Matteo held me as we slowly made our way towards the dining room, where I had stabbed him with the fork over a week ago. It feels so strange knowing that I've been missing for over a week now, for over a week people have been unable to find me.

I barely hide the uneasiness I feel, and I find it making its way towards my stomach, substituting the feeling of hunger with sickness.

Matteo's warm breath caresses my cheek as i feel his gaze draw to my face, burning my skin. My face heats up, but I have a feeling it's been permanently stained red with all the embarrassment I have suffered while being held captive.

Matteo smiles warmly, but I make sure to look away from him.

I don't need him mistaking him for helping me as him earning my trust. I doubt I'll ever be able to trust him.

I can feel the strain of the short distance on my limbs, confirming that escape is just a thought until I'm better. My feet burn as they attempt to readjust to having pressure on them.

"We're almost there." Matteo says. I let out a sigh of relief as we enter the dining room, and my eyes glance at the two plates of eggs and bacon on the table. Guiding me to the same chair I had been seated at a week ago, Matteo slowly lowers me onto the seat.

I'm grateful for when he lets go of me, however I can't help but notice just how cold I feel now that his warmth has left me.

He takes a seat beside me, at the head of the table, however he doesn't begin to eat, and just stares at me. Me, on the other hand, I don't hesitate, and instantly reach for my knife and fork which I now realise are plastic.

I shouldn't be surprised.

I give no reaction, and begin cutting into my food and taking large bites of the egg on toast. I physically can't take big enough bites to subside the immense hunger that is eating me from the inside out.

And all the while Matteo is just staring.

Once I've cleared my plate clean, I turn to Matteo who has also eaten his food. I didn't even notice him pick up his cutlery. I must've been so engrossed in my own plate...

"So," He begins. "Tell me about your family, Mia."

I clench my teeth at the question. Why does he want to know about my family? Is he suspicious? Or does he want to kill them to make sure that I don't try to escape again?

"My Mum is the only person who's raised me. She's the only family who i know." I lie straight through my teeth--though it's so rehearsed that it comes easily. I could be a professional actress with all the shit I've had to memorise.

"What about your father." Matteo pries, and by the slight raising of his left eyebrow I can tell that this is what he really wants to know about. He's definitely suspicious. I can only imagine the horrors he'll put me through if he finds out the truth...

I gulp, and run my hand through my hair. "My father died when I was young in a car crash."

"What was his job? Did he have any connections? Was your father family friends with Roman Marino?" His questions are shot like bullets at me. It's like he's trying to make me slip up, he's trying to find out the blank holes within my past.

"I don't know, like I said; I was young, just a baby." Clenching my jaw, I hope he doesn't ask any more questions about my father, real or fake. I'm guessing that Matteo has a file on me or something, being the leader of the New York mafia, he probably knows everything about everyone.

Which makes whatever I say, dangerous.

I can't slip up.

Matteo nods and leans back in his chair, taking a sip from his glass of water.

"Go ahead. I've asked one of my questions, it's your turn now."

Some part of me thought that he wouldn't actually let me ask questions, i'll have to be smart with what i ask. I can't afford to set him off.

"Where are we?"

A smile appears on his perfect face, like a taunt. "Maine."

My mouth opens. Maine? I'm in Maine? Not even in the same state?

I'm never going to be found, no one's ever going to look for me in Maine. My eyes flick back up to Matteo who looks smug, almost pleased with himself. He knows that the chances of me being found, especially all the way in another state are extremely slim.

I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. At least i know where i am, though it doesn't make much of a difference considering that I've only ever been in New York, and do not know my way around anywhere. I've only ever looked at a map of the USA once or twice in my lifetime.

"How well do you know your friend Alice?" Matteo asks out of the blue.

I cock my head slightly, confused at why he would ask something like that. "Not very well, we are just friends who like to club and whatever." I shrug.

"Why does she keep calling you?"

I narrow my eyes as I stare at the plate in front of me. "I don't bloody know, maybe because I've gone missing?" I snap.

Matteo's expression doesn't portray any emotion, he gives me nothing, I don't know whether he's angry or if he just hit the jackpot. It's infuriating. "What do you want with me?" I ask.

It's his turn to shrug. "I'm still figuring that out, Principessa." He purrs with a smirk curling on his lips.

I feel my body's temperature increase at the subtle expression. Why does this man have to be so bloody hot?

"Where in Italy were you born?"

"Florence." I answer. I only lived there for the shortest amount of time, i don't remember anything about it, but i was hoping that i could return one day. I hope I still can, if I manage to make it out of this mess.

"Why did you move to Australia?"

"I don't know."

"What is the blocked number that has contacted you repetitively?"

I bite my tongue. Dad.

Oh god, what if Matteo has answered any of the calls? No, he wouldn't have, they would've been able to track the phone if he did, and i doubt he would've been that stupid.

"I don't know." I repeat.

I can tell it's getting on his nerves that he's not getting the answers he wants.

"What's your favourite colour?" He asks. I'm taken aback by the strange question, but it's welcomed compared to his previous queries.

"Blue."

"Do you play an instrument?"

"No."

"What was your favourite subject in school?"

"Art."

"Really?" Matteo asks, smiling, showing off his pearly white teeth. "I thought it would've been languages." His face is slightly scrunched in confusion as he awaits my answer.

It feels so odd having a normal-ish conversation with this man. I feel my body and mind slowly relaxing and becoming more comfortable. "I did enjoy languages, but i quite liked the chaos of art, the fact that i could create my own language, not with words, but with the strokes of a paint brush or pencil."

Matteo laughs, he genuinely laughs. "I like that." He says.

I say nothing in return, and hide my small smile behind my hand. I feel so stupid saying that. Why am I suddenly telling this man about myself? He doesn't deserve to know the inner workings of my brain.

"What's your favourite language?"

"Italian." I say without any hesitation. It's always been Italian, because it makes me feel closest to Dad. He was the one who taught me over an endless amount of Skype sessions. They were painful, but I was a determined child, and I was going to learn Italian, so I did.

"Interesting, and who taught you Italian?"

Dad.

Matteo's face drops from the relaxed playful expression he held moments ago, and turns very dark.

Fuck.

Did I just say that out loud?

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