His Kitten

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3. Kidnapped

Rosie

My eyes were heavy, but I was aware of my surroundings. Well sort of. Aware enough to know I didn’t want to open my eyes. I could feel a cloth in my mouth, tied in place. Rope digging into my wrists, pinned behind my back, so I couldn’t move them. The same as my ankles. The rope bit into my flesh, chafing my skin. I was laying on something soft though, not on the floor.

I forced my eyes open, then I panicked.

I was in a room, light shone through a large window. I was on a sofa. That’s not what had me panicked.

Standing in the room were too large men. Similarly dressed to the ones that had grabbed me. Seeing the daylight streaming through the window, I assumed that had been last night.

I struggled against the bonds, and tried to scream through the gag, but it came out as a whimper.

As soon as they heard me, one of the men looked over in my direction. They were different from the men last night. Who were they? How many of them were there?


“Sembra che la nostra piccola puttana si sia finalmente svegliata.” He scoffed. [It looks like our little whore has finally woken up.]

He started to walk towards me, causing me to panic more.

I felt tears trickle down my face. I hadn’t even realised I was crying, as I strained against the bindings, and squealed through the gag.

His hand wrapped around my throat. Tight enough to be a threat, but I was still able to breath.

“You’ll be a good girl, yes?” he asked, his english clipped, his accent strong.

I quickly nodded, whimpering through the gag.

He licked his lips, and looked across at the other man smirking. The other man rolled his eyes.

“Sbrigati Marco. Voglio scoparla prima che ritorni anche il vecchio!” [Hurry up Marco. I want to fuck her before the old man returns too!]

The man gripping my throat chuckled.

“Pazienza amico mio. C’è un sacco di tempo.” [Patience my friend, there is plenty of time.]


Then I felt his hand, sliding underneath my teeshirt. His fingers gliding across the skin of my stomach.

I screamed, and arched my back. Trying to pull away from him. His grip around my neck shifted, as he grabbed my hair, yanking my head back.

“Stai zitto, puttana!” he growled. [Shut up, bitch]

I could tell it was some sort of insult. I had never been a screamer or a cryer, but now I couldnt help myself as I sobbed through the gag, and tears streamed down my cheek.

His hand moved to my breast, and gave it a sharp squeeze.

“Così reattivo,” he smirked. [So responsive]

I screamed again, in between sobs. His hand let go of my hair. “Ho detto di stare zitto!” He growled. [I said shut-up]

With each syllable his hand slammed down on the bare skin of my upper thigh.

It hurt so bad. All I could hear was the sound of my heart thudding against my ribcage, and noise of the sobs through the gag. I screwed my eyes shut, trying to blot out what was happening. Knowing that it would only get worse.


Then a third voice invaded my senses. It was deep, dominant and authoritative.

“Stacca le mani da quel bambino, pezzo di merda,” he growled. [Take your hands of that kid, you piece of shit]

I felt his hands leave my body, as he stepped away from me. Then I heard a loud bang and a thud. I knew what the bang was as it echoed around the room. It was a gunshot.

I sobbed even harder, and my whole body started to shake. If it hadnt been for the gag, I would have been sick.

“Chiunque altro la toccherà, avranno lo stesso destino di quel pezzo di merda,” he growled. [Anyone else touch her, they will have the same fate as that piece of shit]

I heard several voices respond, “Sì Don Marchesi.” [Yes Don Marchesi]

I felt bile rise him my throat as I realised who these people were. They were speaking Italian, they called him Don. This was the mob. The Italian mafia.


I felt the sofa dip, as someone sat on it. I wanted to stop crying, but I couldn’t.

I felt a hand, gently touch my head. I flinched and tried to pull away, as I sobbed a little harder.

“Sshh, piccolo. You’re safe now,” he whispered, as he removed the gag. [little one]

His accent wasn’t as strong, not like the others, but it was still there.

At least I could understand what he said.

I opened my eyes, everything was a blur, as tears clouded my vision.

His thumb stroked my cheek.

“Così bello, così innocente,” he whispered. [So beautiful, so innocent]

Then I heard him snap his fingers.

“Tu, taglia queste maledette corde e ripulisci questo casino.” [You, cut these damned ropes and clean up this mess]

I heard footsteps, then something pulled at the ropes. Then the ropes fell away, and my hands and ankles were free.

Before I had a chance to do anything, I felt a strong arm wrap around my waist, and another slide under my knees as I was lifted off the sofa.

