Page 74 of Stolen By The Bratva King

Leon gets out and walks around the car so he can open the passenger door, taking my hand as I step out.

“Why bring me here if I might upset him?” I ask.

“Because he and I have distance between us, as you and your father did.” He kisses the tips of my fingers. “If you can work on it and do better, so can I. You make me want to try, at least. And truthfully, I’m worried about him out here.”

A softly-spoken matron leads us to Josef’s room. She’s obviously keen to leave, and with Leon’s permission, she’s quick to do so.

Josef’s suite is large and well-lit. The winter sun streams through floor-to-ceiling windows that boast a pleasant view of the property’s gardens.

The man himself sits in an armchair, with a small table on his left side that moves on a pivoted arm.

Ah, of course.He had a left brain stroke, so he’s right-side impaired.

A couple of fold-out chairs are leaning against the wall, and Leon sets them up carefully to put himself between Josef and me.

His uncle says nothing, but he watches us, his sharp left eye working hard to compensate for the other.

He looks startlingly like Leon, with the same intensity to his gaze, and I swallow a rising bubble of nerves as I sit.

“Dyadya,” Leon says. He coughs, and Josef looks at him. “It’s been too long.”

Josef raises a shaking hand and gestures at me, his expression twisting in query. Leon takes my hand.

“This is Emery,” he says. “My wife. I thought you should meet.”

Josef isn’t capable of looking shocked, but one eyebrow slowly rises into his thin hairline. He fixes me with a suspicious stare, and opens his mouth.

“You don’t have to talk to me,” I say.

“Emery is a doctor,” Leon says. “She understands. I explained.”

Josef ignores him and gives a hissing gargle before he speaks, his words rough and heavy.

“Emery.” He holds my gaze, and I keep quiet, giving him space to talk. “Love Leon?”

“Yes,” I say.

The moment the word leaves my lips, something shifts inside me.

Despite my doubts and the uncertainty we face—Idolove him.

Maybe since he saved me, or perhaps since I first saw glimpses of the broken child beneath the brutal man.

But saying it out loud, in front of his only family, feels real in a way I wasn’t ready for.

I can lie to myself, Leon, and the world, but not to this man who used so much energy to ask a question that matters to him. A lie would trip off my tongue so easily in comparison; he deserves better.

Josef smiles. It’s lop-sided and labored, but there’s no denying it. Leon watches incredulously.

“I’ll be damned,” he says. “What the Hell does he care?”

“I think your uncle cares about you more than anything in the world, Leon,” I say. “You pulled away, eaten up by guilt, and when he was attacked, you only felt worse.”

I search Leon’s face for the self-compassion he badly needs. He keeps his eyes on mine for a beat before dropping his head into his hands.

“Dyadya, she’s right,” he says. “I’m sorry for everything. For letting anger rule me, for rejecting your love when all you ever did was your best to shelter me. I put you in harm’s way, and I’ll never be able to atone for that.”

Leon rests his head on the side of Josef’s chair. To my astonishment, Josef lifts his good arm and wraps his hand around the back of Leon’s head, pulling him to his shoulder.

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