Page 50 of Forced Bratva Bride

“Sorry, I had my music pretty loud. Where did you go? Did you just get home?”

“What if I really needed you? And you can’t even be bothered to answer when I call you. It’s actually rude,” I say, knowing how unreasonable I sound, but I'm so angry.

“What the hell? I was just working out. I always work out with music on.”

“It’s not fair of you,” I shout.

“Hey, no, what is going on? This isn’t like you at all.” He walks over to me, pulling the other earphone out and tossing it onto a bench.

I take a step back, my mouth pulled tight, my eyes narrowed and my heart racing.

“Chiara, what is going on? You look really pale.”

“Nothing,” I snap.

He grabs my shoulders and forces me to face him. “I can see that there is something wrong, now tell me what it is.”

His voice is so commanding that it pushes away all of my thoughts for a moment.

I stare up at him and tears fill my eyes.

He pulls me into his arms. “Babygirl, talk to me. I’m here. You're okay. What happened?”

With my head pressed against his chest, I finally feel safe. I feel the horror of what I saw becoming more distant.

“I went to my father’s house.”

He doesn’t say anything, he just keeps holding me close.

“I saw him—he cut a man’s tongue out. He was—he was torturing him.”

Maxim’s body tenses.

“Your father let you see that?” he asks, shocked, grabbing my shoulders again so that he can look into my eyes.

“No. He didn’t know I was there. I snuck in.”

“You said you were going to visit. Not sneak in.”

I push away from him. “I know what I said. But I snuck in. I wanted to look inside Stefano’s office, and then when I was leaving, I heard someone in pain. So I followed the sounds and saw my father—"

My throat tightens as the memory of his expression fills my mind. The smile on his face. Twisted and sick.

“Chiara,” Maxim says loudly, anger in his voice.

He grips my shoulders tighter, his fingers digging into my skin painfully.

“You are hurting me. Stop that.” I try to push him away, my hands pressing against his naked chest.

“What the fuck did I tell you? You promised me you wouldn’t do anything stupid. How can I keep you safe if you don’t obey me?”

“Stop it,” I shout, punching my fist into his solid chest. He doesn’t even flinch.

“I won’t stop. You are mine to take care of. I have to protect you. Don’t you get it? I need you. Your safety is my priority over anything else. Even over finding out the truth about what is going on. I put you, and your safety, above all of that. If I find out—"

“Stop shouting at me.” My tears are falling again, but now I am becoming angry as well.

There is so much anger in me that I hardly know what to do with it. I feel so betrayed by what I saw in my father’s house. I feel as though my life might have been a lie. My father might not be the man I thought he was, and now my husband is yelling at me.

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