I felt the urge to struggle and fight back, but this man had saved me. He’d killed the man that was about to rape me, I was sure of that.

Instead I just carried on crying. I couldnt help myself. I realised that I was in the hands of the italian mafia, and I had no control over my future.

Was this my dad’s doing? Was this who he was working for? The reason why I had to hide in my room when he had business associates over?

Then I heard his voice again. Its deep tone soothing me, when it really should be frightening me.

“Just relax, gattina. sei mia ora,” he whispered. [kitten. you are mine now]


When he spoke to me, it was mostly English. Sometimes a strange word would be thrown in which I assumed was Italian.

The words were never spoken harshly though. Not like the others had spoken. I guessed their’s were curses or insults.

He carried me up the stairs, of what seemed like a mansion. Even the staircase was double the size of a normal one.

Then he took me into a bedroom. I panicked immediately. Maybe I had jumped from the frying pan and into the fire.

He laid me gently on the bed. I watched as he took off his jacket, and threw it on a chair.

He carefully removed the cufflinks from his shirt, they were gold with a diamond centre piece. He placed them on a dressing table, then he carefull rolled up his sleeves.

“P...Please...don’t...” I whimpered.

He frowned then he gently stroked my face.

“I’m sorry, Piccolo. The men downstairs... they should know better. I would never...” He soothed.


I now had a chance to look at not only my captor, but my saviour. His face was vaguely familiar, but I couldnt place it. Why would I?

He was an Italian mob boss, I’d never seen him before. I put the thought from my mind.

For a mafia boss, he wasnt old. Probably the same age as my dad. He was a lot more muscular than my dad though. His complexion was darker too. His hair was dark brown, almost black and his eyes were dark brown. He sported a neatly trimmed beard which did little to hide his sharp jawline, or a scar which ran across his cheek.

He was dressed similarly to the other men. I say similarly because his clothes were clearly designer, whilst theirs were off the peg. He didnt wear a tie either, just a crisp white shirt, with the top buttons undone. A gold chain adorned his neck. His forearms had a large tattoo, which I could only assume went right up his arm.


“Why...Why am I here,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

His thumb grazed across my cheek.

“All in good time gattina. For now I think we need to find you a change of clothes.”

He stood up and walked across the room. He opened a set of double doors, which hid a walkin closet.

When he returned, he was carrying a shirt, and a pair of boxers. He put them down on the bed, and pointed to another door.

“Thats the bathroom, gattina. You probably want to get cleaned up. I’ll be back in twenty minutes, then you can have something to eat, does that sound ok?” He asked.


I wanted to scream no, l want to go home. But that wasnt really an option. Home was probably still crawling with cops, and my dad wouldnt be there. I suddenly realised I should be calling Uncle Daniel.

“Do you have my phone? I was supposed to call my Uncle.”

He chuckled, “of course you were, gattina.”

I suddenly realised how lame that sounded. That’s probably what every kidnapped person said. My family will be looking for me. I looked down at the floor and sighed. I’d lost all my fight after today.

“I’ll leave you to get cleaned up, gattina.” He chuckled, as he nodded towards the bathroom.

As he headed to the door, I looked up and I called after him.

“My name is Rosie.”

He looked at me and smiled.

“Oh I know exactly who you are, gattina.”

I watched him as he he opened the door and left, confusion on my face.

How did he know who I was? I still had no idea who he was.


I picked up the clothes and headed to the bathroom.

It was huge. Bigger than my bedroom back home.

There was a huge shower, a big corner bathtub with jets, and double sinks with mirrors above each one. There was a big heated towel rail on one wall, filled with fluffy white towels.

I closed the door and locked it.

I felt dirty. All I could think about was that filthy bastards hands all over me. Was it wrong that I wasn’t sorry he was dead? I shuddered. Not just at the thought, but also because the person that had saved me, had no hesitation in shooting him. Even if I thought about escaping, the fear of being caught was ten times worse. He would probably shoot me too. I just wished I knew why I had been taken. It was for more than just squatting in that house.


I stripped off my clothes, and looked between the bath and the shower.

A shower would be quicker, but a bath might help me soak away the stress and the ache in my shoulder muscles.

I didnt know how long I had been tied up for, but it was long enough for the muscles to feel sore.

I started to run the bath, steam began to fill the room. I stepped into the tub, filled with hot water.

As I sat down, I winced, and glanced at the top of my leg. It was still red from where the dead man had hit me.

I leaned back in the bath, letting the hot water relax me. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine I was anywhere else, other than here.

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