Page 56 of Forced Bratva Prisoner

I look up at him, and I can see he doesn’t know what to say. His face is distorted with—is that pity? I don’t want to be pitied. Not by a mafia boss. Not by someone who kidnapped me.

He doesn’t know what to say because the things I’ve told him have shocked him.

Does that mean it wasn’t normal? What my father did wasn’t the norm in this world?

I doubt it.

Leon stands up and walks over to me. I go rigid as he sits down on the sofa next to me and tries to pull me closer to him. My legs are bouncing with anxious tension, and I can’t sit still.

I push away from him. I don’t want comfort. I want to be strong. I want to show him that I am not weak like my father likes to tell me.

I can handle this. I can handle all of the things that have happened to me in my life.

I’m angry with him for being gentle.

“I don’t want anything to do with your world, Leon.”

He sighs, pulling his mouth tight, and grabs me, fighting, holding me against his chest so that I can’t push him away again. His determination to comfort me makes me realize how badly I just want to be held.

I sigh, trying to let go of the memories, but instead, I let go of everything and start sobbing as I lean against his chest. My tears are soaking his black shirt.

I cry for ages, and he just holds me.

When I start to breathe a little more normally, he gently asks, “How many people know what you’ve been through?”

“Only Marie knows. I don’t have anyone else in my life who would care to listen.”

“So, at the party at my cousin's place, when Rico Nunes came at you and you had the memory of being kidnapped and locked in a basement—you weren’t kidnapped at all. Your own father did that to you. Everything that happened to you, your own father did?”

I nod. “Yes.”

I’m exhausted. It’s as though letting go of all of those things that I was locking inside of my all my life was like cutting open an old wound and letting an infection drain out of me. It's ugly, painful, and exactly what I need to do in order to start healing.

But right now, it’s like I just have this massive open slice in my heart that everything has poured out of.

Leon runs his fingers through my hair and kisses the top of my head.

His warmth is reassuring and his incredibly calm reaction to my outburst was what I needed. I didn’t expect it from him.

“You saved my life, Sasha. They would have shot me. You could have let them do that and still gotten away, but you saved my life instead, and for that I will be forever grateful.”

I nod against his chest, and finally, feeling safe and more at ease, I reach out and wrap my arm around his side to pull myself closer to him.

My hand runs over his shirt, and I feel something wet and sticky.

“What in the world?” he winces as I run my hand over the sticky patch on his shirt again, then I look down at my fingers and see they are stained bright red.

“Leon,” I shout. “You’re bleeding.”

I leap away from him, standing next to the couch. I don’t know what to do for a second. I need a first aid kit. I need to get bandages. We need to go to the hospital. I have to do something.

He chuckles. “Calm down. I know. I know.” He reaches out and takes my hand. “Sasha. Look at me.” I turn my face towards him, my eyes locking with his, and it’s like I am looking into a calm blue sky. “It’s okay. I know I’m bleeding. I don’t think it’s bad.”

“You haven’t even looked?” I am shocked.

“Not yet.”

“But I was talking for long, you could have been bleeding to death.”

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