Page 51 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva
“Tell my father that I’m not coming home. I’m fine where I am,” I declared boldly.
He hesitated for a moment. “Sorry, princess. Can’t do that.”
I tilted my head to the side, eyes narrowing in bewilderment, when I felt a prickle at the back of my neck. A soft whine escaped my lips, my vision blurring by the second. My head was spinning, my legs suddenly too weak to carry my weight. I recognized the feeling; I’d been tranquilized.
Oh, God, not again.
My eyes shut, and that was it—I was out like a light.
***
My head hurt when I came to, and my fingers rubbed my eyes. Although my vision was still blurry, I recognized the setting of this room: the golden ceiling, the suffocating air, and the fragrance of a familiar cologne. My father’s.
I sat up immediately, eyes wide with shock and fear, my chest heaving subtly. There they were across the room, watching me. Dad was seated with his legs crossed on a sofa while Franco stood sentinel beside him.
My throat wobbled as I swallowed hard, my back against the headboard.
“Franco tells me you didn’t wanna come home,” Dad said, calm and gentle, casually setting down the magazine in his hands. “Care to explain?” He met my gaze, his expression flat and unreadable.
I drew a deep breath and rose to my feet, summoning all the courage that I could. “You want an explanation? Here it is,” I began, letting out all the pain I’d suppressed over the years. “I didn’t wanna come home because what you call home is nothing but a prison.”
“I was trying to keep you safe,” he said, still composed.
“No, Dad! No, you weren’t,” I cut him off, feeling my blood boil with rage. “You didn’t care about me—never did—the only reason you sent your men after me was because you needed me for reasons best known to you,” I blurted out, my eyebrows furrowing to form deep creases between them.
His jaw locked in, eyes squinting ever so slightly.
“I was fine on my own—”
“You call working two menial jobs ‘fine’?” he interrupted me, a mocking smirk on his lips.
“At least then my life wasn’t in danger!” I snapped, raising my voice. “I was safe, Dad—safe from you and all the violence ofyourworld!” A nervous laugh left me. “Untilyoudecided it was time for me to come home. You ruined my life—ruined everything I worked so hard to build—and for what, hmm?”
“You don’t understand—”
“You see, that’s the problem, Dad. Idounderstand,” I cut him off again, eyes blazing with fury. “I understand that as long as I’m around you, I’ll never be safe—I’ll never be happy—because it’s always going to be about you.” The words tumbled out of my mouth in an angry rush.
“Ester—”
“I was kidnapped barely two months after you forced me back to Chicago,” I continued, my voice trembling, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. “And what did you do about it? Nothing. You let me rot in the hands of your worst enemy, like I was disposable!”
Silence.
“I was there for weeks, Dad.Weeks!” My throat tightened, lips quivering. “How could you? How could you just stand by while I suffered foryoursins—foryourwar?” I paused, fighting back the tears that welled in my eyes. “And then just when things were starting to fall in place, Franco came along, demanding I leave with him. Perfect timing, guys.”
Quietly, Dad rose to his feet, his footsteps slow and deliberate. “Franco, if I didn’t know better, I’d say my daughter is siding with the enemy,” he said, his eyes pinned on me, his voice annoyingly calm.
Dad halted before me, the intoxicating scent of his cologne invading my nostrils. “There’s a reason you didn’t want to leave the Russians,” he said, suspicion creeping into his face. “The same reason you want to go back. What is it?”
I swallowed hard.
“What hold does Yulian have over you?” he demanded, cold as ice.
Silence.
“Ester, what are you not telling me?” The menace in his tone sent chills down my spine. “I will not ask you again.”
My heart pounded like a drum, my pulse quickening. His gaze was too intimidating to hold, his eyes too cold to look at. He raised my chin and held my gaze as if reading my mind.
