Page 81 of Stolen Mafia Vows
But he lied to me.
I’m going around in circles, one moment imagining his arms around me, or his tongue buried deep between my legs, or his cock in my mouth, and the next… My heart plummets through the floor when I remember that he was using me to get to my family.
My dad said that I was gullible, and it gives me palpitations thinking that he was right.
How could Eoghan do that to me? Was any of it even real?
Because if it wasn’t, if he literally planned the whole thing from our first meeting in the Arrivals lounge at the airport, then it means that I saved myself for a liar. For the biggest fucking asshole on the planet.
Lying on top of the comforter in my room, I replay every conversation in my head. I relive every kiss, every fuck, every time Eoghan touched me, hoping for a glimpse of something I missed first time around, something that will convince me it was real.
And every time I think that it’s impossible it was all an act, my thoughts slink back to the airport and Ruairi sneaking off to speak to Sienna. At the time, I thought I saw him taking a picture of her on his phone and dismissed it as my overactive imagination. But now I see it for what it was: part of the plan.
That’s when I scream into the pillow and pummel the mattresswith my fists.
No one comes into the room to check on me, so I’m left with my spiraling thoughts.
Because if falling in love with an A-Class asshole isn’t bad enough, I must also deal with the knowledge that everyone else I care about has been lying to me my whole life.
I can’t even think about my parents and brothers. They’ve clocked up an entire lifetime of lies that will take the rest of my life to unravel, and why should I drag my mental health over the coals for their mistakes?
So, on day four, when the walls feel as though they’re closing in on me, and I’m craving fresh air and sunshine, I shower, wash my hair, and pull on a clean T-shirt that Olivia must’ve sent to my room, and my own pants. I don’t want to deal with my captors’ erratic behavior, but I’m too deep inside my own head, and I have plans too.
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror and study my reflection.
Olivia’s comment about the size of my breasts must’ve been subconsciously on my mind, because the first thing I do is smooth the material across them and turn sideways. I’ve always been curvy—I have my mom’s genes to thank for that—but they’re noticeably larger, to the point where I probably need to up my bra size to contain them.
Lifting the T-shirt, I face the mirror head-on and squash my breasts together.Ouch. They feel sore too. My eyes slide downward to the button of my pants that’s pulled tight.
I need to get out of this room and get some exercise; I’ve been in sloth-mode for too long, and it’s taking a toll on my health in more ways than one.
Time to bite the bullet and face my captors. Only this time, I’m bypassing Olivia and going directly to Ilya.
I open the door and stop myself from eye-rolling the guard when he stifles a yawn. “I want to speak to Ilya.” I don’t even know his last name; something else I need to correct.
Once again, I navigate the house with a gun pressed between my shoulder blades, like I’d be stupid enough to try to escape, and into a study where I find Ilya, alone, sitting behind a polished desk and studying a tablet. Olivia’s absence is like an immense weight lifted from my shoulders.
He blinks when I enter and shuts down the tablet like a teenager caught playing video games when he should’ve been studying for an exam.
I sit down without waiting for his permission. “Whatever you want, I can help you,” I lead with the same offer I made to Olivia.
He sits back in his seat and crosses his legs, casually, one ankle resting on his knee. “What makes you think we need your help?”
It hits me again how much I miss Eoghan’s gentle accent. “Clearly, nothing has happened. I figure you’re probably waiting for my family to react to whatever demands you’ve sent them, but I can help you speed up the process.”
His lips quirk into a lopsided smile. “You figure wrong, little princess.”
“You mean they’ve already met your demands?” Adrenaline spikes through my veins. Have they paid these people a ransom already? If so, why am I still here?
“No, I mean we haven’t made any demands.”
And it all comes crashing down again. “I-I don’t understand. You must want something from them in return for my release.” That’s how it works, right? Kidnappers generally demand money for their hostages.
“Oh, we do want something.” He shrugs like it’s no biggie. “It’s only a matter of time before they make it happen.”
“But… Where does that leave me?”
Am I being selfish putting myself before everyone I care about? Perhaps. But if they hadn’tliedto me, I wouldn’t be in this situation.
