Page 84 of Knocked-Up Bratva Prisoner

Home is a person. A person who didn’t even bother to say goodbye this morning.

Another car ride. Another blank stare out of the window.

I think am starting to go numb.

I hope so, because feeling any of this for too long will break me apart.

***

“Clara.” My uncle is waiting at the top of the stairs leading into the house.

“Uncle Giorgio.” He pulls me into a hug, his arms wrapped tightly around me as he gushes over me.

I can’t help but think it is all for show.

After leading me inside, I expect him to let me shower, change, settle in—but nothing like that happens.

He pushes me onto the sofa in the living room and sits in the chair opposite me with his hands folded in front of him. His intense stare is making me uncomfortable.

“Who took you? Who was it that was stupid enough to kidnap my niece? I want names. I want to know what happened,” he demands.

Nothing soft or gentle or empathetic about his approach at all.

“I don’t know,” I shrug.

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Don’t lie to me, girl. Tell me who it was.”

“I honestly don’t know. I was locked in a room the entire time. I never even saw anyone.”

“You were locked in a room? Who brought you food? Who gave you water? Who did you see while you were there?” He is pushing hard for this information. I can see him getting a little angry that I don’t have answers.

“I didn’t see anyone. They passed the food through a slot in the door.”

“Clara, I need to know who it was. I need to go after them. I can’t have the world thinking they can get away with screwing me over like this.”

“Screwing you over? You? What about me? I waskidnapped.Do you even care how I feel or what I went through? Do you care if I’m okay now?” I am furious with him, and talking to him in ways I would never have dared to before.

He stands up, glaring down at me.

“Did the driver not ask if you wanted to go to a doctor?” he snaps.

“Are you kidding me? Is that it? Is that your level of softness?”

I shake my head, standing up. This conversation is over.

“Clara, don’t you dare walk away from me until you’ve given me something to go on—"

“This conversation is over. I would like to shower, rest, recover from mytraumatic ordeal.” I say sarcastically, because clearly, he doesn’t give a fuck about any of it.

“Clara." I can hear the anger in his voice, but also confusion. I’ve never stood up to him before.

Upstairs, alone in my room with the door closed, I finally let myself cry.

I cry, flooding streams of tears for the man I fell in love with.

I will never tell my uncle who took me.

Even though Alexei didn’t even have the heart to say goodbye, I don’t want him dead. I don’t want his family hurt.

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