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4

Amina

I was so hungry and exhausted, and my bones felt rusted because I had been sitting at 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 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 with 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. I had thought switching continents would purge me of the tainted image I had of the world, but it only proved me wrong.

Ivan started the car, and we drove off. I occasionally looked at him in the rearview mirror so I could see the beautiful devil that kidnapped me, and our eyes locked often. This match went on for almost half an hour before he finally broke the silence.

"You’re hungry, aren’t you? He asked, looking me in the eyes and trying to act like, deep down, he was sorry for kidnapping me, and he really did not mean to. Of course I was hungry; he must have overhead my stomach scolding me; I had been out all morning without a substantial breakfast. If he wanted to hold me hostage, fine; he had to take responsibility. It was definitely not my fault that I was a living thing with living needs. I’m pretty sure whoever was behind this would not want me dead or starved because my father’s wrath would be terrible.

"Misery doesn’t fill stomachs, does it? I cut in sharply, and a smile broke across his lips.

"There’s an intercontinental restaurant just down the street; we’ll go there. Ivan announced, and the silence took over once more.

In no time, we got to the restaurant, and it stood like an elegant ginger-haired woman. "Panorama" glinted in red. It was magnificent; cars of different sizes, brands, and shapes were parked, and people trooped in. For a moment, I felt insecure about my dressing; this was a five-star restaurant, and I was slouching in the clothes I had worn for classes the day before, walking beside a gorgeous man. Ivan handed the car keys to a valet who was a tall, middle-aged man with a brown moustache. My insecurity melted away when I passed through the glass doors, and the aromas of the food hit me in the gut. We were seated, and without looking into the menu, I ordered a plate of Jollof rice, salad, and turkey, while Ivan ordered a plate of Pelmeni and a bottle of sparkling wine. We ate silently. Ivan was obviously trying to pretend that he had just not kidnapped me and that I was not even there at all. This angered me a whole lot, and I transferred all my pent-up rage to devouring the helpless turkey on my plate—the poor bird. After we had dined, I was in better spirits and almost forgot that I had been kidnapped. Ivan and I got into his car, and he sped off toward Pokovkra Street again. The streets were alive with lights emanating from stalls, food stands, and hotels; there was also a roundabout that featured a fountain of black, roaring lion heads. For the rest of the ride, the only delightful things about us were our happy stomachs.

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