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

Anya Santini de Luna POV

My body aches from all the anxiety and terror I'm feeling.

At least my bladder's no longer going to burst, but standing in the room with our captors, my relief is quickly forgotten.

Are they going to kill one of us?

All of us?

My eyes land on the tooth near Marc Vincent, and I feel the ache in my jaw.

God.

This is horror. Pure freaking horror.

My gaze flits all over the room, my breaths already rushing over my lips.

How am I going to survive this?

"Uncuff Marc Vincent," the one in charge orders.

The other guy unlocks Marc Vincent's cuffs, then another order is given. "Get up, Marc Vincent."

I watch as Xander's brother climbs to his feet. He has the same emotionless expression on his beaten face as Xander.

Riccardo gestures to his guard or soldier. I'm not sure what to call him.

"Darius will shoot one of you unless..." Riccardo gets up and looks at Marc Vincent. "You have to choose who will get tortured next. If you refuse, Darius will kill one of you."

Oh, God.

No.

My eyes flit wildly between the men because I know what's coming. There's no way Marc Vincent will choose Xander. I'm a stranger to him.

Marc Vincent locks eyes with Xander, and as the seconds crawl by, my heart beats out of my chest.

"The girl," he mutters.

No. Oh, God. No!

"That was an easy choice," Riccardo chuckles. "I'm surprised, though. If she's dating your brother, he's going to be pissed off with you torturing his girl."

Marc Vincent doesn't know about the lie!

Marc Vincent's eyes flick between Xander and me, but he doesn't say anything.

Riccardo takes a seat again, then snaps, "You heard me, Marc Vincent. Torture the girl."

Marc Vincent's hands fist at his side, and when he steps toward me, I take one backward.

There's no doubt in my mind he'll kill me to save Xander.

The man, who I now know is Darius, points his gun at Xander.

"You have three seconds before Darius kills Xander," Riccardo mutters as if he's bored with us.

My eyes are still wildly flitting around when Marc Vincent darts forward. His fist connects with my cheek, and as unbearable pain radiates through my entire skull, I go down like a sack of potatoes.

Instinctively, I curl into a fetal position and cover my head with my arms.

"I didn't say beat. I said torture," Riccardo snaps.

I don't even dare to peek around me and keep my eyes squeezed shut.

The next moment Marc Vincent grabs my right hand and pries my fist open. My eyes fly open, and horrified I watch as he brings a set of pliers closer to my hand.

"NoNoNoNo!" I scream, and when I try to push him away from me with my left hand, he uses his body to block me, grips my pinky finger, and rips the nail off.

Between my wails of pain, I hear Riccardo sneer, "I thought you were in a relationship with the girl."

There's no emotion in Xander's voice as he replies, "Would it help if I lost my shit?" I hear him let out a sigh. "It won't stop you from torturing her."

"Take the girl and Marc Vincent back to their rooms," Riccardo shouts.

Is it over?

I'm yanked to my feet and shoved toward the doorway. I only get a glimpse of Xander, who's staring at Riccardo, unfeeling as ever.

I cradle my right hand against my shirt, my blood seeping into the fabric.

Marc Vincent is locked in the room opposite ours before I'm shoved into the four walls that have become my prison.

I hurry to the corner where I sit down, and pressing my face into my knees, I try to process what just happened.

The pain burns from my pinky up to my wrist as if the digit has been set on fire. There's a throbbing ache in my jaw, and my chaotic emotions threaten to make me lose my sanity.

I had a perfect life before my parents died.

How did it come to this? I, an orphan who's going to be tortured and killed by criminals.

What did I do to deserve this?

I wish I could be like Xander and just not care.

Xander.

I lift my head and stare at the locked door.

Are they going to kill him?

God, I hope not. I don't want to be alone in this room.

I've only known him a day, and already I'm attached to him. I think it's because of the harrowing situation we find ourselves in. He's the only person I can connect with. Just having him here with me helps.

It has nothing to do with the attraction I felt when I saw how good-looking he was but pure survival. The odds of me getting out of this hell alive are better with Xander by my side.

If he dies, they'll probably kill me shortly after.

I haven't prayed since I lost my parents. I've been too angry with God. But with Xander's life hanging in the balance, I start to whisper, "Dear, God, don't let them kill Xander. Or Me. Or Marc Vincent. Please send an angel to watch over us. I don't want to die, and I'm so scared. Please help us."

As the prayer leaves my lips, I don't feel any better.

