His Kitten

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5. Breakfast on the Terrace.

Rosie

It was like living on a knife edge. I didn’t know what this man was going to do next. He asked me if I was scared of him. How stupid was that. He’d kidnapped me, one of his men had tried to molest me, then I’d seen him shoot someone. I would be an idiot not to be scared. The size of him, he could break me in two with his little finger if he wanted to.

One minute he was demanding I do things I wasn’t comfortable doing, but then, on the flip side, he could be so gentle.

The way he carried me from the bath when I fell asleep, and the cream on my leg. Then brushing my hair.

When he ran his thumb over my lips, and kissed my neck. I shouldn’t have liked it but I did. My brain was telling me no, but my body reacted all by itself.

It seemed that whenever I did something he asked, he was gentle and kind, but if I hesitated, the mean, mad side came out.

I was convinced now he was some mafia boss. The foreign language. I knew enough about foreign languages to know that Si in Italian meant yes. I couldn’t understand though, why all those men were speaking Italian. We were in America after all. I was half afraid to ask him anything for fear of annoying him. I was curious though. When he said he would call me kitten. Uncle Daniel was the only one who ever called me that. Did he know him? Did he know my dad? Was he going to hold me for ransom, and if they didn’t pay up, would he kill me? Would he kill me anyway? He said I was safe, but I didn’t feel it. Not really.


After he finished brushing my hair, he guided me from the room. His hand resting on the back of my neck. It felt comforting and scary at the same time. Comforting because he held it gently, scary because he had control over me. One wrong move and he could snap my neck in two. He guided me down the stairs. I was grateful that there was carpet everywhere, because I had no shoes on. The only shoes I had were my trainers, and I had left those in the bathroom. That was another weird thing. The clothes that I wore now, were his. They kind of smelled like him. His aftershave I guessed. Was this how it was going to be from now on. Me wearing his clothes. I didn’t even have any underwear, which considering what had occurred earlier, made me feel vulnerable.


When we reached the ground floor, it was like nothing had happened. There were no men downstairs, at least not that I could see. There was no blood, or dead man.

Then we went through some double doors and we were in the kitchen. There was no carpet but the terracotta tiles were warm. Underfloor heating I guessed.

There were several women, milling about in the kitchen, dressed in black. An older woman seemed to be bossing them around.


Vincent called out to the older woman.

“Mamma, posso fare colazione per il mio gattino?” [Mum, can I have breakfast for my kitten?]

Was this Vincent’s mum? I also recognised the word gattino.

Was he referring to me?

The woman turned around. There was a resemblance to Vincent. She gasped.

“Vincenzo! Che cosa hai fatto? Sembra proprio Amelia. Lei non è la tua è lei? Non tua figlia?” [Vincenzo! What have you done? It looks like Amelia. She’s not yours is she? Not your daughter?]

I didn’t understand a word of what she said, but her tone made me think she was scolding him.

Vincent rolled his eyes. Then laughed.

“No mamma. era la gattina di Danny e la figlia di Michael. Adesso è mia.” [No Mum. She was Danny’s kitten, and Michael’s daughter. Now she’s mine]

His mother glanced at me then she looked back at Vincent and laughed.

“Questo insegnerà loro a diventare nemici del mio ragazzo intelligente. Ti sono sempre piaciuti giovani e carini. Cerca di non romperla troppo in fretta, Vincenzo.” [This will teach them to become an enemy of my clever boy. You have always liked them young and cute. Try not to break her too fast, Vincenzo]

Vincent chuckled. He moved his hand from my neck to the small of my back, and guided me out of the kitchen.

As we left and entered the dining room, heard his mother say something to one of the other women.

Vado a prendere mio figlio e la sua piccola puttana a fare colazione. Velocemente adesso.” [Go and fetch my son and his little whore some breakfast. Quickly now]

I recognised one of the words. It was the same as the men who had me tied up had used.


If Vincent had heard it, he hadnt taken any notice.

I didnt think it was pleasant whatever it was.

