Page 16 of Sweet Deception
"10 AM." He dismissed me with a cold finality, striding away.
I sat there, frozen. Blood soaked my skirt.
The severed hand was gone, but its weight lingered.
My chest heaved. I couldn’t breathe.
That was when I called him, my father. The only tether I had left. It rang once, twice, then his voice spilled through, warm and false. “My sweet girl, how’s Russia?”
“You’re why I can’t walk, aren’t you?” My voice cracked, sharp with betrayal.
“What? Anna, are you alright?”
“Stop lying!” I gripped the phone tighter. “You had Elisabetta poison me. Five years... why? What did you gain?” Silence stretched, heavy and damning.
“Answer me!” My chest burned, the memory of his kisses, his gifts, twisting into something vile. “I thought you loved me.”
The line went dead.
“Father?” I redialed. Blocked.
My breath hitched, a bitter laugh escaping. Cut off, like I was nothing. I should’ve run like Maria. Her letter flashed in my mind: “I have a boyfriend. I won’t waste my life for this family.” She’d escaped. I’d stayed. Loyal. Foolish.
Before the accident, I’d danced. Maria and I had a YouTube channel, hundreds of thousands watched us spin, leap, fly. I was better, and she hated it. My parents comforted her, but they pushed me, “You could be a star, Anna.” I’d dreamed of stages, spotlights, a life beyond their cartel.
Then the crash at fifteen, the doctor’s promise I’d walk again, the endless collapse. My father hadn’t just stolen my legs, he’d stolen that dream. I pressed my palms to my eyes, swallowing the sob.
No tears. Not for him.
Chapter 4
ANNA
––––––––
That night, he didn’t touch me.
I couldn’t sleep, haunted by the thought of Ignat in agony, all because I trusted him as my dance tutor.
Why wouldn’t Gleb consummate this marriage? What was he waiting for, my complete surrender?
Even if Italy felt tainted now, my father’s betrayal, keeping me immobile for five years, I still ached for it.
Two uncles and a brother had vanished sneaking into Russia years ago, likely dead or captured. Gleb knew. That’s one of the real reasons why I was sent here, a pawn to uncover their fate.
I glanced at him. His eyes were closed, face tormented, sleeping or resting, I couldn’t tell. “Hey,” I said, desperation sharp. “When will you fulfill your duty? It’s our third night.”
“You want it that badly?” he rasped, eyes half-lidded.
“Huh?”
He sat up. “I haven’t slept in weeks. Let me rest, girl.”
"Anna. That’s my name." I snapped.
I reached for him. He grabbed my hand. “What are you doing?”
“Why does it look like?”
