Page 83 of Knocked-Up Bratva Prisoner

I climb out of the car and slam the door closed.

I stare at them, waiting for them to drive off.

I watch the hesitation as it flashes over their faces.

Then, finally, resigned to what is inevitable, Oleg puts the car in gear and drives away, leaving me standing…I have no idea where I am standing.

I turn away from the road I am staring down and towards the gas station.

Anya gave me a little money in case I needed to pay for the call.

The guy behind the counter at the cashier's desk is really nice, though, and he lets me use his phone for free.

It rings, and my stomach knots.

“Hello?” my uncle's voice comes through the line.

“Uncle Giorgio,” I say his name fighting tears. Not tears for him—tears for myself and everything I am walking away from with Alex. Everything I am going back to with my uncle.

“Clara?” he shouts loudly, confused and in shock.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Where the fuck are you?”

The guy behind the counter gives my uncle instructions on where I am and then offers to make me coffee while I wait.

I insist on paying for the coffee, seeing as I have enough. Then I sit outside on the pavement, my legs curled up under my chin as I stare blankly at everything around me and sip the hot coffee.

After a long wait and a second cup of coffee I see a big black SUV with tinted windows driving up the road towards the gas station. It can only be my uncle. All the other cars that have come past here have been pretty normal looking. This car looks like it belongs to the underworld.

I stand up, dusting the ground from my jeans. I don’t really know how to act. I guess I don’t even need to act. I’m fucking miserable.

The SUV comes to a stop alongside me.

The driver gets out and walks around to where I’m standing.

But it’s not my uncle.

“Miss Vitali. Your uncle is so happy to have you safe again,” the driver says, opening the back door for me. I peek into the car, expecting my uncle to be there, but he isn’t.

“Where is he?” I ask, confused.

“He is at home. He had some work to attend to. But he’s waiting for you and can’t wait to see you.”

I roll my eyes, the rejection and lack of affection hitting deep.

He couldn’t even be bothered to come out and fetch me himself, but he wants to pretend like he was all desperate to find me.

It’s such bullshit.

“I’m sure he’s just over the moon about my return,” I mutter sarcastically.

The driver pulls his mouth to the side. He knows better than to try and argue with me right now. In fact, he looks like he pities me.

“Do you need to stop at a doctor, Miss Vitali?” He says, climbing into the front again and looking at me in the rearview mirror.

“Please just take me home,” I say. Then my mouth is filled with a bitterness that I try to swallow away, because home isn’t home anymore.

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