If miracles existed, my parents would still be alive, and I wouldn't be locked in a room.

Please come back, Xander.

XXX

Alexander Vittorio POV

While Marc Vincent and Anya are taken out of the room, Riccardo Ponti trains his gun on me. When I hear movement behind me, I keep my eyes locked on Ponti.

My arms are grabbed, and I'm yanked backward. Forced to sit down on a chair, Ponti's men strap my forearms to the armrests.

Only then does Ponti place his gun on his lap. Removing a packet of cigarettes, he lights one before he says, "I hear your father attacked Ivanov's place. He thought you were taken in retaliation for trying to kidnap Olga."

He's not holding us for information. Fuck. That means he'll kill us once he's had his fun.

"As you know, my father is against the mafia and bratva working together. For fun, we sent a ransom note to your father. We're not asking much. Just one million pesos each for you and Marc Vincent. It's a bargain."

There's no way my father will pay for our release. Ponti is playing a mind game with him.

"As an incentive, we'll send your father recordings and proof of life. For your sake, I hope he swallows his pride."

That will never happen.

Ponti takes a deep pull of his cigarette then slowly blows out the smoke. "Who is this Anya de Luna, and what is she to you?"

I'm not telling this man shit and just stare at him.

He gestures to one of the men, my hand is grabbed, and a knife is plunged through my skin and bone.

I can't keep myself from groaning as the sharp pain tears through my hand. "Tell me." A threatening chuckle escapes me. "I'm going to kill you."

"Who's the girl?" Riccardo Ponti asks again.

I clench my jaw while sucking in a deep breath of air.

This is exactly like the training I'll receive at Palawan's next year. If I can't survive a little torture, I won't make it during training.

"If she means nothing to you, she's of no use to me," Ponti threatens.

Fuck.

I should let them kill her. It will be merciful compared to what lies ahead.

I stare at Ponti, and as he gestures to one of the men to take care of Anya, I hiss, "She's my girlfriend."

What the fuck are you doing?

Ponti gives a skeptical look, then orders, "Go get the girl."

He doesn't believe the lie we've told him.

I keep my expression neutral, and when Anya is dragged back into the room, she's also shoved down on a chair, and her wrists are strapped to the armrests.

Her eyes are wide on the knife embedded into the back of my hand, and it looks like she's going to puke.

"How long have you been in a relationship?" Ponti asks.

"Just over a year," I answer so Anya doesn't fuck things up.

"Don't you like Russian pussy or Filipino sexy pussy?" he asks.

"I like my women exotic," I mutter. "If it weren't for Anya, I'd try some Italian pussy."

The knife is ripped from my hand, and a curse bursts from me, "Iisus Khristos." I shake my head and chuckle darkly because, so help me God, I will kill Riccardo Ponti.

One of Ponti's men walks to Anya, and grabbing her hair, he yanks her head back and presses the knife to her pulse. She makes a squeaking sound, her terrified gaze darting to me.

I've seen fear before but nothing like the horror in her amber eyes.

Christ, you're going to get yourself killed for a woman you don't know.

"Tell me about your girlfriend," Ponti says as he lights another cigarette.

"She's from Italy. She knows English language. She recently lost her parents, so she only has me." I hate lying, but I'm fucking good at it. "She just finished school and came to the Philippines to be with me. We're going to elope so I can keep her here with me."

Ponti tilts his head, his eyes flicking between us. "You don't look in love with her."

"No fucking shit," I mutter. "This isn't the honeymoon I envisioned for us."

"You didn't seem to mind when your brother ripped off her nail," he mentions. He gestures to his men, then says, "Choose who will take the beating from my men."

Fuck my life.

I shake my head as I let out a chuckle, "Of course, it will be me."

He nods, and a soldier comes to unstrap my forearms, and I'm pulled to a standing position. It's only then I notice the pool of blood that's formed by the leg of the chair.

If Ponti doesn't kill us, infection will. I doubt the man is going to provide us with first aid.

Another soldier comes to yank my arms behind my back, and cable ties are used to restrain me.

Anya's breathless with fear, her eyes still glued to me.

The men attack all at once, and with my wrists tied, I can't do much to defend myself. I take punch after punch and hear Anya cry, "Please stop! You're going to kill him."

I stagger a step back while a grin spreads over my face, "It will take a hell of a lot more than this to kill me, sweetheart."

The next punch to my nose drops my ass to the floor. The men start to kick, and when a boot slams into my head, everything goes black.

XXX