Claim Me – East Coast Mafia Read Online Marian Tee

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Mafia Tags Authors: Marian Tee Advertisement

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My hands tremble slightly as I examine the room, looking for anything useful, anything that might offer options beyond passive waiting. The walls are smooth concrete, the ceiling solid, the floor seamless. The chair is metal, welded rather than bolted, offering no components that could be repurposed as tools or weapons.

A perfect holding cell, designed by someone with experience in containing unwilling guests.

I sink onto the chair, mind racing through possibilities, through the training Gabriele provided for exactly this scenario. Stay calm. Conserve energy. Observe everything. Look for patterns, for routines, for any inconsistency or opportunity.

And most importantly, remember that Gabriele will be looking for me. That he has resources, contacts, methods beyond what most could imagine. That he will not stop, will not rest, until he finds me.

Unless Valentina's snipers succeeded in their mission at the gala. Unless Gabriele is injured, or worse.

The thought sends ice through my veins, fear sharper than any concern for my own safety. I push it away forcefully, refusing to indulge possibilities that would only paralyze me, only prevent effective action.

Focus on what I know, what I can verify, what I can affect.

I'm in a secured room in a private residence. Valentina plans some "final conversation" that almost certainly ends with my death, however she might phrase it. Escape through conventional means appears unlikely given the security features I observed upon arrival.

What remains?

I close my eyes, centering myself in the quiet of the room, in the reality of my own breath, my own heartbeat. Gabriele's training emphasized physical solutions—observation, tactical assessment, strategic response.

But there are other resources, other approaches beyond the physical and tactical.

I used to feel close to God. Used to talk to Him all the time and trusted Him completely. But when my foster father did what he did...

I blamed Him for letting it happen. But I never realized I felt that way until now. Never realized I was trying to punish Him, childishly so, with my silence. And yet...He's never abandoned me. And I know this to be true because in this sterile room with its impenetrable walls—-

It's in this place that I feel His presence the most.

I'm sorry, God. I'm so sorry. Thank You for never giving up on me. And thank You for being here.

It's the simplest prayer. But because ever word comes from the heart, I know it's also the kind that He hears and answers, and already I can feel Him working inside of me. A quieting of fear, a clarifying of purpose. It's His peace that surpasses all understanding making me see everything with new eyes.

Ah.

That's when I see it. A ventilation grate. It's the escape route we see being used in every action movie there is. And now there's only one way to find out if the same method proves effective in reality.

I move the chair beneath it, climbing carefully to peer through the slats. The duct beyond is dark but clear, running horizontally for several feet before turning upward. It's too small for a person to fit through. But when I'm standing this close, it's enough for me to hear voices—distant but distinguishable, echoing through the metal passageway.

Valentina, speaking to someone about security arrangements, about timetables, about "wrapping this up quickly before Bronzetti gets too close."

So Gabriele is alive, is pursuing. Relief floods through me, sharpening my focus, strengthening my resolve. I need to stay alive long enough for him to find me, need to create any advantage possible in the meantime.

I continue listening, gathering what information I can about the layout, the personnel, the schedule Valentina has established. The ventilation system connects multiple rooms, creating not just an audio channel but potentially a navigation guide to understanding the structure beyond my immediate confinement.

Eventually, the voices fade as Valentina and her associates move to different areas of the residence. I remain on the chair, thinking through what I've learned, what options it might create.

The most significant revelation is timing—Valentina plans to "conclude our business" within the hour, before moving to a secondary location in anticipation of Gabriele's eventual tracking of this facility. I have less time than I thought, but more information to work with.

I examine the ventilation grate more carefully, noting the standard screws securing it to the wall. No tools available to remove them, but perhaps...

The key Gabriele gave me—the antique from his grandmother's house that "unlocks something worth opening." I wear it always on its platinum chain, tucked beneath my clothing, a tangible reminder of the connection we've built, the trust we've established.

The bow of the key is ornate, with protrusions that might, with careful application, serve to loosen the screws securing the grate. Not as effective as a proper screwdriver, but potentially workable given sufficient patience and precision.

I remove the key from around my neck, testing its edge against the first screw. The fit isn't perfect, but with careful pressure and the right angle, it begins to turn—slowly, grudgingly, but definitely moving.

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