It has been hours and the sun is close to rising. No one came into the room much to my disappointment. I didn't like doing nothing. I wanted to be active, distract myself from my own thoughts. I was tired of just lying here with no purpose. It was like the universe heard my cry because the door was being opened just then. Judging by the way the person is struggling with the lock, they are trying to pick it. I closed my eyes and waited.

Soon, the door was opened. I tightened my grip on the plastic ball under the pillow. I heard steps coming towards me and when I felt a hand on my back, I shot up and tackled the person to the floor. I sat in their thighs, tightening my legs to hold them in place. with my free hand, I bound theirs together and raised the plastic ball, ready to hit the person in the face. I froze when I finally looked at the person I caught.

It was a boy. He didn't look older than 16.

"Hey hey hey! No harm! I'm just here to deliver a message! Please!" he cried and I didn't believe him one bit. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"The boss sent me to get you!" he finally said. I looked at him closely. Sweat lined his brow and upper lip. His eyes couldn't meet my own and slight tremors run through his body. He was telling the truth.

I got off him and tossed the plastic ball on my bed. It would come in handy later. I pulled the boy up by his collar and nudged him out the door, to take me to his boss. He walked down the hall with me close behind and by the stiffness in his posture and the unsteadiness of his legs I could tell he wanted to turn and see whether I would jump him and try to kill him again. Lucky for him, I wasn't in that mood.

We walked a series of hallways for a long time, passing the same painting thrice. I made sure to keep note of the correct passage. Amateurs. I knew how this stuff worked. I had been through it all. We finally made it to a double light oak door that stood out in the black interior. The boy knocked in a pattern and I committed it to memory. He pushed open the door and gestured me to go in which I did.

Sitting at a polished mahogany desk, doing paperwork was none other than Vittore Martinelli himself. The door was closed behind me.

Vittore looked up at me and I tried not to shrink at the intensity of his gaze. Men like weakness, something I was trained not to show unless otherwise. He picked a stack of papers off his desk and came over to me. He handed me the papers and I looked through them. At the bottom of the paper was my signature or the one I had when I was 14. Now, I have multiple for different situations but this was my one true one, the original.

"This is the contract you signed. As you can see, the terms are clear. You were sold to Matteo for three million. Then, you became his property, hence the mafia's property. You disappeared for four years and surprisingly, he brings you back, giving you to me as a gift," Vittore explained as he circled me. "The contact says you are property of whoever Matteo had chosen to give you to."

I absorbed what he said and read through the contract myself. He was right. I now belonged to him and his mafia.

"Selling you would be easy but then again, I want to know what's so special about you. My father took millions from the mafia secretly and those were invested in a secret project he called the Jade Scythe," at that, I tried not to react. "It's you isn't it? Took me a while to figure it out but why would he invest millions in you, where were you for the last four years and why are you back?"

Truthfully, I couldn't answer the last question but I knew the answers to the rest and there was no way I was telling him anything. I remained silent. He stopped walking and was now behind me. I could feel his body heat. He was so close.

"I was hoping you wouldn't talk," he said and walked back to his desk. I felt like I could breathe once he wasn't literally breathing down on me. "I'm offering you another contract."

My attention peeked. Vittore leaned back in his chair and I couldn't help but notice how his dark aura dominated the room. There was just something about him that intrigued me. He pushed a stack of papers towards me.

"I have fewer, simpler terms. You will be my property for fifteen years. In that time, you must abide by my rules and laws of my mafia. After that, you'll be free," he said.

I picked up the contract, throwing him a side eye. I didn't trust a word he said. I read the contract for loopholes until I finally found it. A dark chuckle slipped past my lips. I slammed the contract down on the table.

"I'm not like your silly little henchmen. This contract says I'll be your property for fifteen years. Must have been a nice thought, right? To label me as property of Vittore Martinelli. It says nothing about the old contract being null. I'd still be mafia property hence once again, yours. I'm not naïve. I know the only way out of a mafia is death. I don't need your bogus contract. I'm getting out of here myself," I said my British accent thick.

My dead eyes met his cold ones in a stare down. I turned to leave the room but the door was locked. I heard Vittore get up. "Lei parla (she speaks)." He said in Italian.

I cursed in my head. Turning, I faced Vittore who had moved to stand in front of me. "You're forgetting this is my mafia. My house and of course, my rules. The new contract is no longer an option. Seems you turned that down," Vittore said darkly.

He moved closer until we were inches apart and I was not threatened at all. Think what he must, but I'd been through worse. I'd seen worse. He didn't scare me.

"Sei un uccello in una gabbia di mia creazione. Pensi di poter scappare? Certo, vai. Prova ad andartene. Le tue ali saranno tarpate prima di prendere il volo (You are a bird in a cage of my creation. Do you think you can escape? Sure, go. Try to leave. Your wings will be clipped before taking flight)."