Page 82 of Forced Bratva Bride

Fields fly past my window in the dark. We are going way too fast for my father to be driving with only one hand.

“Put down the gun. You are going to kill us both,” I beg.

“Do I look fucking stupid to you girl?”

"Dad, please,” I beg again.

“I am not your father. You and that whore mother of yours share the same blood. You are not my daughter. I was furious when I found out she was pregnant. Ha. For all I know your father is some other asshole she cheated with.”

For a brief moment I am lost in a wish, a wish that his words were true. But I know he is my father. He looks just like me. Anyone can see that.

I close my eyes, trying to regain control of the fear gripping my heart.

When I open them again, I can see that the headlights following us are closer than before.

“Fuck,” my father screams in anger. He turns to glance behind us and the car swerves badly. I grab the steering wheel as the tires dip off the road and into the gravel.

My father spins back to face the front. He waves the gun in my face. “Don’t fucking move, bitch.”

The car swerves again, and this time I can’t grab the wheel, because the gun is pointed right at my face.

The wheels hit the gravel at incredible speed and we begin to slide.

The front bumper slams against a tree and the entire car lifts. My stomach lurches as I am flung forward, then backwards. Then the world begins to spin as the car rolls.

I open my eyes, gasping for breath. Lying on the roof of the car, I glance over at my father, who appears to be unconscious. I turn my body and kick the cracked glass of the side window. I kick it again and the glass shatters away. Immediately I start crawling out on my stomach, inching through the crushed doorframe and out onto the road.

But when I stand up, my father is right there, the gun pressed to my head again.

I look over at his side of the car, where is his door is open. He was able to get out easily.

“Angelo, let her go.”

Two figures are climbing out of the car parked behind us.

I squint against the headlights and recognize Maxim as he walks in our direction.

Stefano steps to the side, pointing a gun at Angelo. “Let her go,” he demands.

My father pulls me to my feet, and I wince in pain as glass crunches against my knees and the palms of my hands.

Maxim lifts his hands in the air, showing that he is not holding a gun. “Angelo, you have nowhere to go. You are outnumbered here. Just let Chiara go, and we'll let you go, too.”

“Fuck you,” he spits, pressing the gun into my temple, gripping my throat tightly.

“Angelo, you need to see reason here. Everyone knows what you did. No matter what you do now, you can’t win this situation.”

“I fucking hate you. I hate this little whore of a wife of yours. If I am going down, she can go down with me. I will kill her, just to see the look on your face,” he hisses. I wince, knowing he means it.

“Maxim,” I say gently, wanting to defuse this situation. He just needs to walk away. He can’t save me.

“Shut your mouth, girl.” My father shakes me to emphasize his annoyance. “You are just like them. Filthy scum.”

In the glare of the headlights from the other car, Stefano turns his body, a smirk on his face, as he points his gun towards Maxim.

“I’ve waited a long time for this moment,” he says, his eyes narrowed and dark.

“Stef?” Maxim says, turning towards him, looking shocked. “Don’t forget he betrayed you. Angelo used you.”

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