Page 28 of Forced Bratva Prisoner

“Yes. And Maxim, my husband, is his cousin.”

“So you are also a Dubrov?” I ask, feeling like I am surrounded by the enemy despite how nice she is being to me.

Chiara fusses about in the kitchen as though she is completely at home here and starts making us drinks. “Vodka or gin?” she asks, pulling both bottles down.

“Gin, please.” I have so many questions, but I think it is better to just keep my mouth shut. I don’t trust any of them.

Chiara finishes making our drinks. She has a vodka soda with a splash of lime, and she makes me a pink gin. Then she turns to face me. “Cheers. I know it’s an awkward night for you, but I think you’ll find that Leon isn’t really a bad guy. He’s one of the good ones.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. There is no way that a good guy kidnaps girls and forces them to marry them after threatening their family.

I sip my gin while Chiara chats about her kids and her husband and what she does for fun. She comes across so genuine, it’s hard not to like her, but my tension is high and I’m struggling to relax the knot in my stomach.

From the living room Maxim calls out, “Girls, the food is here.”

“Oh, good, I’m starving,” Chiara says, grabbing my hand and pulling me back towards the living room. We walk through the open-plan space and into the dining room where the guys have set out dinner. It looks lovely and cozy with candles and take-out boxes all over the table. My father would have a fit if he saw this. He never got take-out, and if he did, he would have expected it to be served on the fine dinner plates.

I sit down at the open seat opposite Leon, and Chiara sits next to me. Maxim is busy helping the kids dish up some noodles and a few dumplings. It’s curious to watch Maxim doing this. He is so gentle with the kids, patient and caring. I sit tensely with my hands knotted in my lap as everyone chats and grabs a take-out box.

Leon places a noodle box in front of me. “I got you the chow mien with chicken. I hope you aren’t vegetarian?”

“Would you care if I was?” I snap sarcastically.

“If I found out you were, I’d have all the veggies in the house removed and only keep cold cuts and turkey in the fridge.” He chuckles darkly.

Chiara places a side plate of dumplings next to me. “Do you want the chili dipping sauce, of the sweet and sour one?” she asks, ignoring the interaction between Leon and me.

“Chili, please.”

Leon reaches across the table and hands me a napkin and some chopsticks. I am terrible at eating with chopsticks, but I won’t tell him that. It’s not like I’ve had much practice with it, seeing as I’m not normally allowed take-out.

I open the little packet and pull out the two bamboo sticks, then watch Chiara to see what she does. She pulls her apart and makes it look easy.

I try and pull mine apart and break one in half. I bite my lip, feeling embarrassed.

Chiara chuckles. “Here, let me get you another pair. That happens to me all the time.”

She grabs a fresh set and breaks it apart for me.

I take them, knowing that my brows are furrowed in confusion. The expression on my face is giving away the fact that I am a fish out of water here. Chiara, Leon and Maxim chat happily. Leon is talking about something funny that happened with the moving truck, then Maxim is telling him about some great restaurants he has to try in the area.

“Did you just move to Boston?” I ask, immediately wondering if I should have just kept my mouth shut.

I was never allowed to talk at the dinner table at home. My father hated it. He always wanted to eat in silence, and if anyone was allowed to speak, it was him.

On the rare occasions I did speak, he would immediately belittle me and insult me.

I feel my entire body tensing up as I wait for them to do that. To be nasty.

Leon nods. “Yes. I just moved here. But I bought the house a few months ago and had a designer come in and put it together before I moved in.”

“I love it,” Chiara says. “And the pool out back is great. We can have a lot of family barbecues here.”

One of the kids knocks over their juice and I wince, waiting for someone to slap them across the back of the head or yell at them about how stupid and clumsy they are.

“Sorry, Mommy,” she says, grabbing her plate and lifting it out of the way of the flood of juice.

I feel my entire body tensing.

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