Page 50 of Bound Vows
The analogy hits closer to home than I’d like to admit. I have been eating less, sleeping poorly, and finding it difficult to concentrate on anything beyond my immediate physical discomfort.
“What would you recommend?” I ask as he moves to examine my ankle.
“Increased activity, social interaction when possible, and meaningful choices about daily routines. The mind and body need purpose and agency to remain healthy.” He manipulatesmy ankle gently and nods. “This is sprained, not fractured. Rest, elevation, and ice should resolve the swelling within a few days.”
“And the other symptoms?”
“Will likely improve with environmental changes that restore some sense of personal control and social connection.” Dr. Morrison looks directly at Andrei. “Isolation therapy works only if the goal is psychological breakdown. If you want a functional partner rather than a broken victim, she needs autonomy.”
I watch Andrei’s face, noting how his features transform from defensive to thoughtful. When he finally speaks, his voice is so quiet, I almost don’t hear it.
“What kind of autonomy?”
“Choice in daily activities, access to books or entertainment, perhaps supervised outings to break the monotony.” Dr. Morrison packs his instruments and stands. “The mind is like any other organ; it requires proper care to function at its best.”
“And if she tries to use that autonomy to escape again?”
“You’ll have to decide whether her cooperation is worth the risk of granting her some freedom. Though I suspect a woman who throws herself through windows is already beyond the point where additional restrictions will improve compliance.”
After Dr. Morrison leaves with promises to return in two days to check my stitches, Andrei and I sit in uncomfortable silence. My arm throbs despite the pain medication, and my ankle feels swollen and hot.
“Piccola… I want you safe, healthy, and eventually willing to build something meaningful with me.” Andrei sits on the edge of the sofa and studies my bandaged arm. “Seeing you hurt like thismakes me question whether my methods are achieving those goals.”
I sputter and shake my head. “Your methods are achieving what they’re designed to achieve. I’m dependent on you for medical care, physically weakened from injury, and experiencing symptoms that make independent thought increasingly difficult. The question is whether you’re satisfied with a broken wife or if you want a partner.”
“I want you. Not some hollow version of yourself that I’ve created.” His hand moves to cover mine. “But I also need to keep you alive, which means protecting you from the war that’s coming.”
“Then find another way to protect me. Because this approach is destroying me in ways I don’t understand, and you’ll end up with neither a wife nor a partner. I’m stronger when I have choices, Andrei. Trust me enough to let me prove that.”
For the first time since our wedding, I see genuine fear in his eyes. The man who kidnapped me and forced me into marriage is also the man who’s terrified of losing someone else he cares about, and that someone, for reasons I can’t possibly begin to comprehend, is me.
“I’ll consider what the doctor said,” he promises. “But any changes come with conditions designed to ensure your safety.”
“I understand. Just… please consider them soon. I don’t know how much more of this I can take without losing myself.”
As Andrei helps me settle back against the pillows, I realize that my failed escape attempt might have accomplished something my compliance never could. It showed him the cost of hisprotection and forced him to confront whether love means holding tight or letting go.
Chapter 22
Andrei
Watching Maya sleep peacefully after yesterday’s medical crisis while Katarina stands in my doorway demanding my attention proves that some women have impeccable timing for creating problems.
“We need to discuss the situation in the city immediately,” Katarina announces as she enters my office without invitation. “The organization is fracturing faster than anticipated.”
I close the laptop containing Maya’s latest psychological evaluation and lean back in my chair, noting how Katarina’s usual composure seems frayed.
“How did you get past perimeter security?” I ask before addressing her supposed emergency. “They weren’t supposed to let anyone inside the house.”
“I’ve been your intelligence coordinator for eight years, Andrei. They know that order doesn’t apply to me.” Katarina approachesmy desk with the confident stride of someone who considers herself indispensable. “Besides, the information I’m carrying is too sensitive for electronic transmission.”
“What information?”
“Max Mastroni’s coalition has expanded beyond our worst projections. He’s recruited military contractors from three firms, secured financing from sources we haven’t identified, and convinced two Chicago families to provide logistical support.” She opens her briefcase and spreads surveillance photographs across my desk. “They’re planning something ambitious, and Maya’s continued absence is accelerating their timeline.”
I study the images, recognizing faces from our intelligence files mixed with others I don’t immediately identify. The scope of Max’s coalition indeed exceeds what our previous reports indicated, and the professional quality of his recruited muscle suggests serious financial backing.
“When did you acquire these photographs?”
