Page 12 of Beautiful Enemy

“No,” is all she says.

“No… what?” I skim my fingers down her arm and she shivers in response. At least that means she’s not dead inside. She has feelings.

She’s just not showing any of them to me.

“I have nothing to say.”

I pull back from her, staring at the back of her head in shock. How can she have nothing to say? I just told her she’ll be staying in this filthy basement and she has no words?

“I don’t understand you,” I admit, turning her around to face me. “Tell me you hate me.”

“Why?”

“Because you do. There’s no way you don’t hate me.”

“But if you already know, then why do you need to hear it from me?”

I huff. Nadia is a confusing little thing. Yes, my plan worked in kidnapping her but the rest of my plan hasn’t come to fruition. I expected her to beg me as she fought to run away.

But she’s not begging. She’s not fighting. She’s just staring at her feet like a scared child.

It makes me feel kind of like an ass for taking her in the first place.

I immediately push that from my mind. There’s no time to feel guilt over this. Nadia belongs to the Bratva. I belong to the Mafia. We’re natural enemies. By who she’s related to, that makes her my enemy and she’ll be nothing else.

She deserves this, I remind myself. Even though it was Anya who stabbed me all those years ago, Nadia was there. She followed her sister and Erik out of his house as he blew it up, leaving me inside for dead.

I managed to escape just in time before getting blown to fucking bits. It was only luck and fortitude that helped me survive.

“You are not innocent,” I growl, running the backs of my fingers down her cheek. “You are the enemy. Don’t stand there, looking so pure in your wedding dress. You belong to a family of villains which makes you a villain yourself.”

She nods, like she agrees with me. Still, she doesn’t look me in the eye, even though I want her to. Ineedher too. If I can read her expression, maybe I’ll get a better sense of her.

I tilt her face up so I can look into her eyes. “When I talk to you, you will look at me. Is that understood?”

She gasps, fear on her face, but she nods anyway.

“So obedient,” I murmur. “What has made you this way? Your father? I’ve watched you and your family over these past four years and I’ve noticed that you don’t live with him any longer. Why is that?”

She shakes her head. Suddenly, her body begins to tremble. Fast, hard shakes.

“Interesting. Are you scared of your father? Is that why you’retrembling?”

“I’m scared of you,” she whispers. For the first time since kidnapping her, I see a bit of defiance on her face.

“There it is.” I cup her cheeks and press my forehead against hers. “How does it feel to have an Italian touch you? You were raised to marry a Bratva man. But I am no Bratva man.”

“I’m scared.”

“You already said that. Answer my question. How does it feel that I’m so close to kissing you? Does that disgust you? Or does it… excite you?”

“Disgust.”

“Because you were raised to hate Italians.”

“Because you’re my kidnapper.”

“Oh. Interesting.” I pull back, dropping my hands from her face. “You don’t hate me in principle, do you? Obviously, you hate me for my actions. As you should. Anyone would hate their kidnapper. But do you hate me for what I stand for?”

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