We didnt stop in the dining room, instead we went through another set of doors. I was surprised as we were on a little terrace with a small table and two chairs.

I gasped, when I realised we were no longer in the city. In fact looking around, we were nowhere near the city.

“You see, Gattino. Even if you were planning to run away,” Vincent smirked, “Which I can imagine you probably were, there is no place for you to go.”

I felt my heart beating hard against my chest.

“Wh...Where are we,” I stuttered.

Vincent leaned towards me, and grazed his thumb across my cheek.

“This is where I was born, tesoro. We are in Sicily. This is my family home.” He smirked.

Tears pooled in my eyes, as my cupped my hand across my mouth.

This couldnt be happening. The house I was in just before his men grabbed me. I was in one of the suburbs of New York.

I had been at school. My dad? What happened to him, and Uncle Daniel. I shook my head, in disbelief.

“No...this can’t be...I have school, and my dad...” I gasped.

Vincent stood up and walked behind me.

He put one had on my shoulder, the other he gently wrapped around my throat. There was no pressure, but it didnt mean I wasnt scared.

Then he whispered in my ear, his breath fanning my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Your father and your Uncle Daniel crossed me. No one crosses me gattina, and gets away with it. So now I have you. No harm will come to you as long as you obey me, and dont try to run. Do you undersand?”

It was a warning, a threat. The way his hand held my throat. Gently but with a sense of danger.

I quickly nodded.

“User your words, gattina. I need to hear you say it,” he hissed.

“Y...Yes, I understand,” I whispered.

He loosened his grip, and his hand stroked my neck, and slowly moved up to stroke my face.

“Good girl,” He whispered.

I felt him kiss the top of my head.

He stood up straight and returned to his chair, just as young woman brought out a tray of food.

Suddenly I wasnt very hungry.

I was stranded in a strange country where the only person who seemed to speak my language was my kidnapper. A monster who had no qualms about killing anyone who got in his way.


The young woman put the plates on the table, along with two cups of coffee, and two glasses of orange juice. She then bowed her head to Vincent and left.

I looked at the food. I hadn’t eaten in days, but the thought of food now turned my stomach.

Vincent had already started to tuck into his plate. It looked like some sort of omlette.

He looked at me, and smiled.

“Go ahead...eat!” he enthused.

I picked up the fork and put some of the omelette in my mouth.

Under normal circumstances I probably would have liked it. Right now it felt like I was eating cardboard.

I pushed the food around my plate.

As I did, Vincent frowned.

“Whats the matter, dont you like it? Would you like something else?” he asked.

I shook my head, “I’m not really hungry.”

Vincent rolled his eyes.

“Nonsense, you havent eaten for almost three days!” He scoffed.


That hit me like a freight train. Three days. They’d drugged me, and I’d been unconcious for that long. Then the realisation hit me. Of course I had. One minute I’d been in New York. Now I was somewhere in Italy. I had no clue where. Geography had never been my strong suit.

Then something snapped inside of me…

I glared at Vincent and slammed my fork down on the plate.

“You expect me to be hungry!” I yelled, “I’ve been drugged, kidnapped, almost raped, threatened, and dragged halfway across the world where I dont understand a word anyone says. You think I can eat?”

Vincent stood up slowly returning my glare.

His eyes looked at me coldly.

“You think you’ve been threatened piccola ragazza?” He growled.

I cowered in the chair.

Then he reached behind him and pulled out a gun.

I should have realised he carried one, after I’d already seen him shoot someone. He pointed the barrel in the middle of my forehead.

“This...” he growled, “This is a threat!”


I stared at him in horror. He was going to shoot me! I gasped as I threw myself back in the chair.

Too late I realised the chair was tipping backwards.

After that it seemed like everything happened in slowmotion. The chair continued falling backwards until my head hit the tiled floor below.

I screamed as pain shot through my head then my eyes blurred.

The last thing I saw was the look of shock on Vincent’s face, before I blacked out completely.

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