Chapter 2 There was a caught

Chapter 2

Kataliya stepped out of the bathroom slowly, the towel in her hand pressed against her wet hair. Her bare feet sank softly into the thick carpet. Steam fumes behind her, disappearing into the cold air of the room.

On the bed lay a dress.

The same one the guard had spoken about earlier-short, silky, and clearly meant to show more skin than she was used to. It was red, tight at the waist, with a deep neckline and thin straps. The kind of dress meant for parties or... something worse she knew of.

Kataliya stared at it for a moment, disgust and hesitation written all over her face, this wasn't the right mood for this, not in this situation.

Suddenly she remembered the guard's words from earlier:

'That's for you. He doesn't like waiting. Wear it If you don't want to get hurt for disobeying him'

Her expression weakened.

She didn't want to give Santiago anything, especially not obedience. But her wrists were still sore from the ropes. Her face still stung from the slap. She didn't know what else he was capable of doing to her at this point.

She hated this. Hated feeling powerless. Hated how cold this place was. Hated how much control one man had over her entire life now.

With shaky hands, she slipped the dress on.

It hugged her body too tightly. It was soft against her skin, but it felt wrong. Like it didn't belong to her.

When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she almost didn't recognize herself.

The dress clung to her hips and thighs. Her chest was pushed up, slightly exposed, and her back was bare. Her dark hair, still damp, framed her face messily. She looked older, bolder but also more vulnerable.

She looked like bait.

"God," she whispered to herself, grabbing the towel and rubbing it against her hair. "This is hell...."

Her eyes shifted to the right, where a small television was mounted on the wall.

It was playing softly in the background. Some news channel. Just noise at first. But then her name was mentioned.

She turned toward it quickly.

"In today's top story," the female reporter's voice said, "police and private investigators continue to search for eighteen-year-old Kataliya Carter, daughter of Valiente crime lord Don Carter. Kataliya was last seen Friday night at a rooftop party celebrating her upcoming graduation..."

A photo flashed onto the screen-her smiling, standing with Bella, holding a red cup.

Her throat tightened.

"Sources say Don Carter has offered a seven-figure reward for any information on his daughter's whereabouts. Eyewitnesses claim several black SUVs with tinted windows and no license plates were seen leaving the scene..."

Then came the footage.

The city was on fire-metaphorically. Don Carter's men were everywhere. At nightclubs, at businesses, at border points. They weren't knocking on doors instead they were kicking them down. Guns out. People on their knees, screaming, crying. Men being dragged out by their collars.

"Carter's men have been accused of using violence to track down Kataliya than wait for the authority. Several establishments have been shut down or burned. Witnesses report threats, beatings, and even shootings..."

Kataliya's hand trembled.

Her father was tearing apart the city for her. Like she always knew he would. And yet he hadn't found her.

She stepped closer to the TV, her hand pressed to her chest.

"Officials are urging civilians to stay indoors as tensions rise between two powerful families rumored to be involved in organized crime. The situation is being closely monitored..."

On the screen, Santiago's face never appeared. Just Carter's wrath.

Kataliya's eyes drifted to the table by the wall.

There, next to a lamp was a telecom device. A landline. Small, black. She hadn't noticed it before. But it had buttons, a receiver.

She looked around.

No guards or footsteps were heard.

Carefully, she tiptoed across the room. Her heart pounded in her ears.

She picked up the receiver.

Dead.

No tone or connection.

Still, she pressed buttons-911, 0, anything.

Nothing.

But as she fumbled with the device, trying desperately to hear even the faintest click-

A voice came behind her.

"What are you trying to do?"

Kataliya turned to ice.

The receiver slipped from her hand and hit the ground with a dull thunk.

She turned slowly with her mouth a bit opened. She knew that voice.

Santiago stood there in the doorway, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette between his fingers. He looked calm but his eyes were not.

He took a step inside, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Kataliya took a small step back.

"I-I wasn't... I thought I heard a noise from it," she lied quickly. "It's broken anyway."

Santiago's gaze dropped to the telecom. Then to her trembling hands. Then to the dress.

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

"So you listened," he said.

She didn't answer.

He took another step closer. His eyes scanned her slowly-from her damp hair to the dress clinging to her skin. Her arms wrapped around herself unconsciously.

"It looks good on you," he said softly.

She didn't respond.

He walked past her, picked up the receiver, then dropped it back onto the table. Then he turned to face her fully.

"Come," he said.

"I don't want to." she mustered her fear immidiately.

"You don't get to want or not want, here__ you only obey."

"I'm not your puppet."

He laughed once, quietly. "No, you're not. You're much more than that."

He walked to a chair near the window and sat down like he owned the world. Then he pointed at the couch across from him.

"Sit."

She didn't move.

"Kataliya."

Her name rolled off his tongue with warning.

Slowly, she obeyed. She sat, crossing her arms tightly, refusing to meet his eyes.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then-

"Your father has been very busy," Santiago said.

"you will not get away with this, i trust My father" she snapped back.

"He's painting the city red. Blood everywhere. Threats, destruction. He even hit one of my ports in Colombia."

"Impressive," she remarked.

Santiago raised an eyebrow.

"I like your fire," he said. "But fire can get people burned."

She looked at him. "Then why don't you just kill me already?"

"Because dead daughters don't make good leverage."

Kataliya flinched.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering.

"And because... you interest me."

She blinked. "What?"

"You're not like most rich mafia daughters. You're brave. Reckless. Sharp. Most girls would've cried themselves to sleep by now. But you... you still try to escape. Still try to talk back. Even after that slap."

"You don't get to compliment me," she snapped. "Not after what you've done."

"I don't need permission to admire you," he said simply.

She stood suddenly. "Is this what you do? Kidnap girls to talk nonsense and feed your ego?"

He stood too.

His height towered over her. But she didn't step back this time.

Santiago's face came dangerously close.

"No, your father should have thought of that when him and his men killed my brother Ethan," he said. "You're Kataliya Carter. You're your father's only weakness.

Her eyes widened. "What did you just say?"

He gave her a small smile then dark expression . "its og no new information that Santiago's younger brother was executed in cold blood by Carter's men, your father, during a border clash. I had always believed Carter ordered it directly"

He walked toward the window and something like tears clouded in his glare.

"Santiago believes an eye for an eye. I couldn't kill Carter's son, because your father has none. So i took his daughter to make him feel the same grief I felt, my family felt."

Kataliya stiffened, she was breathing. Her browse wrinkled in Confusion. She didn't know about all these. She'd focused on her studies and living the best of her life. She never had any interest in her father's business, but one thing she knows __her father had more enemies than friends.

Before she could reply, he walked toward the door.

But just as he reached it, he paused.

Without turning back, he said, "You should eat something. Tomorrow might be harder."

Then he left.

The door clicked behind him.

Kataliya stood frozen, her heart racing, her fists trembled at her sides.

She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry.

She wanted to punch something, break something, and disappear.

But instead, she looked at the untouched food tray again.

Then at the dress clinging to her.

And finally at the cracked telecom.

She was alone again.

But this time... her thoughts weren't just of fear.

They were of pity and survival.

She would not die here, not in his palace.

Not as some pawn in a war between monsters.

She needed to disappear from here and let her father handle his business by himself and not dying for what she never invested in.