Captured By A Sinner: Chapter 13

I discovered a piece of the garden away from the other mansions on the side of Viktor’s house. It’s where I spend my days with Luna, and I don’t risk running into any of Viktor’s family members.

I’ve trained Luna to sit and stay and am working on getting her to lie down.

Whenever Viktor is home, Luna and I return to my room, where she naps while I read one of my books.

If it weren’t for Luna and all the books, I would’ve lost my mind.

I stole a notepad and pen from Viktor’s office so I can keep track of the days. Every month is a celebration because it brings me closer to my twenty-first birthday.

There are still thirty-three months to go, and God only knows how I’ll get through them. Some days are easier than others, and with Luna’s help, there are moments I forget about my predicament, and the loss of my family isn’t as sharp and heartbreaking.

Viktor’s been busy with work, and there are even days when I don’t see him at all. Like the past two days. He hasn’t been home, and I hate that I slip up and miss him.

What worries me most are the moments I forget who he is. The routine doesn’t help either because this place is starting to feel like home.

And I can’t have that happening.

I can’t forget I’m a captive on this property and that my captor is the man who killed my family.

“Lie down, Luna,” I say, patting the grass.

She playfully jumps back, then comes to sniff my hand.

“No. Lie down,” I try to train her with a gentle voice, softly pressing on her back until she lies down. “See, like this.”

I hear a car’s engine, and before I can grab Luna, she darts toward the black SUV and wiggles her tail and butt in the most adorable way when Viktor climbs out of the vehicle.

I rise to my feet, and unable to stop myself, my eyes drink in the sight of him.

I miss him when he’s not around but hate whenever he’s home. My emotions are extremely conflicted when it comes to the man. And crippling guilt always follows them.

I start to frown when my eyes lock on the red stains covering his rumpled dress shirt and suit jacket.

Blood.

Shock and worry surge through me, my heart instantly beating faster.

As Viktor crouches to give an excited Luna attention, I hurry toward him, asking, “Did you get hurt?”

He straightens up and shakes his head as he glances down at his shirt. “It’s not my blood.”

My eyes widen and zoom in on the stains, my mouth growing dry.

Viktor watches my reaction, then tilts his head. “It’s nice that you were worried about me, though.”

Guilt rears up like a hurricane because I shouldn’t give a damn about what happens to him.

“Come, Luna,” I say with numb lips and spinning around, I hurry back into the house.

Conflicting emotions swirl in my chest.

As I shut the bedroom door behind us, Luna jumps onto the bed and lies down, her big eyes watching me with furrowed brows.

I’m relieved that Viktor didn’t get hurt, but I’m also disgusted because he probably killed again.

More lines to tattoo onto his back. It’s a good thing they’re tiny, or he’d run out of space.

Hey, at least he didn’t kidnap another girl.

Lifting a hand, I brush my hair away from my face and shake my head.

This is insane. How can I care about my captor?

It’s probably Stockholm syndrome.

I sit down on the bed and rub Luna’s head, finding comfort in touching her.

I don’t know how I will survive like this for another thirty-three months. The clashing emotions are giving me whiplash.

Every time I start to forget who Viktor is, and my heart begins to open to him, something like this happens to remind me he’s the head of the bratva.

He restrained and forced me to watch my beloved uncle die in the most horrible way.

He threatened to rape me and strangled me.

He has no conscience.

But, he has also gone out of his way to make my captivity as pleasant as possible.

Jesus, Rosalie! Listen to yourself. ‘Captivity’ and ‘pleasant’ never go hand in hand.

There’s a knock at my door, and it opens before I can deny entry.

Viktor’s dressed in a clean shirt and sweatpants, which means he’ll be home for the rest of the day.

“Let’s have lunch,” he says.

No, he orders. He never asks.

“I’d rather starve,” I mutter, turning my attention to Luna, who’s already in dreamland.

“Or I could force feed you,” he threatens.

I let out a sigh and climb to my feet. “Or you could kill me.” Shooting him a glare, I push past him and walk down the hallway.

I sit down on a stool at the island and watch as Viktor grills chicken breasts that he uses to make sandwiches.

My gaze takes in every attractive inch of his body, his strong jaw, full lips, and dark eyes.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs.

“Just wondering how you can kill people so easily.”

He lets out a chuckle. “It’s the way of our life.”

“Not mine,” I mutter.

His eyes flick to me. “Yours as well, Little Rose. You were born into the Sicilian mafia.”

I shake my head. “I was never a part of that world.”

He narrows his gaze on me, and fear skitters down my spine. It doesn’t happen much anymore, but it’s jarring as hell when it does.

“What do you think your family did for a living?”

I don’t know.

When I keep quiet, he says, “It’s a good thing you don’t know, Little Rose. I don’t think you’ll be able to handle the truth.”

What does that mean?

As if Viktor can read my mind, he shakes his head. “It’s better if your memory of your family isn’t tainted. You need something good to hold onto.”

There he goes again, making it look like he cares about me.

“You exhaust me, Viktor.”

He freezes, his eyes burning into mine. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.” A pleased look curves the corner of his mouth into a hot as hell grin, then he orders, “Say it again.”

Shaking my head, I scoot off the chair.

Before I can dart in the direction of the stairs, Viktor moves in front of me, giving me a look of warning. “Stop running.”

I’ll never stop.

I raise my chin to look up at him, wanting to seem stronger than I feel.

Viktor lifts his right hand to my cheek, and his touch makes tingles explode beneath my skin. It feels like every cell in my body is going off like fireworks.

“Don’t,” I whisper.

When I take a step back, I bump into the island. Viktor moves closer until our chests touch, and his manly scent engulfs me.

Oh, God.

His voice is so low and deep, it sends goosebumps over my skin. “Don’t what?”

I turn my head away and stare at the fridge. “You know.”

When he leans down, I quickly shut my eyes, but that’s a bad idea because now I feel every movement he makes, and his breath skimming over my jaw and ear has my sensitive skin tingling like crazy.

His hand grips my hip. “Don’t touch you?”

I swallow hard on the intense attraction making my abdomen tighten while heat flushes between my legs.

This isn’t right.

“You smell mouthwatering, Little Rose.” His lips brush against my throat, and a strangled moan escapes me.

He said similar words to me right before they killed Uncle Ricco.

Shoving against his chest, I dart to the side and run for the stairs.

My heart is beating out of control, and overwhelming shame pours through my veins like hot lava.

Whenever I’m attracted to Viktor, I feel like I’m dishonoring my family.

This is too hard. I can’t deal with these conflicting emotions.

Hiding in my bedroom, I remind myself of everything Viktor has done and who he is.

I force whatever feelings I have for him into a box of shameful thoughts, hoping to God I’m strong enough to keep it sealed shut because I can’t fall in love with him.