C4 CHAPTER 4

Konstantin peeled the duct tape off her mouth and her hands, and I walked towards her with my package of food, she looked really tired and in need of some sleep, and it was evident that we needed to get her some comfy clothes if she was going to survive the cold—her lips were almost purple! Which was alarming giving her complexion.

“Hey, Jewel. I spoke to your father, and he wants to speak with you.”

She replied with silence, and in her eyes was dejection.

“I brought you some food.” I continued, stooped to her level, and lifted her face with my index finger.

“Leave me alone,” she spat at me. “Quit acting like you’re my friend.”

“You better eat; you might be here for a long time,” I said. I shifted a small wooden stool towards her and left the food on it. She turned away from the food and folded her hands like a sulking child.

“I want to talk to my father,” she began, adding “please” as an afterthought.

“Alright then,” I said and signaled to Konstantin, who came with a cell phone. Before the solemn pom-poms had even begun to sound, Chief Latif’s voice had already boomed through the speakers.

“Jewel?”Jewel, is that you?” He asked anxiously. Satisfied by his response, I pushed the phone closer to Amina’s lips, and she answered,

“Papa,” she called once and burst into a fit of tears. A part of me wanted to stretch out, pat her wild hair, and whisper into her ears that everything was going to be alright, but who was I kidding? I was the one who kidnapped her, after all.

That night I would call the Don again to inform him and ask him for more details of the plan, it was late at night but I could hear the sizzling of frying peppers over the phone, at once I knew that our Don was at it again, he was making his favorite lethal pepper sauce. By its name, one could tell that it was a sauce only Don could enjoy, and it was made with nothing else but a variety of peppers.

(Amina)

I was so hungry and exhausted, and my bones felt rusted because I had been sitting in a spot for hours. When Papa’s voice came through the speakers, I could no longer mask my frustration, and I broke down in tears. I wanted to be strong, but my body would not comply. As I wept, my body shook so much that I could have passed for an epileptic. Papa, on his own, was furious.

“Tell me, did they hurt you?” he asked in a calm voice that said he would be on the next flight to Moscow with armed men if they so much as broke a fingernail.

“No, papa, they did not touch me,” I assured him, though my voice still quivered.

“Jewel, listen to me carefully. I’ll speak to them; you’ll be fine.” Papa was still talking when Ivan took the phone from my hands. I could hear Papa calling frantically for me, and I loathed Ivan for making my invincible papa scared.

“As you can see, Chief Latif, your daughter is very much alive. But it doesn’t mean that that fact cannot be changed; it depends wholly on your attitude.”

“You’re a bastard! You hear me? Do not lay a finger on my daughter!” Papa erupted.

“Again, it depends on your attitude, Chief Latif; we’re not thieves, and neither are we murderers,” Ivan said as he was sitting at the edge of the wooden stool my food was on and tapping his fingers on the wood.

“What is it that you want? “How much is it?” Papa’s anxious voice

“We’re not thieves. We simply want you to give back the firearm distribution contract to us,” Ivan said.

“So Don Oleg is behind these,” Papa ventured. “It’s fine, as long as my daughter is safe,” he added.

“To avoid you going back on your words, your daughter is going to be held hostage until we can trust you again. But not to fear; if transactions are carried out promptly and honestly, your daughter will be given the finest treatment, and, of course, we’ll escort her to school so we don’t disrupt her education. Is that fine by you?” Ivan asked.

“It’s fine; just remember that a deal can turn into a war if you so much as stare at my daughter for too long,” Papa warned, and the line was severed.

I regretted rejecting the food because it had gone cold now; my stomach rumbled, and I could not bring myself to ask Ivan for anything. Ivan had left the room and was in a conversation with Konstantin and Lenin, the two brothers, and they cast glances my way at intervals, and I knew they were talking about me. After like twenty minutes of banter, Ivan walked into the room with his hands on his waist.

“You’ll be coming with me; get up,” Ivan ordered he was putting on a blue cardigan on top of a black shirt and a pair of black corduroy pants. The golden button on his pants cast dim golden dots on the wall. I could not help but notice the trait that drew me to him in the first place: his eyes. But this time, I could no longer bask in the warmth; I had to make sure not to get comfortable around him, or I would be deceived again. I got up, straightened my clothes, and followed him tentatively.

As we got out of the musty basement and I encountered light, my vision blackened in response, and I had to stand still for a while before I regained my eyesight. Reaching his car, Ivan opened the door to the front seat for me, and I scoffed.

“No thank you, I’ll sit at the back; I’m a ‘hostage,” remember?” I said as I opened the door to the backseats myself and got in. Anger welled in me.