The Mafia's mind

Chapter XXI

POV: Aletta

Everything is hazy and my head is throbbing. I try to adjust my eyes but the room won't stop spinning.

I attempt recalling what happened previously but don't succeed.

"Hello?" I call out. I don't know where I am so I hope someone is nearby to help me.
"Hello?" I call out again, more eagerly. My senses begin to pick up and I'm not as drowsy as 2 seconds ago.

Gradually the spinning slows, and I realise that I am sat on a black, leather armchair facing a grey wall with white wooden door.
I glance to my left and see an oval glass table with a silver vase and a single white orchid inside.

Behind that, hung on the wall, there is an acrylic canvas painting of some dancers. I recognise it immediately as the Russian ballet.

I remember my Maman telling me how much she loved Russian ballet and how her best friend was a ballerina.

I drag my eyes away from the beautiful painting, and scan the rest of the room. I notice there is a soft, grey rug in the middle of the room with a silver circle surrounding it.

There is another armchair identical to mine in the far corner of the room as well as floor to ceiling windows. How did I not notice them before?

I instinctively move from the chair, but as soon as I try to stand a sharp pain strikes my head. I ignore it and move over to the windows, to inspect my surroundings.

WHAT THE F-

"Ah how do you like the view?" A deep voice snaps me out of my thoughts and I snap my entire body round to face the owner.

Opposite me are three men. Two seem in their early 30s, very bulky and harsh looking. One has a tattoo of a serpent running up his arm and they both wear intimidating facial expressions.

I eye the shorter man in the middle. He must be about 80 years old. He's most certainly not a youngster. He has only a few wisps of white hair on his head but his eyebrows are a dark grey. He wears a light grey business suit and is leaning on a black cain with a golden handle, slightly hunched over.

"My name is Markos Sorokin." The elderly man says, his voice thick with a Russian dialect.

I remain silent, not sure what to say. I'm completely vexed.

"Your probably wondering what your doing here." He continues and I nod slowly.

"You've already met my men haven't you?" He says and I scrunch up my eyebrows, I don't think I've ever seen them befo-

HOLY SHIT! THEY KIDNAPPED ME!

All of a sudden panic rises in me as I recall how these people took me.

They must see my expression change, as one of the bulky guys smirks. I scowl at him before turning to the old man.

"What am I doing here? In Moscow?!" I question harshly. Looking out that window, I had a clear view of a huge, colourful Cathedral. I remember seeing it in a book I read for my Geography project a couple of years ago.

"Why am I here? How long have I been here for? Does my father know I'm here? Did you kidnap me?" I bombard them with questions, I could probably go in forever, asking more but I'm harshly interrupted.

"Shut up." The snake tattoo man says abruptly and I almost stagger backwards but obey.

"All your questions will be answered. But first, how do you like Beef Stroganoff?" He asks and I'm awestruck yet bewildered.