Page 63 of Stolen By The Bratva King

So am I.Do I mean so little to him that he can cut me loose as soon as the fun is over?

That can’t be true. A man can lie with words, but surely not with his eyes? His body?

Maybe I’m just ridiculously idealistic because I’m falling in love for the first time.

The thought pulls me up short, and a hiccuping sob escapes me. Dad tilts his head and sighs.

“Oh, Emery. Don’t.”

I sniff. “Don’t what?”

“Fall for Leon. The man has some kind of hypnotic pull on you, but he’s a cold, calculating, vicious individual. As soon as he spirited you away after the wedding, I realized what I’d done. It’s a miracle he hasn’t hurt you yet, but I’m glad.”

It doesn’t seem wise to enlighten my father about how Leon and I met. The beating up of Dante, the stalking, the kiss—yeah. The less he knows about it, the better.

My father’s gaze is open and loving, a look I haven’t seen in a long time. He was so shut down, so distant, and I always wondered whether he’d ever forgive me for getting Mom killed.

Leon got me thinking differently about myself, and with that came a new perspective.

Maybe he was right, and my father didn’t blame me because it wasn’t my fault. Sometimes, things just happen.

My heart is sore at the thought of the young Leon, bound up in grief and guilt, his anger merely a disguise so people wouldn’t see his pain.

Leon wasn’t to blame for his parent’s deaths any more than I was for my mother’s. Logic dictates that I must turn that empathy inward and give my childhood self the same grace.

I pull a breath, the cold tightening my chest. I’m afraid to speak my truth, but I must; it’s a day for telling it like it is.

“Dad, Leon may not be a morally upright person, but as a man—asmyman—he’s never put a foot wrong. Yes, we didn’t have the best start, but now that we’ve had a fight, I’m devastated.”

Tears spill down my cheeks. “He told me he loved me, Dad. What the fuck do I do?”

“Oh, Em.” Dad takes my hand and kisses my palm like he used to when I was small. “I’ve never seen you like this. Your mom and I met at Sunday school. How much advice do you think I got about being married to the head of the bratva?”

I laugh despite myself. “Fair enough. What about me and you? Can we start again?”

His eyes grow heavy with tears of his own. I haven’t seen him cry since Mom died.

“Of course,” he says. “I’m sorry for everything, honey. I’ll do better, I swear. And as for Leon—well, I guess we’ll see.”

A voice calls out. “Emery!”

My vision is hazy, and I don’t see Leon until he’s practically at the table. He’s moving fast, dodging between tables.

“Get down!” he cries.

35

Two minutes earlier…

Leon

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it and keep my eyes fixed on my wife, scanning occasionally for encroaching threats.

Every movement jangles my nerves. I’ve sat in wait for assassins a thousand times, but I’ve never felt this kind of pressure.

It’s because Emery matters in a way no one else ever has.

If I don’t stay frosty, I might see her die right in front of me. It could be paranoia, but I will follow her day and night until the end of time rather than risk her getting hurt.

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