't for the shitty position I find myself in.

And then there's the girl. She's been quiet since I agreed to keep her secret. I'm impressed she came up with the lie that we're dating. It won't keep her alive for long, but she bought herself a day or two.

My eyes drift to where she's pressed her body into the corner. Panic and fear still tighten her features. My gaze stops on her trembling hands.

She has pretty hands.

Every time I look at her, I'm struck by her beauty. Beautiful is the last thing you want to be when you're kidnapped. There's a good chance they might rape her before killing her.

I feel sorry for her, but there's not much I can do.

"Did you see my brother?" I ask.

She shakes her head.

I keep staring at her until she finally turns her head and meets my eyes. She looks broken, and they haven't even started with the torture.

Then again, she's not from my world.

Suddenly I wish I could tell her she'll be okay, but I can't bring myself to lie to her.

"What's your brother's name?" she asks her voice soft as if all her energy has been drained from her.

"Marc Vincent."

"And your last name is Vittorio?" When I nod, she explains, "They gave me your full name." She seems to think about something before she says, "We should get our story straight in case they ask about our relationship." When I don't say anything, she continues, "My last name is de Luna. I'm from Italy." Her face threatens to crumble before she says, "My Papa Rocky Ace died a year ago." She loses the battle, and a sob bursts from her. "There's no one who will notice I'm missing."

I'm hit by an intense wave of pity for the girl who seems to have the worst luck in the world.

"I have people already searching for us," I say to make her feel a little better.

Whether they'll get here in time is a whole different story.

Silence falls between us for a long while before Anya whispers, "Please tell me this is just a nightmare, and I'll wake up soon."

My gaze swings to her, and I shake my head. "I might be a criminal, but I never lie."

A hollow-sounding sigh escapes her. Minutes later, she looks at me. "Why are you a criminal?"

I shrug, and figuring I have nothing better to do, I decided to answer her question. "I was born into the Mafia Family. It wasn't a choice."

"If you had a choice, would you do something else?"

I shrug again but don't answer because I never thought about it. Why waste your time thinking about something that can never be?

After a while, she asks, "Don't you want to know anything about me?"

My eyes lock with hers, then I murmur, "You're an eighteen-year-old, Italian who lost your parents and is alone in this world. You've grown up in a protected household and have no idea how to handle the shitty situation we find ourselves in. You're a positive person because, against all odds, you still have hope to get out of this alive." I pause for a moment before I add, "And you're either a kind person or a weak one for agreeing to change clothes with a girl you don't know." My eyes flick to the door. "I know everything worth knowing about you."

I can feel Anya's eyes burning on me. "You don't have to be a jerk."

She might be beautiful, and under different circumstances, I would've taken my chance with her, but this is not the time or place to get to know someone. Growing attached to her will make me vulnerable.

Hours pass when nothing happens. It's impossible to tell what the time is because there are no windows in the room.

I'm thirsty, and my stomach keeps rumbling.

Anya keeps squirming in the corner, giving me the impression she needs to go to the restroom.

My bladder is full, but I can hold out for another few hours.

I'm more worried about Marc Vincent than anything else. He's the eldest of Vittorio's sons, so they will torture him before they get to me.

They're probably torturing him at this very moment.

I keep my face expressionless like I've been taught to do.

Papa used to beat the shit out of us until we learned to show no emotion. Now I understand why he did it.

My father isn't a good man, and honestly, he's not much of a father. I've been raised by one of the bosses of the Demonyo Mafia, and the only love I get is from Mama, Marc Vincent, Maryo, and Tanya.

Their love is enough for me.

Honestly, it's more than most people in my position ever get.

Climbing to my feet, I walk to the door and bang on it while shouting, "Some of us need the toilet."

I bang my fist against the door again, and when I hear footsteps, I move to the other side of the room.

Anya quickly gets up and comes to stand next to me, her side pressing against mine. When the door opens, Ponti's henchman steps inside.

I tip my head in Anya's direction. "She needs the toilet." When the man hesitates, I say, "Unless you want us stinking up the place. It's up to you."

With his gun drawn, he gestures for us to come, which I take as a good sign that they intend to keep us alive for a while.

The henchman's shorter than me. I'm pretty confident I could take him, but then I see the other armed soldiers as we walk down the hallway.

I memorize the layout of the building as we pass four shut doors before we reach a restroom with three stalls and sinks. There's a tiny window that's been welded shut.

Marc Vincent could be in any of those rooms.

The henchman presses the barrel of his gun to the side of my head and nods toward the stalls. "You have one minute, prinsesa."

Anya rushes into a stall, and a couple of seconds later, it sounds like a waterfall is unleashed.

When she doesn't come quick enough out of the stall, the henchman snaps, "Time's up, prinsesa."

Seconds later, the door opens, and Anya comes out, her cheeks burning red.

"Drink water," the henchman instructs.

I watch as she relieves her thirst, and only once the barrel of the gun is directed at her head do I get a nod to use the toilet.

I couldn't give two shits about a girl being in the restroom while I take a leak and go about my business.

I rinse my hands and drink my fill before I push Anya to the side to stand between her and the gun. The poor girl is shaking like a fucking leaf.

My calm demeanor has the henchman glaring at me, and I'm shoved toward the doorway.

We're not taken back to our room but instead shoved into another room where Ponti is sitting on a chair, and Marc Vincent is on his knees in the middle of the concrete floor.

My brother's been beaten, and near him lies one of his molars. Unlike us, he's restrained with handcuffs.

Fuck.

There's a camera standing on a tripod probably to send our father recordings of our torture.

If Ponti thinks this will make the mafia and bratva cut ties, he's stupid as fuck.

Forcefully, I tear my eyes away from Marc Vincent, and with a blank expression, I look at Ponti.

Let the fun begin.

XXX