nyctophilia (n.) an attraction to the darkness, or night ; feeling like you belong to the darkness

My wrists are burning and my throat feels dry. My head is pounding and I can barely breathe right now. Where the fuck am I?

My eyes are opening and I'm met with darkness, and very little light that is provided from the single lightbulb hanging above my head. I'm tied up in a steel chair with rigid rope that is rubbing against my skin. I notice my torso is bandaged.

"What the fuck." I whisper in a hushed voice.

I close my eyes again, praying that when they open I'm somewhere else. I open my eyes again and instead of my room I'm met with a man. He had dark brown hair and brown eyes.

"Who are you?" He asks with his eyes throwing daggers at me.

"Where am I?" My voice cracked. He brought a glass of water to my lips and I swallowed feeling my throat become less dry.

"I asked you a fucking question."

"And I asked you a fucking question." I spitted the words with frustration.

He looks impatient and angry at my words.

"I'm going to ask you again and if you don't answer me, there will be consequences."

"Fuck. Off."

And then he fucking punched me. So hard, my head turned to side. To be honest, I saw it coming. I spit blood to the floor.

"Who. Are. You." He emphasized each word with hatred for me already.

"I'm not saying shit to you so you can go ahead and fuck off."

He grabs a knife from a table near us and jams it into my thigh. "Well you better get to talking."

I winced but didn't dare make a sound, instead my breathing increased. I'm stronger than this, they can't break me.

He laughed amused. "So you're a tough bitch huh?" He dug the knife in further and I winced more, tears forming in my eyes that were screwed shut from the pain.

"Fottuta puttana, aspetta finché non metto le mie fottute mani su di te, figlio di puttana!" I screamed at him. (You fucking whore bag, you wait until i get my fucking hands on you, son of a bitch!) My chest was heaving up and down.

"It's a shame. You're too pretty to die." He brings his hand up and slaps me. My cheek burns and I'm sure that it's going to leave a mark.

My head hangs low, tired. This reminds me of my childhood with my father. "You take pride in hitting women huh? It just makes you that much of a bitch!" I spit at him. He flinches. He wipes his face with his shirt and walks back to the table. He grabs a bat. He comes back and looks at my knee. When he raises it up a voice stops it.

"No more."

I heard the door open but it wasn't him. Instead it was another man, maybe 6'1, dark brown messy waves and piercing light brown eyes.

"Davina right?" His voice was rich and had a hint of an Italian accent.

"Unfortunately." His lips formed into a small smile at my response.

"I'm Lorenzo. Alessandro's brother and I find things out about people. Like you. I know every single thing about you now so lying to me would be useless."

"Alessandro?" Am I supposed to know who that is. Maybe it's emerald eyes.

"You'll see him soon." He pauses for a bit. "Davina Moretti. Or was it Anastasia Ivanov, I don't remember."

I froze. Nobody has mentioned Anastasia in a long time, how the fuck does he know? Anastasia was my first name, before my innocence was ripped from me.

"I'm assuming that's correct because you seem a bit surprised." He chuckled. "I know that you're in the Russian Mafia. I also know about that little girl you have that no one seems knows about."

My heart drops. Not Scarlett. They can't touch her, she's all I have.

"You better not fucking touch her I swear to god I'll kill all of you." Anger takes over and all I see is red. My breathing increases now and I could punch a brick wall right now.

Lorenzo starts laughing. "I told you, I know everything."

"Ti pentirai di aver scopato con me."( You will regret fucking with me.) My voice sounded like death.

"I don't have to be this way Anastasia. Just speak." The knife was still in my thigh, and pain took over my left leg. It was beginning to feel numb.

"I want to speak to the boss." Lorenzo looks taken aback from my request.

"I said you'll meet him soon." Oh so sexy man's name is Alessandro.

He nods his head.

"Now. I'm not speaking to anyone but him." Lorenzo looked frustrated but complied to my request.

"Fine." He walks out the room.

About ten minutes later, I hear the door click open. I'm met with those eyes again.

"Davina." My name sounded so exotic coming from his lips.

"Alessandro." He observes me, and then his eyes flicker to the knife then back to me.

"They did a number on you." His voice was husky and deep. "I'm going to ask you again, who are you?"

"My name is Davina Moretti, my mother Violetta Moretti." Maybe he can put the pieces together.

"Violetta Moretti. She doesn't have a daughter, why the fuck are you lying?" There you go Alessandro. Keep going.

"And who was my mother married to?" He keeps a straight face but I can just tell he's starting to get angry. He runs his hand through his thick waves again. I can tell he does this when he's feeling stressed.

"Edgar never had a daughter. I would know."

"Would you?" He narrows his eyes at me. It seems that he's speechless.

Lorenzo walks back in the room and nods his head at Alessandro. Here I am in this dark room with a fucking knife in my leg as two very attractive scary men interrogate me.

"She says she is Edgar's daughter." Alessandro breaks the short silence.

"She is. I just found out right now. There are records of Violetta of giving birth but no record of her child ever. Not only that though, Anastasia is from the Russian Mafia."

"Yeah no shit Lorenzo." Alessandro growls. They speak as if I'm not right here.

"Alessandro she's in the Russian Mafia but-" I cut Lorenzo off.

"I am the Russian Mafia." Both of their heads snap towards me with confused expressions.