Page 32 of Knocked-Up Bratva Prisoner

“I am not getting up from the table until you tell me what made you so afraid. We can sit here all day. I don’t care.”

“Are you always so hell-bent on getting your own way?” she snaps angry and fiery.

“Yes,” I say calmly.

She shakes her head, but I can see she is giving in. She is going to tell me.

Clara takes a deep breath and bites her lower lip.

“You reminded me of my uncle, okay? There. Now you know. Now drop it.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“You reminded me of when he gets angry.”

“And?”

She sighs and rolls her eyes, accepting that I am not going to be okay with half answers.

“Giorgio has a really bad temper, and when he gets angry, he gets really aggressive and nasty. He doesn’t get physical, but he hurts me, he throws things, he shouts and screams and it’s really terrifying—look, like I said, he doesn’t hit me. It’s just—emotionally, it’s scary and hurtful. He is controlling, manipulative. Living with him is like living in a prison.”

She goes quiet and again she looks embarrassed.

My heart breaks, pulling tight in my chest.

“He makes you feel bad about yourself?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Why does he treat you like that? He has no right to make you feel that way.” Anger bleeds into my voice.

“What do you care?” she mutters.

I pull her face gently towards mine, looking into her soft eyes.

“Clara, I never want to make you feel that way. I am so sorry that happened last night. I promise you, from the bottom of my heart, that will never happen again.”

Tears spring to the corners of her eyes and she quickly blinks them away. The thought of her uncle doing any kind of harm to her is burning wildly in my mind. I want to kill him.

I want to tear his world apart. I will never let him near her again.

“You will never go back there,” I snarl.

“Alexei, you can’t do that. I want to gohome.”

“Why would you ever want to go back to him?”

“Because at least that is a prison, I understand. This—" She lifts her cuffed hand. “This is worse. I can’t even go to the bathroom in privacy.” She sighs sadly.

I clench my jaw, realizing what I am doing to her is not okay.

I need to figure something else out.

We carry on eating our breakfast without any further discussion.

My mind is brewing with thoughts of how I want to save her from her life—and how I want to stop her uncle from ever harming her again.

After breakfast I lead her through to the upstairs guest bathroom, the only one upstairs that doesn’t have a window.

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